No Protagonist Halo Buff

Azeroth will not give you special treatment just because you are a transmigrator; you must strive for everything yourself. If a Bronze Dragon doesn't come looking for you, you should count your blessings—you still want to be worshipped by thousands?

Azar shared his feelings with everyone. There was no fantasy of people kowtowing in submission, no fantasy of excitement, and no fantasy of the Chieftain waving his hand to mobilize the entire tribe to worship the Power of Order with him. To be realistic, the Chieftain was a qualified politician—yes, a politician, or perhaps a great merchant. He would not easily place a bet before seeing the benefits! Readers, remember this golden rule! Remember, remember, remember!

"You should get some good rest first. The future of the tribe depends on you all; I am old." After saying this hollow, meaningless concern, he left with his lackeys. My high expectations turned into a long, flowing stream of disappointment.

"Sister, do you believe in me?"

"Yes, little brother. Sister will support you. I will leave Maiev behind; you must help me teach her well." Before I could refuse, she turned and left. Listening to her happy laughter, Azar felt like he had been swindled. Maiev, this mischievous niece—good heavens. She was a little Troll full of wildness. At such a young age, she dared to follow the adults deep into the forest to hunt. She had never lost a fight against male Trolls of her own age; she feared neither heaven nor earth. She was not only savage but also unruly! Abusing slaves was a daily routine for her; she was born with the arrogant air of a second-generation heir. Dumping such a person on him? However, this little girl was still very respectful toward her uncle. After all, his strength was there; she had tried to challenge him to a duel many times, and even when he let her use one hand, she had never won. Her uncle was her idol.

"Great, Uncle! I can finally fight alongside you!" The little girl was happy, excited, and full of longing, grabbing Azar's arm and shaking it desperately. Azar muttered to himself, Child, perhaps the road ahead is not as beautiful as you think.

Sweating buckets—you can't blame the government for a hard life. The big shots didn't support him, and his family wasn't enthusiastic. Fortunately, Azar had a few loyal thugs. Falco was his steadfast supporter, while Koral, Yalik, and Muru supported him unconditionally—it was practically blind obedience. Right, there were also thirteen war orphans; they had to trust their provider. And so, Azar, this protagonist, began his path of building power. No protagonist halo, nothing at all—only sixteen, seventeen, eighteen little brothers. No joyous scenes, no onlookers, no firecrackers, no garlands. There were only sixteen Trolls, facing the morning sun, dragging long shadows behind them. In stark contrast to this small squad of Trolls was the magnificent, resplendent Well of Eternity before them. She remained as beautiful as ever, shimmering with a faint pink glow. She was a beautiful maiden, standing there watching you, welcoming a new day. Azar stood in front of these fifteen Trolls, trying his best to stand as straight as he did in his previous life during military drills. Looking down at this group of hunched, half-squatting Trolls, he spoke slowly: "Children, I actually don't know if the path I have chosen is correct, yet you chose to believe in me and follow me. I cannot guarantee anything, but I can tell you that perhaps today's choice will make you the top powerhouses on this planet! Because you will discover that you truly grasp your own destiny, and it will remain as evergreen as this planet, just like the lake before your eyes—named Eternal!" There was no applause, no flowers; there were only pairs of dull, wooden eyes. No, not all of them—there were also Falco and Maiev. Their eyes were burning, which perhaps meant their future would be different from the others. Azar preferred to believe he was wrong; as a teacher in his previous life, he saw every individual as capable of change—education for all, after all.

His slaves were numerous, so feeding these dozen or so freeloaders was no problem at all, even if their consumption exceeded that of a hundred people. "Study in poverty, learn martial arts in wealth"—the ancients did not deceive me. To become a top warrior, one must first have a strong body. Now, they were tempering their bodies under Azar's inhuman torture. That's right, they were sculpting. A perfect body requires the golden ratio, lines, and explosive muscles. Praise Azeroth, the Troll body is truly excellent. Don't look at how thin and long they are; in fact, their strength is not small at all. They even have heaven-defying recovery abilities; broken hands and feet will grow back, though what grows back is naturally a bit worse than the original. The most difficult problem now was the issue of walking upright. Sometimes Azar was also curious: why were the natives of Azeroth Trolls? Was Blizzard trying to say that the evolution of Trolls is the evolution from apes to humans? Were the Aqir bugs like rats? No choice, I am just this powerful. Azar brought out the secret weapon of the PLA: the back cross! That's right, it was for training posture. They had to wear it every day while sleeping. Listening to their painful wails, Azar's mood was extremely pleasant—finally, someone was enjoying the same treatment as him. Time passed quietly like this. Azar even wondered if this group of Trolls would really evolve into Elves; why was there no movement in their bodies yet?

Back to the point, Azar didn't actually teach everyone; only Falco and Maiev followed him in cultivation, while the others were still being taught by Yalik and Muru. It was just that they all added a new course every day—meditating by the dock, feeling the Power of Order from the Well of Eternity. Azar didn't know if it would be useful, and he worried that these Trolls would have adverse reactions if they came into direct contact with the well water, so he used this compromise. Azar's personal guard, Falco, and his niece, Maiev, sat quietly by his side. They had awakened a faint Power of Fury, and Azar was teaching them the techniques to perceive the Power of Order.

"I believe that the Power of Fury within our bodies is an emotion. It manifests when we are angry or excited. It can increase our strength and allow our combat techniques to exert more powerful effects. As long as the rage is there, the power is there; as long as the rage does not cease, the battle does not end."

"I think so, my lord. I clearly remember that time when we were fighting a group of giant bears, Muru was injured. You know I have a good relationship with him. Seeing him injured at that time, so badly that he was almost dead, I was truly very angry. I felt that at that moment, every one of my stabs had more power. After I returned, I discovered that I had awakened the Power of Fury."

"Uncle, Uncle, I have a similar feeling too. Every time I get angry, I fight exceptionally well." Azar had black lines on his forehead, speechless, but he had to admit that what she said had some truth. It seemed these two had indeed touched the edge of rage. This world is just that magical; standing on the shoulders of giants always makes success easier. If no one guided them to think in this direction, they would really have to spend a lot of time and energy to summarize the Power of Fury, and there would be a high probability of failure. Don't you see that the Power of Fury is passed down by word of mouth among the four great Troll tribes? The world is vast, and there are always extraordinary people. Once their intelligence is online, progress will be very fast.