The world of Azeroth wouldn't give you special treatment just because you'd come from another time. You had to work for everything yourself. You should be grateful if the Bronze Dragon didn't come looking for you, and you still expected everyone to worship you?
Azar shared his feelings with everyone. There was no bowing down in awe, no excited cheering, and no Chieftain sweeping his hand through the air and leading the whole tribe in worshipping Order with you. To be fair, the Chieftain was a capable politician—yes, a politician, or perhaps a great merchant. He wouldn't take a gamble before he saw what was in it for him! Readers, remember this golden rule! Remember, remember, remember!
"Get some rest. The future of the tribe will depend on you young ones. I'm getting old." After offering this utterly empty concern, he left with his lackeys. All my hopes went down the drain.
"Big sister, do you believe me?"
"Yes, little brother. I'll support you. I'll leave Maiev here, so you can teach her well, okay?" Without waiting for me to refuse, she turned and left. Hearing her cheerful laughter, Azar got the feeling he'd been had. Maiev, that mischievous niece of his—good grief. She was a wild little Troll who dared to follow the adults deep into the forest to hunt despite her young age. She'd never lost a fight against boys her own age, and she feared nothing. She wasn't just savage, but spoiled, too! Abusing slaves was an everyday thing for her, and she had the swagger of a born rich brat. And they were just leaving a girl like that with him? Still, the little girl respected her uncle. His strength spoke for itself. She'd challenged him to a duel, and even when he fought with one hand behind his back, she'd never won. Her uncle was her idol.
"Wonderful, Uncle! I can finally fight alongside you!" The little girl was overjoyed and excited, her eyes full of anticipation as she grabbed Azar's arm and shook it vigorously. Azar silently thought, Child, maybe the road ahead won't be as wonderful as you imagine.
Ugh, what a miserable life. You couldn't blame the government for everything. The big shots weren't supportive, and his family wasn't enthusiastic, either. Fortunately, Azar had a few loyal henchmen. Falco was firmly on his side, and Koral, Yalik, and Muru supported him unconditionally—they practically followed him blindly. Oh, and there were thirteen war orphans, who had to believe in the people who fed and clothed them. And so Azar, the protagonist, began building his own faction. He had no protagonist's halo, nothing at all—just sixteen, seventeen, eighteen followers. There was no joyful celebration, no crowd of onlookers, no firecrackers, no flower garlands. There were only sixteen Trolls, facing the rising sun with their long shadows trailing behind them. In stark contrast to the small band of Trolls stood the magnificent, dazzling Well of Eternity. It was still just as beautiful, glowing faintly pink. She was a lovely young woman, standing there and watching you as she welcomed the new day. Azar stood in front of the fifteen Trolls, trying to hold himself as straight as he had when standing at attention in his previous life. Looking down at the Trolls, who were bent over or half-crouched, he slowly began, "Children, to be honest, I don't know whether the path I've chosen is the right one. Yet you've chosen to believe in me and follow me. I can't promise you anything. I can only tell you that perhaps the choice you make today will make you some of the strongest people on this planet! You'll discover that you truly hold your own destinies in your hands, and that they will endure alongside this planet, just like the lake before you. Its name is the Well of Eternity!" There was no applause, no flowers—only a pair of vacant stares after another. No, not all of them. Falco and Maiev's eyes burned with passion. Perhaps that meant their futures would be different from everyone else's. Azar would rather believe he was wrong. As a teacher in his previous life, he believed that every individual could change. Every student deserved an education, after all.
He had plenty of slaves, so supporting these freeloaders was no problem, even if they consumed as much as a hundred people. The poor studied literature; the rich studied martial arts. The ancients hadn't lied. To become a top warrior, you first needed a strong body. Now, they were toughening their bodies under Azar's inhuman regimen. That's right, they were building their physiques. A perfect body needed ideal proportions, defined lines, and explosive muscles. Praise Azeroth—the Trolls' bodies really were excellent. They might look slender, but they were surprisingly strong, and they had an almost miraculous ability to recover. Even severed hands and feet would grow back, though the new ones were a little worse than the originals. The hardest problem now was teaching them to walk upright. Sometimes Azar wondered why the native inhabitants of Azeroth were Trolls. Had Blizzard's old man meant to suggest that Troll evolution was like the evolution from ape to human? And were Aqir bugs like rats? There was nothing for it. He was just that powerful. Azar brought out the JFJ's secret weapon: the cross-shaped brace! That's right, it was for training their posture. They had to wear it even while sleeping. Listening to their anguished howls made Azar extremely happy; at last, someone else was suffering the same way he had. Time passed quietly. Azar even wondered whether this band of Trolls would really evolve into Elves. Why hadn't their bodies changed yet?
Back to the point: Azar didn't actually train everyone. Only Falco and Maiev practiced with him; Yalik and Muru continued to teach the others. The only difference was that they now had an extra daily lesson: meditating by the docks and sensing the Power of Order from the Well of Eternity. Azar didn't know whether it would work. He was worried that directly exposing the Trolls to the well water might have adverse effects, so he'd chosen this compromise. Azar's bodyguard, Falco, and his niece, Maiev, sat quietly beside him. They had awakened a faint Power of Fury, and Azar was teaching them how to sense the Power of Order.
"I think the Power of Fury inside us is an emotion. It manifests when we're angry or excited. It can increase our strength and make our combat skills more effective. As long as our anger remains, so does our strength. As long as our anger doesn't fade, neither does our fighting spirit."
"I believe so, sir. I remember clearly when we were fighting a group of bears and Muru was injured. You know how close he and I are. When I saw him badly hurt, almost dead, I was furious. I felt that every strike I made was stronger than before. After we returned, I discovered that I'd awakened the Power of Fury."
"Uncle, Uncle, I feel something similar, too! Whenever I get angry, I'm especially good at fighting." Azar was speechless, his face dark with exasperation, but he had to admit that she had a point. It seemed these two really had stumbled onto the right track with their anger. This world was simply full of wonders. It was always easier to succeed when standing on the shoulders of giants. If nobody had guided them to think along these lines, it would have taken them a great deal of time and effort to figure out the Power of Fury—and they might well have failed. After all, the Power of Fury had been passed down by word of mouth among the four great Troll tribes. There were always extraordinary people in such a vast world. Once their intelligence kicked in, they could make rapid progress.
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