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Knowing that news of his relocation had already reached Count Charles, Michael anticipated the arrival of the new baron soon. Before departing to assist with the relocation, however, there was one more task to address.

With Miaomiao, Marcus, and the gargoyles in tow, Michael ventured into the Drago Mountains.

His gaze softened as he looked at the loyal gargoyles. He planned to distribute the grenades being manufactured by Rabouin and his wife among them. Initially, he had considered using flying beasts brought by the knights, but the gargoyles' reliability and lack of personal preferences made them ideal for the task.

Michael unrolled a scroll, examining the next artifact on their list.

Artifact: Ariadne's Compass

Recorded by Princess Medeia of the Kingdom of Kargotha

"According to legend, this compass carries the will of the goddess Ariadne, who sought the most exceptional successor among her descendants. To use it, let a drop of blood fall on the compass. The threads of destiny connecting blood relatives will guide the compass to the most talented descendant. Eighty-five human heroes have contributed a drop of blood to this artifact in hopes of safeguarding their lineage. May their hopes guide you to nurture the gifted among their descendants."

With 13 artifacts left to retrieve, Ariadne's Compass was the nearest target. Though time had passed, the bloodlines were likely intact—destiny worked in predictable ways, especially in a world steeped in magic and mystery.

Michael glanced down at the Ariadne's Compass in his hand, its needle faintly glowing as it pointed toward a small group of itinerant slash-and-burn farmers trudging through the Drago Mountains.

"It seems we've found them," he muttered to himself.

The massive shadow of Marcus falling over the group sent them into immediate panic. They dropped their bundles and threw themselves to the ground in terror. Seeing a dragon in the mountains was rare, even in these wild regions.

When Michael dismounted, however, their fear turned to sheer panic.

"A knight! Run!" someone shouted, and the group scattered in all directions.

"What the...?" Michael was taken aback.

He quickly ordered the gargoyles to round up the fleeing farmers. Within minutes, their leader—a wiry man with sharp features—was brought before Michael, trembling.@@novelbin@@

"P-please, my lord," the man stammered, "we're just humble people. Not criminals or runaway slaves, I swear it!"

Michael raised a hand to calm him. "Relax. I'm not here to harm your people."

He turned his attention back to the compass, which glowed brighter as he moved closer to the group. Walking among the gathered farmers, the needle eventually flared brightly and displayed an inscription: Experience exclusive tales on My Virtual Library Empire

"Descendant of the barefoot hero of the plains, Botan, found."

The compass's light focused on a young boy with ebony skin and a wiry build. Michael stepped closer and gestured for the boy to stand.

"You, boy," he said gently. "Come forward."

The boy, visibly frightened, rose slowly. Despite his youth, his frame already showed the wiry strength typical of the tribe.

The group was uniformly tall and muscular, their physique a testament to the hardships of life in the dangerous mountains. If Botan's legendary blood ran through this tribe, the boy must be an exceptional prodigy.

"I am Michael von Crassus," Michael introduced himself. "I've recently settled in the lands beyond the mountains. May I ask where your people are headed?"

The leader hesitated, his gaze darting nervously between Michael and Marcus. "W-we were relocating, my lord. The movements of the beasts have been unsettling of late."

Michael nodded, his suspicion confirmed. "It seems you've endured much. I'd like to invite you and your people to settle in my lands. Life in the mountains is harsh and unforgiving. In my territory, you'll have stability and opportunities to thrive."

The farmers exchanged uncertain glances, whispering among themselves. Finally, the leader voiced the group's apprehension.

"Forgive me, my lord, but... we are simple folk, uneducated and unworthy. Wouldn't we risk becoming slaves or worse?"

Michael smiled reassuringly, pointing to Marcus.

"I am a dragon knight," he declared. "I swear on my dragon's honor that no harm will come to you. My lands are newly founded, and the possibilities are endless. There will be no discrimination, and if anyone troubles you, you may come to me directly. Your efforts will be rewarded with land and a place to call your own. Isn't that what you seek?"

The group murmured among themselves, clearly tempted.

"I will waive all taxes for three years," Michael added, driving the final nail into their doubts. "This, I guarantee in the name of Michael von Crassus, heir of the Crassus estate."

After some deliberation, the leader bowed deeply.

"Very well, my lord. We will follow you. But... we have kin scattered across the mountains. May they join us as well?"

Michael's smile widened. "Of course. The more, the better."

The leader's request was calculated; with more numbers, they could secure greater influence in the new territory. Michael, however, welcomed the prospect. The more people he brought to his land, the faster he could establish a thriving settlement.

As he surveyed the tribe, his mind raced with possibilities. Their powerful physiques and combat potential would make them invaluable as soldiers.

Over the next several days, Michael swept through the Drago Mountains, gathering the scattered tribes of the Botan people and escorting them to his lands.

Meanwhile, Philip, the illegitimate son of the Duke of Rochester, was on a parallel mission. Tasked with revitalizing his newly granted barony, he sought to recruit the Botan people as residents.

His plan was straightforward: present the tribe with gifts and convince them to join him.

"This will be easy," the merchant accompanying Philip had assured him. "I've traded with them for years. A few trinkets, and they'll come running."

However, reality proved otherwise.

At their fifth empty encampment, Philip was fuming. Signs of recent habitation were evident, but the people themselves were gone.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "They were here just a few days ago!"

The merchant looked equally baffled, shifting nervously.

"Perhaps they all migrated together?" he offered weakly.

Philip clenched his fists, glaring at the untouched gifts piled behind him.

Unbeknownst to him, the Botan people had already moved to Michael's territory, leaving Philip and his grand plans in the dust.

"Damn it all," Philip muttered, staring at the abandoned campsite. "Where did they all go?"