Word of the Demon ambush at Nexus Academy spread like wildfire across the Southern Continent.
Not just the Southern Continent, it spread across the rest of the world. In a world of mana and fantastical special abilities that could accomplish so much, there were very few things that could remain hidden.
The daring attack of the Demons truly threw the Southern Continent into chaos, rocking Planet Scrontum as a whole.
Panic seized the human domain, Orcs answered the tremors with blood and steel, tearing into each other.
But not all races scread, or panicked, or raged. So simply... watched.
...
The Dwarven Empire...
Far away in the Northern Continent, the mountain fortresses of the Dwarves glowed with the fires of endless forges.
The Great Anvil Hall, carved into the heart of Mount Drakenspine, thundered with the pounding of hamrs and the hiss of molten steel.
Inside, the Council of Forgemasters sat in a chamber walled by glowing runes and rivers of magma. Robed smith-lords with soot-stained hands and eyes like burning coals debated the news.
"Have you heard? Kravox Bone-Tyrant struck the human forge".
"They destroyed everything!"
"Hmph. If the humans could not guard their own steel, then perhaps they were never worthy of it."
"But still... those were forgemasters that were attacked and killed. No matter how inferior, they were at least in our line of our trade".
"Is it ok if we just... watch like this?"
"Should we not send aid? Or at least... investigate?"
"Investigate weakness? Waste of iron".
Their voices clanged like steel against steel, sharp but dismissive.
The strongest and most authoritative voices in the forges belonged to the best and greatest forgemasters of the Dwarven Race, and their voices were the most dismissive of all.
Their natural charm persuaded the rest.
As for why they were so easily persuaded, it was also due to the nature of Dwarves and the Dwarven Race.
To the Dwarves, this was not a tragedy. Rather it was proof of their worldview. They believed more in knowledge, craft, and creation.
To them, these were the pillars of power, not war.
War was an ugly necessity; brutal, barbaric, and uncalled for. But mastery? Mastery of steel, of artifacts, of runes... that was divinity.
And none forged greater than them.
It was no news that the best artifacts around the world were forged right here in the heart of the Dwarven Empire. They had the best forgemasters and craftsman across Planet Scrontum.
Even the rulers of the other races co begging for weapons and artifacts, so Dwarves were naturally arrogant.
In hushed whispers, the councilors invoked the nas of their rulers.
The Three Dwarven Sages, masters of forge and rune. Five centuries had passed since they last walked among their people... then, they were mighty S-Ranks. Now? No one truly knew the heights they had reached.
The council reached its conclusion.
"Let the humans mourn alone. Let the Orcs tear each other apart. Let the Demons bark and claw".
"It has nothing to do with us".
"We are Dwarves. We build while others destroy".
It was a consensus.
Clang... clang... clang...
The chamber thundered with the sound of iron hamrs striking stone, their arrogance echoing into the mountain’s bones.
...
The Elven Empire...
In the Eastern Continent, moonlight spilled across the Moonfall Glade, an eternal city of trees that stretched into the heavens.
Towers of living wood coiled into the sky, roots and branches woven by magic older than mory. Mana flowed through the air like golden dust, saturating the atmosphere with so much of it that it felt thick to touch.
This was the heart of the Elven Empire.
Here, the rulers of the Elven Empire, the Five Spirits convened beneath the World Tree’s Shade.
There were five Spirits, but only two of them were present in the day to day activities of the Empire, truly ruling over the Elves.
The Spirit of Roots, tall and solemn, the quiet strength of the Elven rulers, one of the two true rulers.
The Spirit of Leaves, radiant and sharp, counterpart to the Spirit of Roots, protector of the people.
And then there is the Spirit of Stars, pale and distant, mind always adrift in unfathomable magical theories.
And the Spirit of Shadows, absent, lost in solitude deep within the forests. His mind was an unfathomable abyss that could never be understood; he was a confusing man to say the least.
And then the Spirit of Winds, smiling and carefree, arriving late, lute strapped to his back.
They spoke in voices like flowing rivers, calm even as the world burned.
"The Demons struck against the humans".
"Predictable. The tree that grows too fast, falls the soonest. The humans were growing too fast, and the Demons would have felt threatened by their presence sooner or later".
"Will we intervene?"
"Why should we? Mana flows for us, not for them. The balance of the East is unbroken, so why should we care what happens in the South?"
The Spirit of Roots frowned, mana thrumming uneasily around him.
"Do not mistake calm for safety. The balance shifts, and we risk ignoring it".
But his warning t serene smiles.
The Spirit of Leaves brushed it aside. "The world favors us. The forests will not betray their children."
The Spirit of Winds strumd his lute, laughter lilting in the glade. "Humans scream, Orcs burn, Demons plot. We... listen to the wind."
Their arrogance was not fiery like the Dwarves, but cold, ancient, and certain.
To them, they were not a race of the world... rather, they were the chosen race of the world.
The civilizations of the world had reacted to the play of the Demons.
The Orcs tore themselves apart in civil war.
The Dwarves sneered from their mountains.
The Elves ditated under their trees.
The Southern Continent burned, and only humans bled openly.
The Demons laughed in the shadows. Their plan was working.
The world watched the flas in humanity’s heart... but from the East and North ca only silence.
And silence, sotis, is the loudest arrogance of all.
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