Chapter 959: The Guild Leader Returns to Aethelgard
After receiving Ethan’s message, the Mad Engineer stared at the request for a long time, unable to make sense of it. Stockpiling high tier ores and materials was perfectly reasonable. Any serious guild preparing for future upgrades would do the same. But Ethan had not specified only high tier resources. He had asked for everything, from the rarest ores down to the lowest quality scraps.
That was the part that baffled him.
Low tier ores were practically worthless at this stage of the game. An ore’s tier directly determined the material produced after smelting, and low tier materials were usually abandoned once players advanced past the early phases. No veteran bothered hoarding them. The Mad Engineer turned the problem over in his mind again and again, searching for logic that simply was not there.
What could Ethan possibly need mountains of low tier materials for?
He could have spent an entire day thinking and still never guessed the truth. Ethan’s avatar possessed an ability no ordinary player, no legendary craftsman, and not even a Divine tier Smelter could replicate. Through the inheritance left by Master Blacksmith Ryan, Ethan’s avatar could repeatedly refine low tier ores, compressing and extracting higher grade materials from sheer quantity. With enough repetition, even Divine tier components could be forged from what others considered junk.
It was, in every practical sense, cheating.
While the Mad Engineer continued tormenting himself with unanswered questions, Ethan had already arrived at Aethelgard.
The fortress stood at the border between Harmony City and Springhaven, the very first stronghold the Renegade Alliance had captured during the Fortress Wars. Despite owning it for some time, this was actually Ethan’s first visit inside his own fortress.
White teleportation light flashed endlessly around the arrival platform as players appeared one after another. The square was busy, lively, and almost festive. Ethan noticed many players dressed in plain cloth robes, equipment so basic it immediately marked them as low level casuals. Some had brought their entire families into the game. A young couple stood nearby while a toddler wobbled forward on unsteady legs, arms raised as if balancing against invisible wind.
The child stared at everything with wide, astonished eyes.
Ethan guessed the kid probably could not walk yet in real life. Inside Ethereal, however, he could explore freely, discovering a world larger than anything he had known.
Laughter drifted through the air. Conversations overlapped. The atmosphere felt warm and alive.
Watching it all, Ethan felt an unexpected swell of pride.
This was his city. His fortress. Seeing it filled with ordinary people enjoying themselves made the long battles worth it.
These players were clearly not hardcore grinders. They treated Ethereal like a living world rather than a competition. Real life already exhausted them with endless workdays, crowded commutes, and routines that left little room to breathe. Many had neither the energy nor the time to chase rankings or fight constant wars. For them, Ethereal became an evening escape, a place where families could walk together, couples could relax, and children could experience adventures their parents could not give them outside the game.
After the Fortress Wars, captured strongholds gained the ability to build entertainment districts. That was one of the main reasons Ethan had fought so fiercely to claim Aethelgard in the first place. Entertainment facilities generated enormous revenue, and more importantly, they attracted exactly this kind of player base. Even competitive players came here occasionally, bringing friends or dates, seeking a break from relentless high pressure gameplay.
Not everyone wanted to live on the battlefield all the time.
Unfortunately, Ethan’s own appearance did not match the dignity of a fortress lord. He was completely naked except for the system issued starter boxers. It was not intentional. He had searched through his entire inventory repeatedly and found nothing usable. Every piece of equipment he once owned had long since vanished.
Resigned, he stepped off the teleportation array and headed toward the Guild Headquarters.
Two system NPC guards stood at the entrance. They glanced at him but did not react. Ownership privileges allowed Ethan to pass freely, regardless of how ridiculous he looked. He walked straight through the doors.
Inside, he immediately encountered a squad of players he did not recognize. Ethan paid them little attention and continued forward, but the group burst into laughter the moment they noticed him.
"Hey, buddy, what happened to you? Someone rob you naked?" one of them joked, barely holding back laughter.
Several others pointed at him, grinning.
Still, the teasing lacked malice. One player stepped forward and said, "I’ve got spare gear. Want to borrow some?"
They laughed, yes, but their actions carried genuine goodwill. Ethan found himself nodding slightly. It seemed the guild’s culture had matured well during his absence. Members helped each other instead of looking down on newcomers.
That thought had barely formed when another squad entered from deeper inside the headquarters, clearly preparing to leave.
Their equipment shone in a chaotic mix of colors, several pieces gleaming with Dark Gold quality. The man leading them carried himself with obvious arrogance, chin raised as though the hallway belonged to him alone. Even though the entrance was wide enough for everyone, he deliberately walked toward the first squad.
Zephyr, the player offering Ethan equipment, was still holding the gear out while Ethan hesitated, unsure whether accepting help from a stranger would create awkward expectations.
Before he could decide, the newcomer’s voice rang out from a distance.
"Well, well. If it isn’t Zephyr. Still wasting your time helping trash like this? How many charity cases have you picked up lately? Trash stays trash no matter how much you give them."
The speaker stopped directly beside them, eyes fixed on Zephyr with open ridicule. He did not even acknowledge Ethan’s presence. Instead, he shoved past him carelessly, pushing Ethan aside as though moving furniture out of his way.
Ethan blinked, momentarily speechless. Less than a minute ago he had been admiring the guild’s friendly atmosphere, and now this walking ego had arrived to ruin the mood.
As the man brushed past, Ethan caught the faint scent of expensive cologne. Wearing perfume inside a virtual world felt strangely absurd.
"Little Prince, don’t go too far. We’re guildmates," someone from Zephyr’s squad said uneasily.
Before tensions could escalate, Zephyr raised a hand to silence his teammates. Though they clearly disliked backing down, they respected his authority.
Zephyr smiled warmly at Little Prince, his tone calm and almost friendly. "Were you raised in a trash heap? You keep saying ’trash’ like it’s the only word you know. Honestly, from where we’re standing, you’re the real trash."
The words were delivered with such pleasant composure that they somehow felt even sharper.
Little Prince’s expression twisted through several shades before he forced out a laugh. "You’d better worry about beating our squad ranking this week. Eternal second place of Seventh Guild, Ninth Battalion. Hahaha."
For a brief moment Zephyr’s smile stiffened at the mention of second place, then he simply shrugged as if the insult meant nothing.
"Top ranked squad of the battalion," Ethan’s voice suddenly cut in, calm but clear. "And this is the level of behavior you represent?"
The hallway fell silent.
Both squads turned toward him. Zephyr’s team wore mixed expressions of surprise, amusement, and concern. This half naked newcomer clearly had no idea who he was provoking. Everyone knew Little Prince was notoriously petty. Challenging him publicly, especially in front of a rival like Zephyr, was equivalent to slapping him across the face.
One of Little Prince’s teammates sneered. "Kid, you got a death wish?"
"Mind your own business, dog," another added.
Ethan rolled his eyes and gave a faint smile. "Threats already? Predictable."
"You won’t last a day in Renegade Alliance if you cross us," someone else warned.
Ethan almost laughed. These people were threatening to drive him out of the very guild he had founded.
"Birds of a feather," he said lightly. "No wonder you all share the same quality."
"You brainless pigs," Ethan continued, his tone still casual rather than angry. "Tell me again which one of us won’t last."
Zephyr had been about to step in and defuse the situation, but after hearing Ethan escalate so freely, he quietly withdrew. Helping strangers was one thing, but this newcomer clearly possessed a reckless streak. Provoking Little Prince so openly might feel satisfying, yet it was undeniably foolish.
Within Renegade Alliance, the top squad of any battalion enjoyed enormous privileges. A word from them could make ordinary members’ lives very difficult. Most players avoided conflict with such figures entirely.
What Zephyr did not know was that Ethan stood far above those internal hierarchies.
He was the founder of Renegade Alliance.
The Guild Leader himself.
Most members had never met the legendary Druid God. When they joined, contracts were signed through the Honorary Leader rather than the mysterious founder. NotADruid had been absent for over eighteen months, and rumors claimed he had quit Ethereal entirely.
Fortunately, the foundation he built was unshakable. By the time Ethan disappeared, Renegade Alliance already operated like a perfectly tuned machine. Leaders such as Slashblade, Skyblade, and SeraphWarrior had grown into powerful figures in their own right, while the Honorary Leader, Tears of the Fallen, proved to be an exceptional administrator.
Even without its creator present, the guild endured.
For a year and a half, Renegade Alliance stood like a massive fortress against the tides of war, earning even greater respect precisely because its founder was absent. Without the advantages Ethan secured during Ethereal’s early days, the guild could never have risen to dominate the Northern Frontier Region.
One guild alone blocked the entire southern passage. Players inside the Northern Frontier could not easily break out, while forces from three neighboring theaters hesitated to advance. Renegade Alliance sat at the border like an immovable war machine, a silent warning that made every rival think twice before crossing the line.
