Kingdom Of High Tarxa, New Tarxa, High Elven Ville, Tarxan Palace, Inside The Throne Room.

1st Year of God, Tuesday, 4th Week, Month Of Jonah.

In the city of High Elven Ville, the streets were bustling with activity as elves, both men and women, moved hurriedly through the markets and alleys. Whispers of mounting defeats circulated like wildfire, defying the iron grip of King Acheron and his lackeys, who tirelessly flooded the media with tales of fabricated victories and propaganda against their sworn enemy, the Iron Kingdom.

But beneath this facade of control, an undeniable sense of dread began to take root. Something monumental was on the horizon, something that would reverberate across the Kingdom of High Tarxa, beyond even Acheron’s reach.

While the upper echelons reveled in their delusions of power, the inferiors bore the brunt of the war. Forced into labor, their sons conscripted as disposable cannon fodder, their daughters shipped off to serve as “relief” for the frontline forces, resentment simmered in their hearts.

Anger, sadness, despair, frustration, helplessness, and all these emotions coalesced into a volatile mix, threatening to ignite rebellion. The tipping point was near, and all it would take was a single spark to unleash their fury inside the hearts of these inferiors.

And that spark is now about to come. Just a little more patience is all they need.

Far from the city center, an elven messenger was riding profusely on top of a Land Dragon with sweat beading on his brow as he rushed toward the palace. Such frantic deliveries had become disturbingly frequent as the days and weeks passed by, which confirms the suspicion among the upper class that all was not well. Whatever news he carried, it would undoubtedly spell further doom for the war effort.

As he approached the palace gates, the messenger’s haste betrayed him. His mount collided with a guard, sending the armored elf sprawling to the ground. Without so much as a backward glance, the messenger dismounted as his singular focus was on the throne room.

The guard who had been knocked off was fuming with anger. He wanted to teach the Elf who hit him with his Land Dragon to be taught a lesson.

“Who does he think he is?” he muttered under his breath. But as the guard stood back up, the messenger had already disappeared into the palace halls.

The guard reluctantly conceded that the news must have been urgent. Even so, he vowed to wait for the messenger’s return and planned to deliver a well-placed punch to settle the score.

Such was the nature of the superiors of High Tarxa, self-interest and ego reigned supreme, often to the detriment of all else.

Meanwhile, the messenger, who was drenching in sweat, raced through the palace corridors toward the throne room. His heart was palpitating, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his legs grew heavier with each step, especially his vision began to blur.

That's not what he needs or cares about. He needs to deliver this message at any cost. Minutes felt like hours as he stumbled forward and paused only briefly to catch his breath before pushing onward.

At last, he reached the grand doors of the throne room. Gulping for air, he steadied himself and pushed them open, bracing for what lay within.

However, he didn't expect what he was about to see, though despite all the rumours going inside and out of the palace and from the entire Kingdom Of High Tarxa, he should've expected it.

The current king is an absolute idiot who only follows his lower body parts and his tiny brain with a comically large ego.

Truth to be told, even among the court’s most loyal members, there was a pervasive, unspoken truth that the kingdom would have been better under Floria Melian Shelberry, Acheron’s sister. Though her rule had been marked by controversy such as her radical ideals inherited from their father often sparked division, she was a competent leader.

At least under her reign, the kingdom’s finances had been well-managed, and resources directed where they were most needed. But Acheron’s greed and shortsightedness had left the kingdom on the brink of ruin.

Panning back to the male Elf, who has just recently opened the door towards the throne room.

There he found multiple inferior women naked with a semi-recognisable face. At the centre of all this pervertedness was a face they were all familiar with.

It was their king, Acheron. At the lower center of the women was a comically small dick that was being licked by all the inferior women on all sides. The inferior women all around Acheron could stand up for the idea of exoticness. It was filled with women ranging all around from different races of nature. Except the races that were superior were the inferiors of it.

After all, not all Elven people or whatever races that have a magically superior affinity in magic always have some outcast. Most of them were sons and daughters from an inferior family. Which leads to that outcome of absolute magnitude of the word disgusting to the superiors.

Upon being disturbed by his "private" time, Acheron was furious, however the extreme emotion that he felt led him to ejaculate semen that landed on the other side of the room, towards the face of the male Elf who just entered the room.

With his precious jewels on the face of another man. Acheron was absolutely furious and angry. He stood up and slapped all the inferior women away from except one, which he grabbed by the hair and brought her closer. After she got closer, he immediately grabbed the clitoris roughly and played with it. So that he could hide the embarrassment of a greater magnitude of cumming in the face of another man.

Meanwhile, the male Elf was absolutely speechless, though in the end he could only say it silently.

"What a disgusting King."

Nevertheless, he started speaking and informed the king of yet another major defeat in the war of the Iron Kingdom. However, one particularly interesting message from it is that they finally uncovered a clue about the Iron Kingdom's mysterious equipment.

King Acheron listened in silence with an unreadable expression as the details of the defeat were laid bare while staring at the man with cum on his face, which he better to ignore. Though his prideful demeanor remained intact, his disdain for the military's repeated failures was evident.

Still, he dismissed it with a wave of indifference. After all, the Tarxan Coalition commanded vast resources, drawing on the strength of countless allied nations. In contrast, the Iron Kingdom stood alone. To Acheron, this war was a matter of time and attrition, a contest he was confident he would ultimately win.

But then, the messenger delivered a revelation that shattered the room’s complacency.

“The Grandlord… is dead?”

Acheron leaned forward, showing his confidence wavering for the first time.

“Yes, your Majesty,” the messenger confirmed. “The orcs, led by their Warboss, have united their armies and warbands against the Iron Kingdom. The Grandlord fell in battle. With half of their forces defending against the orcs and the other half fighting the Coalition, the Iron Kingdom’s strength is severely divided. This presents us with a prime opportunity.”

Then, a slow malicious grin spread across Acheron’s face as he processed the news.

“This,” he murmured, “could be the beginning of their end.”

In his mind, the Iron Kingdom’s downfall was now inevitable. With their military stretched thin and their leader gone, it was only a matter of time before the Coalition claimed their lands, resources, and technology. Such spoils would propel their nations to unprecedented heights of power and progress.

Little did Acheron know, his confidence will blind him to an incoming threat, one that neither he nor the other Kingdoms could foresee.

A new player was about to enter the war, and they would change everything.

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Austronesian People's Empire, Imperial Maharlika, Manila, A Military Civilian Garrison Building, Inside A Room.

1st Year of God, Tuesday, 4th Week, Month Of Jonah.

Floria Melian Shelberry was fixing her attire carefully, smoothing the fabric of the traditional dress she now wore with her hands.

It was the baro’t saya, or Filipiniana, as it was commonly called by the people of the Imperial Maharlika. She had learned these terms during her time among them and found them both fascinating and meaningful.

The name "baro’t saya," translating to "blouse and skirt" in English, resonated with her, especially as she recalled the blessing of the goddess that endowed her with the knowledge of the "Austronesian" language, and many others spoken in what they referred to as their home.

A place called Earth.

The baro’t saya had its roots in a rich cultural tradition, with its name and design dating back centuries. While some referred to it as Filipiniana, harkening to the days of an old republic, the current government preferred the term baro’t saya, emphasizing its historical significance.

Floria admired this balance between tradition and evolution, though she found the idea of democracy, so integral to this society, wholly foreign.

In her own world, democracy, a system where people could vote for their leaders, was unimaginable. Such a concept, while intriguing, would destabilize the very fabric of her homeland, where rigid hierarchies and divisions between “superiors” and “inferiors” were deeply ingrained. The superiors considered the inferiors hopelessly incompetent, fit only for labor. But her experiences in this empire were beginning to challenge those beliefs.

As she observed the Austronesian People's Empire, she marveled at the stability they had achieved despite the apparent chaos and conflicts in their history.

Democracy, even in its limited form here, had allowed for a level of progress and equality that seemed like a distant dream in her own country. She could not help but think of her father’s vision, a dream of a more equitable society. Could it truly be possible?

The idea that all people, rich or poor, magical or not, could be equal under the law stirred something in her. It felt revolutionary, and she found herself drawn to its potential.

But, for all its promise, democracy was far from perfect. The Austronesians openly acknowledged this, showing a rare humility in admitting their flaws.

"Humans are inherently selfish," they often said, a sentiment that Floria found both unsettling and oddly refreshing. In their view, even the most altruistic actions were tinged with self-interest.

There are no people, organisations or anything of that sort that doesn't have their own agendas. Everyone has an agenda, and it all roots in one thing and that is self interest or selfishness.

No matter how pure your intentions are, there will still be things deep in your heart that could tarnish your intentions.

Helping the poor, they argued, was as much about self-satisfaction as it was about compassion, a way to feel righteous or secure a place in the afterlife.

Floria pondered this cynicism deeply. Were there truly no people with pure intentions? Perhaps not. Yet the Austronesians believed that goodness lay not in the absence of selfishness but in the willingness to rise above it. By resisting their baser impulses and striving to do good, they sought redemption, a cleansing of their sinful nature in preparation for judgment by the father of all life.

For those who succumbed to sin without seeking redemption, there was only one fate, an eternal torment in a place they called Hell. It was a realm of unending fire, reserved for those who lived selfishly and refused to repent towards their God's creation.

"That's what they believe in. Therefore, I must respect their ways and beliefs. Though our faiths differ, coexistence is always possible. All it takes is mutual respect," Melian thought to herself.

The Austronesians held a belief that startled her. From the moment of conception in a mother’s womb, they considered every soul was already tainted by sin. To Melian, this seemed profoundly unfair when she first heard it. How could they condemn their own offspring, one incapable of thought or action, be condemned from birth? But the explanation soon became clear that everyone is born a sinner, for they are already influenced or tarnished by it.

A child inherits the sins of their parents, and because all humans are inherently flawed, sin is an unbroken chain passed from generation to generation.

In their worldview, the only escape from this burden was the path to redemption, which was through good deeds, and the resistance of further temptation. True absolution, they believed, could only be granted by their God, the father in heaven, who alone could cleanse them of their sins.

This is similar to how she converse with Major General Francisco back at Marawi City during the war against the demons.

While Melian found these beliefs puzzling at first, she grew to appreciate the moral discipline they instilled. She began to admire the Austronesians’ teachings and whoever the god that inspired them, seeing in their philosophy a noble attempt to guide people toward righteousness.

As she immersed herself deeper in their culture, Melian's respect for the Austronesians deepened. Their emphasis on good deeds over chaos struck a chord within her. Perhaps, she thought, their presence in this world could herald a new age, a time when people were driven to acts of kindness rather than conflict, a solution to the perpetual strife of her homeland.

Maybe this world, inspired by Austronesian ideals, might finally find peace.

But Melian also knew that with change came resistance. No transformation was without opposition, and she feared the possibility that the very foundations of their society might crumble under the weight of conflicting ideals.

The Austronesians, for their part, had crafted a unique system of governance to address such challenges, one rooted in pragmatism and grounded in reality.

They called it National Imperial Socialism.

The structure was a blend of hierarchy and democracy designed to balance authority and progress.

At its apex stood the Emperor, the sole aristocrat in the empire, responsible for overseeing military and some legislative matters. Beneath the Emperor were three Governor-Generals, tasked with maintaining Imperial law and order across the provinces and reported directly to the throne.

Supporting this system were a President, elected by the people, and a Prime Minister, chosen by the parliamentary members. Together, they governed alongside an Imperial Parliament, whose members were also chosen through popular vote by the people to ensure some democratic input.

What surprised Melian most was that birthright did not dictate leadership in this system, but rather by meritocracy. Even the aristocracy was symbolic, with no hereditary titles except for the Emperor’s.

The Empire’s political spectrum was equally remarkable. Political parties, ranging from Capitalists, Nationalists, Socialists, Communists, and to Monarchist factions all coexisted under a single system. Though monarchists had little influence, reduced to a ceremonial presence, the very fact that such opposing ideologies could unite was astonishing to Melian.

Despite the ideological diversity and the Emperor held the ultimate authority, decisions were slowed by layers of bureaucracy. Laws had to pass through the Parliament, then the Prime Minister, followed by the President, before finally reaching the Emperor. While this ensured checks and balances, the process often felt like endless red tape.

What astonished Melian most was how such a radical blend of ideologies, drawn from opposing extremes of Earth's political spectrum, had managed to coexist and create stability. For all their differences and turbulent history, the Austronesians had found unity, something she found both shocking and admirable.

Equally impressive was how the Empire’s ability to embrace change without losing their identity and preserving its cultural roots. Their world had undergone immense transformation, dozens, perhaps hundreds, of sweeping changes from political upheavals, technological advancements, and social revolutions in less than a century, yet they had preserved their culture and traditions through it all.

This stood in stark contrast to Melian's own nation, stagnant and monotonous for centuries. The dynamism of the Austronesians made her question everything she had known. How could a society undergo such radical change without losing itself?

A myriad of questions swirled in her mind. How had the Austronesians managed to balance progress and tradition so seamlessly? How had they succeeded where so many others failed? And most importantly, could her own nation ever achieve the same harmony?

Floria Melian Shelberry had much to learn from them, and perhaps, just perhaps, their lessons could illuminate a brighter future for her own world.

————————————————————————

Austronesian People's Empire, Imperial Maharlika, Manila, Malacanang Palace, In A Meeting Room.

1st Year of God, Tuesday, 4th Week, Month Of Jonah.

Juan Delroy Maximo, or simply Maximo, the People's Emperor, was walking briskly through the sunlit halls of Malacañang Palace. The golden rays streaming through the windows illuminated his determined expression as he navigated the labyrinth of corridors. He was quite in a rush, as expected from being an Emperor.

One after another, there's a lot to be done for the recovery of the Empire and for it to safeguard its citizens. Earlier that morning, he had been buried in a mountain of paperwork, contracts, agreements, and directives, all aimed at revitalizing the civilian industries and expediting the reconstruction of the military sector.

The New Year's Tragedy had devastated much of their infrastructure, and every moment was critical in rebuilding both the nation's strength and the people's morale.

As of now, Maximo was heading towards the meeting room where the “Grand Council of Revolutionary Advisors” awaited him.

He was the last to arrive, a fact that quickened his stride. The agenda for the meeting was packed with discussions on ideology, strategies for dealing with adversaries, and the long-term vision for introducing the Empire’s presence to this new world.

Once this meeting finished, Maximo would meet with the military high command to finalize their offensive strategies. If the Empire was to make its mark, it had to do so decisively, with an approach that left their enemies absolutely shaken to the core. Victory would not come through half-measures, it had to be fast, overwhelming, and unforgettable.

To achieve this, Maximo had not ruled out the use of the Empire’s nuclear arsenal, a controversial decision, but one he believed necessary. The aim was clear, which is to strike with such devastating precision and force that the enemy would be incapable of recovery. Before their adversaries could regroup, the battle would already be won.

This philosophy of warfare drew inspiration from historical doctrines. The concept resembled the “Blitzkrieg” tactics of the German Reich during Old Earth’s wars, a strategy focused on rapid, decisive strikes at an enemy’s communication and command networks.

Chaos would ensue as fast-moving units exploited the disarray, capturing key positions and encircling enemy forces. Once supply lines and reinforcements were cut off, the enemy would be left defenseless, a siege in all but name.

However, the Austronesians had refined this doctrine further, merging it with elements of the “American military philosophy of superior firepower”. This combination, extensively studied and tailored to the needs of the Empire, resulted in a new strategy: “Shock and Awe”.

“Shock and Awe”, as defined by the Austronesian military, was a strategy of overwhelming force and dominance. By deploying massive firepower and creating a spectacle of destruction, the objective was to shatter the enemy’s perception of the battlefield and obliterate their will to resist. It was as psychological as it was physical, a display of power so immense that surrender became the only viable option.

While undeniably effective, this doctrine was a luxury reserved for nations with the resources and strength to execute it. A weaker power facing a stronger adversary would be better served by asymmetrical tactics, such as guerrilla warfare. Maximo knew this well, but he also understood that the Empire’s current strength gave them the ability to employ Shock and Awe to devastating effect.

Returning to Maximo, the People's Emperor, he finally reached the entrance to the meeting room after briskly walking through the grand halls of Malacañang.

Pausing briefly, he breathed a load of air so that he could freshen up. Straightening his posture and composing his features, he prepared to embody the dignified presence his role demanded.

As he stepped into the room, an unmistakable aura of authority radiated from him. This commanding presence, coupled with his reputation as a leader of the people, solidified his place as an irreplaceable figurehead of the Empire. It was no wonder he commanded such widespread admiration, even among those who might otherwise resent such a lofty title.

The advisors, seated at a large circular table, rose as one the moment Maximo entered. Respect and reverence were etched into their expressions. Reaching his seat, Maximo gave a subtle nod, prompting them to bow their heads and offer their greetings in unison before returning to their places.

Behind the Emperor stood two figures, distinct in their roles and attire. Each held a ceremonial scepter, a symbol of their respective faiths. These men were the last remnants of the old world's religious leadership, now serving as intermediaries in this new dimension.

The most affected one was the Roman Catholic Church, as they were effectively cut off from the Vatican and its supreme leader, the Pope.

The separation had triggered wide panic over its hierarchy such as the priests, bishops, and cardinals into chaos. But from this turmoil arose reform. Determined not to lose their roots or history, the Church restructured itself to emulate the Vatican’s governance as closely as possible.

Though they are dimensions away from their home, they are still believers of the same god, and they shall continue what their leader in the Vatican passed down to them, the centre of all Christianity. The point where it all began where the christians flourished and multiplied.

In this new world, a leader was chosen to serve as the first Pope of the dimension, a symbolic continuation of their faith and traditions. A sweeping reorganization followed, with officials reshuffled or elected anew. The resurgence of the Catholic Church was nothing short of remarkable, a testament to their resolve.

Meanwhile, Islam seized the opportunity presented by the Catholic Church’s initial disarray, gaining converts and expanding its influence. However, when Catholicism made a comeback, it quickly initiated a covert war of intrigue against the Muslims, each faith vying for dominance through subtle maneuvering and political influence.

And this was all done under the shadow, though both of them tried to influence various officials to their cause so that they would be granted more resources, nevertheless, the Emperor ignored it. As long as the government and its officials had the Empire's interest at heart, he was fine with it.

Furthermore, both religions knew if they go to war over each other, nothing good would happen. With the Emperor, the most popular figurehead in the Empire, not openly taking sides meant that if they rebelled, they would be utterly crushed. So they need to be sensitive and just gather lost sheep and preach with all their might so that their flocks may grow in numbers.

Returning to the meeting, the Emperor took his place at the table and began the discussions. True to his philosophy, he reminded the gathered advisors that under his leadership, “all voices would be heard, and all opinions considered.” His words reinforced the foundation of his rule from the unity, respect, and the unwavering pursuit of the Empire's prosperity.

————————————————————————

After finishing the meeting with his advisors, Emperor Maximo stepped out and made his way to his office as he needed a bit of rest to recharge before the next crucial meeting.

Upon entering the room, he moved to the coffee maker and prepared a steaming cup. Cradling the mug in his hands, he sank into his chair and took a sip, savoring all the pleasure of peace he could take.

The rich aroma of coffee filled the room, and for a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the silence. He knew this fragile peace was only temporary. Soon, it would shatter under the demands of strategy and war.

The upcoming meeting with the military officials was pivotal. Once their plans were finalized, all that remained was to launch the attack.

Though he fears what might happen on the lives of his citizens and for the future of the Empire, he trusted his judgment and believed this path, fraught with risk, was the only way to ensure survival in this hostile and unforgiving world.

Turning to his desk, he opened his computer and browsed through what little remained of the internet. Strictly monitored and heavily filtered by the Empire, this network was designed to protect the nation’s ideological integrity.

It had a massive filter against western propaganda and subversive content, though citizens were still granted limited freedom to browse. The Empire worked in the shadows, quietly eliminating anything deemed a threat to stability.

To Maximo, these measures, however authoritarian, were necessary for the preservation of the Empire’s foundations.

After a few minutes of scrolling, he got bored and shut the laptop, checked the time, and realized he still had a window of free moments. Picking up the remote, he switched on the television. Channel after channel, he searched for something of interest until he stumbled upon a news program run by one of the Empire’s allied broadcasters.

The broadcast offered nothing new, just the same propaganda about the Empire’s efforts to rebuild the nation and updates on world affairs. It served its purpose to maintain order and pacify the populace. Though tightly controlled, the news only censored content that could incite rebellion or dissent.

Even if it's authoritarian, these precautions were a small price to pay for unity and the continued strength of the Empire. They just removed or censored things that would cause an insurrection or rebellion against the government and its allies.

They have to stay united and dissenters would be silenced because the integrity of the nation was not just vital for the present but for future generations as well.

After drinking another cup of coffee, Maximo reached out the remote and turned off the television before standing up and walked towards the door.

He stepped outside of the door and walked with immense confidence and dignity as the next meeting would decide not just the Empire’s fate but the fate of all civilizations.

This was finally the time, the moment that all of Austronesia was waiting for, and that is to liberate humanity from its oppressors and to punish those who dared threaten its foundations. Nobody could stop them as they had the means, and they would use them to their fullest potential.

As he strode through the hallways, he met various officials on the way to which they greeted him with respectful nods. When he finally arrived at the conference room, the military officers inside rose to their feet and saluted.

"You may sit," The Emperor commanded.

The officers obeyed and took their seats around the large circular table. Each seat was meticulously assigned to representatives from operations, planning, logistics, and finance, key leaders of every military branch. Maximo moved to his chair at the head of the table and sat down, radiating authority.

Without delay, he began the meeting, thinking about the decisions made here which would shape the destiny of humanity and determine whether the Empire would rise to its rightful place or fall into the abyss.

The Emperor Maximo spoke first, "What is the status of our navy? Do we have enough supply of fuel to mobilize the entire fleet for warfare? And is the navy sufficiently crewed with sailors?" he asked, his sharp gaze shifting between the naval officers in the room.

The barrage of questions sent a ripple of unease through the admirals. Beads of sweat formed on their foreheads, but they had enough confidence to make sure that everything would work out in the end. Slowly, one of the admirals stood and began to answer the questions of the Emperor.

"Your Majesty, at present, we have managed to scrape together a total amount of 672 warships from our arsenal. Some of these vessels date back to the Third World War, meaning they are somewhat outdated and require refitting with modern technologies. However, due to a shortage of materials and resources, we have only been able to provide them with basic upgrades to ensure seaworthiness. In addition, we have approximately 6,000 utility ships in active service. Based on the factual information that I have stated, our warships should be capable of sustained operations for a while before requiring resupply from the main islands," the admiral explained.

Maximo nodded but pressed further. "Good. And the fuel? As we all know, our Empire is an archipelago of thousands of islands. Even if the ships are seaworthy, their operational range depends entirely on our fuel supply. Have we ensured adequate reserves or established sufficient production to sustain the entire fleet?" His tone was unreadable with a blank expression, but the weight of his question was palpable.

It seemed that the Emperor wasn't satisfied with the answer, which made the naval admirals sweat even more bullets, while the anticipation of waiting was suffocating the other military branches.

This is all because of the sudden change in the Emperor's demeanor. The Emperor is usually lax with this kind of thing, however, with the sudden change in demeanour and behaviour today, only means how important this conference or meeting was.

After some time of realization and thinking, another admiral cleared his throat and spoke.

"Your Majesty, our efforts to secure resources have been fruitful. After being transported to this world, we discovered vast oil fields and reserves in the surrounding oceans. We prioritized developing these resources and have since constructed numerous oil wells and refineries. These refineries have not only enabled nationwide re-electrification, providing power to our citizens, but also ensured a steady supply of fuel for the navy. Expanding these facilities has been one of our top priorities to ensure long-term sustainability," the admiral said with conviction.

The Emperor’s stern expression softened slightly, his approval evident though unspoken. He gave a small nod before continuing.

"Very well. Now, what of the manpower? Do we have the sailors needed to operate the thousands of ships currently in service and the ones still under construction?"

This time, the admiral answered without hesitation. "Your Majesty, we have more than enough manpower. Recruitment efforts have exceeded expectations. News from our intelligence units and satellite reports has inspired millions across the nation. Young and old, men and women alike, are lining up at recruitment stations, and are very eager to serve the nation. They see this as their duty, not only to defend the Empire but also to liberate humanity from oppression. They want to liberate their fellow masses."

Upon hearing the admiral's report, Emperor Maximo offered his commendation to the navy. The acknowledgment lifted the spirits of the naval officials and bolstered their confidence by the Emperor's approval. With the navy addressed, Maximo turned his attention to the next branches in line, such as the army, air force, special operations, and intelligence divisions.

"Next up, what is the status of the army?" Maximo asked.

One of the generals rose to answer. "Your Majesty, we have reactivated and repaired much of our old equipment, though some was irreparably lost during the New Year’s Tragedy. Nevertheless, every soldier is now fully equipped with uniforms, utilities, accessories, and weapons. We even have a surplus of these essentials. While the Empire’s agricultural recovery is still underway, we have adapted our rations to rely on canned seafood. Being an island nation surrounded by abundant oceans, this measure ensures the army will remain sufficiently fed for the foreseeable future."

The general paused briefly before adding, "Another good news is that thanks to the magical artifacts recovered by the Tempest Scion during their mission, we’ve begun mass-producing more Magic Rifles, MK-I Mithril Armor, and other magic equipment for the normal infantry troops. However, these advancements are not yet enough to equip even a third of our army."

Maximo’s expression hardened slightly at the limitations, but he recognized the constraints of their resources. "You’ve done well with what is available. Your efforts to equip and sustain the army are commendable. Keep up the good work. Now, let us hear from the air force."

The air force general stood, his demeanor as composed as the clear sky.

"Your Majesty, the air force is in excellent condition. We have more than enough aircraft to secure the entire Empire and even extend protection to allied airways if necessary. In addition, we maintain a surplus of military planes and jets. However, I believe the skill of the pilot outweighs the quality of the plane. A poor pilot in a superior aircraft is a liability, while an excellent pilot can make even a subpar plane effective. While the air forces of this world lack advanced technology, they remain dangerous. Nevertheless, they cannot match the numbers or sophistication of our fleet."

Maximo nodded approvingly. "I appreciate your philosophy, General. Confidence in your abilities is admirable, but remember that overconfidence can be a dangerous thing. Stay vigilant."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the general replied firmly.

"Next, the special forces," the Emperor said, shifting his gaze.

The special forces commander rose immediately. "Your Majesty, our branch is fully equipped, operational, and standing by. We are currently coordinating with the other branches to ensure rapid response when called upon."

"Good. I trust your readiness, General. Finally, we turn to intelligence," Maximo said, his voice growing sharper with anticipation.

The intelligence officer leaned forward. "Your Majesty, the Tarxan Coalition and the Iron Kingdom are on the brink of an intensified conflict. And now with the wall protecting the Iron Kingdom from the Orcs has been breached with a rat among them. This distraction presents us with a golden opportunity. With their forces occupied elsewhere, their homelands are vulnerable. The time to strike is now."

A rare smile spread across Maximo's face. He stood up, and his commanding presence filled the room.

"Congratulations, everyone. It appears we are finally prepared to take the fight to our adversaries. The time has come to liberate our kind and teach those scums who dare oppress us the meaning of liberty.”

Everyone in the conference room all nodded with the same smile on their faces.

“In the next four days, let us begin the Dawn of Liberation."

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Night soon arrived, and for most that meant turning to the comfort of their beds and venturing into the realm of sleep.

However, for one man, the night held a different meaning.

It was a call to shed his natural identity and adopt another one.

From a Special Force Operative to the most powerful human whose power was shrouded in mystery.

Under the veil of shadowy clouds and the dim glow of a waning moon, the Dark Adventurer was born.

The one known as Ghost.

Now, sitting opposite Ronald, Barron, and Mara, Riley could feel the tension oozing from their bodies that filled the room like a heavy fog, suffocating any sense of comfort.

Something was definitely wrong, and the atmosphere suffered because of it.

Their pale faces and somber expressions left no doubt about the gravity of the situation, Riley could only wonder what could be the reason, but he knew the truth would come soon enough.

"There has been… a new development, Sir Ghost," Ronald finally began with hesitation in his voice.

Riley nodded slowly and waited for an explanation.

"We received a letter very early this morning, almost immediately after you left. It was from the Triumvirate," Ronald continued, his words heavy with significance. "And it concerns the Dark Gathering."

The name sent a ripple of confusion through Riley’s thoughts as he slightly raised his brow as soon as he heard the name. He was very confused, and once again thankful that his mask prevented anyone from noticing it.

‘The Dark Gathering?’

"Hmm," he murmured, giving a vague sense of understanding, though his inner thoughts swirled with questions. 'Why aren't they elaborating? Do they expect me to piece this together without context?’

A head of sweat fell from Riley's face as he waited for Ronald to keep speaking.

There was no way he would say anything inaccurate or risk revealing his ignorance, it was on them to explain.

Ronald obliged. "As you well know, the Dark Gathering involves the Slave Union, the Obsidian Council, and the Mercenary Gang having to gather in the Great Hall at the center of Aquarius for a meeting. We are expected to attend as well."

The Great Hall. Riley had come across the name in his team’s intelligence reports. Still, he responded only with another thoughtful "Hmm," signaling for Ronald to continue.

"This year’s meeting will take place in the usual venue," Ronald went on, his voice growing quieter. "But… as you can likely sense, there’s something suspicious about this invitation."

Riley let out a soft sigh, there was no way he couldn't tell this much about the current situation.

"Indeed," he said as he leaned back slightly. "It’s most likely a trap, is it not?" he smiled as he spoke almost amusedly.

It was clear that Scyllary and her New Order were making a bold move, using the Dark Gathering as an excuse to eradicate their rivals, especially ExRump Corporation.

"My suspicion," Ronald said grimly, "is that they plan to take over my territory and the Terte properties while we’re effectively powerless to stop them."

"And eliminate all of you in the process," Riley added sharply. "Tying up loose ends."

The older man nodded at Riley's additional statement, and the expressions on both Mara and Barron's faces showed that they recognized the stakes and understood the danger very well.

Everything they had fought to build, years of work, alliances, and territory, was teetering on the edge of annihilation.

‘There’s so much I don’t understand…’ Riley’s thoughts drifted as he studied the group before him.

For days now, they had been traversing the Third Civilization Zone and secured properties belonging to the Terte House. It had been a productive venture, but Riley had taken the opportunity to investigate the Slave Warehouses along the way.

‘So far, all those warehouses have been empty, and the properties were secured without much of an issue.’

Things had gone smoothly, too smoothly. Not a single incident had occurred over the past few days, which only made Riley more suspicious.

It felt deliberate, almost as if Scyllary’s New Order was biding their time and carefully plotting their moment to strike.

‘If that’s the case, then this Dark Gathering must be their endgame.’

If his suspicions were correct, whatever they were planning was intricate and devastating. It had to be.

One of Riley’s calculated moves was sparing two Heads of Destruction to make sure that they’d return to the Mercenary Gang and report directly to Scyllary. This would make ExRump Corporation appear as an imminent threat while also forcing Scyllary to focus her resources on more immediate distractions.

‘I’m not sure how they handled the Western Warehouse matter,’ Riley mused. ‘But I assume they’ve already discovered there’s nothing left, since Price and our people transported everything to our Empire for the upcoming Liberation War.’

Everything, every action, every choice, seemed to be leading to this moment. And yet, Riley couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that there was something he was still missing.

He even still didn't understand the fundamental reason that made the Dark Gathering so threatening.

"What’s stopping you from simply refusing to go?" he finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

The room collectively tensed. Everyone already knew Scyllary and her New Order couldn’t be trusted. They were enemies in all but name, and whether the invitation was accepted or not, the outcome would likely be catastrophic.

‘So why not just ignore it and focus on preparing for their inevitable atta—’

"I can’t do that," Ronald interrupted, his voice cutting through Riley’s thoughts.

"Why not?"

"If I don’t go… we will all die."

Upon hearing the words coming from the Business Overlord’s mouth, Riley widened his eyes a little in both surprise and curiosity.

“Explain,” he said, feeling curious.

Ronald took a deep breath and began detailing the rules of the Dark Gathering. As he spoke, Riley listened carefully and pieced together the unsettling reality.

The Dark Gathering wasn’t just a meeting, it was a compulsory symposium, a binding agreement enforced by ancient laws. It required a two-thirds consensus among the Triumvirate, the Slave Union, the Mercenary Gang, and the Obsidian Council, for initiation. Furthermore, the final party had to secure at least half of its members’ agreement.

Once those conditions were met, attendance became mandatory. No exceptions. No excuses.

Failure to comply would result in the death of the head of the absent faction, and, as Ronald grimly added, their bloodline as well.

These weren’t negotiations. These were rules etched in blood.

“Hmm…” Riley exhaled slowly and leaned back in his seat as the weight of the explanation settled over him.

‘These people are seriously hardcore…’ he thought, feeling a faint unease tightening in his chest.

"Based on the rules, it’s incredibly difficult to establish a Dark Gathering, which is why it’s been years since the last one," Ronald began, his face turned grave as he explained further, especially on how the Triumvirate enforced non conformity to the rules.

"The enforcement of those rules… It's no small matter. They’re tied to Curse Magic." His voice dropped as he spoke solemnly. "There’s a specific ancient and powerful magic artifact that imposes binding vows on its targets. Breaking them results in curses, not just on the violator but on their bloodline."

The older man glanced at Barron and Mara with a concerned look.

"The curse doesn’t stop with me. If I defy the rules, these two won’t escape its punishment either."

Riley could understand things a lot better now.

‘So, he really has no choice.’ Riley’s thoughts churned as he considered the implications. He knew his magic abilities were strong and powerful, but curse magic was a realm far removed from conventional mana.

‘I’ve heard that curses operate on an entirely different wavelength. Even with my God-tier mana senses capable of detecting magicules at a molecular level, I can’t see any trace of a curse on them.’

Still, Ronald’s conviction was enough to convince him.

‘If he’s this sure, then it must be true.’ Riley shrugged internally.

"It seems we’ll need to adjust our plans. How long do we have before the Dark Gathering?" Riley asked calmly.

"Four days."

‘Four days?’ Riley mused, his thoughts quickening. ‘That’s not much time at all. Clearly, Scyllary doesn’t want to give us any chance to prepare.’

"Based on what you’ve told me, it’s safe to assume that Scyllary and the Mercenary Gang were the ones who unanimously pushed for this Dark Gathering. Correct?"

"Yes, that’s correct," Ronald responded to the question almost immediately.

"And that means they need at least half of the Obsidian Council to agree with the proposal as well, right?"

"Indeed," Ronald confirmed.

Riley felt a smile tugging on his lips as he considered a somewhat malevolent proposal.

"What if I eliminate one or two Obsidian Councilors? Without their votes, the gathering won’t proceed, correct?"

He could see surprised expressions on the faces of the audience, but Riley didn't let that deter his line of logic.

‘If we remove two councilors on their side, the balance would shift. They’d only have one vote, and with two on our side, we could easily veto the proposal.’

"Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way," Ronald sighed, cutting through Riley’s train of thought.

"Why not?"

Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, Riley couldn’t help but feel a sting of irritation at his own misunderstanding. But he didn’t let it show.

"The Dark Gathering has already been initiated. Once it’s in motion, there’s no stopping it," Ronald explained. "And Mara… she hasn’t been formally recognized as a Head yet. She’s only a provisional leader. She’ll need to attend the gathering to receive the Obsidian Council’s approval."

Once Ronald was done explaining, Riley realized just how cornered the ExRump Corporation really was.

‘So, they really are backed into a corner. Even if I tried controlling Fernand to disrupt the Mercenary Gang’s unanimity, it wouldn’t matter. The meeting is inevitable.’

It was all too late.

‘Besides, I'm sure the Mercenary Gang would probably cut ties with Fernand, and his life, if he dared go against the majority’s will.’

Riley remembered how Polymorphous had died simply for spilling minor information.

‘It must also be tied to the Curse Magic. If I can figure out its mechanics and gain access to it, perhaps even control it, that could change everything.’

For now, however, there was a situation that required his attention.

‘How do we handle this Dark Gathering?’

If attending was inevitable, despite the obvious trap it presented, then there was only one course of action.

“I suppose we have no choice but to attend the Dark Gathering,” Riley said aloud, breaking the tense silence.

The expression on Ronald's face soured as he nodded with a heavy sigh.

"Indeed."

The hopeless expressions on the faces of Ronald, Barron, and Mara only amused Riley. Sitting back, he observed them with a growing sense of control, and a sly grin spreading across his face.

“It’s the perfect stage to finish everything, don’t you think?”

His words sent shock rippling through the room. All eyes snapped to him, filled with confusion and disbelief.

“Everyone will be there. All the key players,” Riley continued with a coldly calculating tone. If the same binding rules applied to the others, then all the heads of the factions would be present at the Dark Gathering.

“It’ll be the perfect moment to take them down.”

His confidence left little room for doubt, and the others could only watch in stunned silence. To Riley, this setup wasn’t just a trap, it was an opportunity.

‘This might be a checkmate for the ExRump Corporation,’ he thought, but he realized something which was more than enough to make Riley leak out a crooked smile. ‘But there’s one flaw in their plan.’

His mind spun through the implications, considering the multiple factions converging on Aquarius.

One of those factions was the Austronesia Empire itself.

From what High Command back on the Empire told Riley and his team about the upcoming Liberation War, they planned on launching a large-scale invasion on the surrounding kingdoms with millions of troops and thousands of warships, a portion of which were headed straight for Aquarius.

The date of the invasion coincided perfectly with the day of the Dark Gathering.

‘What a coincidence.’

And that wasn’t the end of it. Reports confirmed that the Iron Kingdom was mobilizing half of its military forces for an all-out invasion of the Third Civilization Zone, Aquarius included.

As if things couldn’t escalate further, the Tarxan Coalition, alerted by their spies, was sending its entire army to defend against the Iron Kingdom’s assault.

And then there were the Orcs. A vast fleet of them was already heading to Aquarius, expected to arrive in four days.

Humans. Elves. Dwarves. Orcs.

Every race would gather on Aquarius, the heart of the Third Civilization Zone, turning it into a battleground for an unprecedented all-out war.

‘This is going to be utter chaos.’ Riley’s pulse quickened at the thought, feeling his nerves buzzed, not with fear but with exhilaration. ‘This is getting exciting!’

He knew that if all factions clashed as expected, Scyllary’s plan for dominance wouldn't crumble if literally whole factions from the entire Third Civilization Zone wouldn't gather and turn this very city into a complete warzone.

But aside from the upcoming all-out war, Riley also recognized the greatest advantage that the ExRump Corporation had at their disposal.

Himself.

“I’ll attend the Dark Gathering with you,” Riley declared, standing and extending his hands as if welcoming the weight of destiny.

His crimson eyes glowed like embers in the darkness of his mask, radiating an intimidating aura.

“I’ll handle things behind the scenes. All you need to do is follow my lead.”

Ronald nodded, the hopelessness on his face replaced by a flicker of hope. Barron and Mara followed suit with resolute expressions in their faces.

They all knew what was good for them.

The Rump and Terte Houses’ only chance of survival rested in the hands of Riley.

He wasn’t just a Special Forces operative or an enigmatic figure.

He was the Dark Horse of this chaotic world.

[Volume 2 Ended]

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A/n: I hope you had fun reading this. This will be the last chapter of Volume 2. The next volume [Dawn of Liberation] will soon begin!

Tell me, what are your thoughts about this chapter? The battle in the previous one? And the whole volume entirely?