‘The Black Throne isn’t just teaching me how to reach my full potential, he’s also turning me into a worthy opponent.’ Jorl thought. ‘This cursed bastard wants me to be so strong that I can stand my ground against him, and he can enjoy our battle.

‘To him, I’m nothing but a puzzle. Something that must be complex enough to be challenging, but without the means to harm its master. A game that only needs time and wits to be solved before moving on to the next.’

“Don’t worry, Throne, I will.” Jorl nodded. “Is that all the help you can offer me, though? Coordinates and wishful thinking?”

“Of course, not.” The cursed tower scoffed. “If you find enough Adamant and the necessary natural treasures, I’ll Forgemaster the equipment for your followers just like I’ll Forgemaster yours. If you allow me, apprentice. The choice is yours.”

On the one hand, the Storm Griffon was aware that the Black Throne might rig the equipment and add failsafes that would prevent its user from turning against the cursed tower.

On the other hand, Jorl deeply regretted having already wasted so many resources on his current equipment.

He had spent over a thousand years accumulating what he would need for the equipment suitable for the size of a violet-cored Griffon, and Orpal’s Forgemasters had consumed it all.