A/n: Sorry for the long delay, fellas. Just finished my Final Exams in Calculus yesterday, and I am confident that I might get a very high score!

And later that evening until midnight, I just got another hours of long sex with my friend again for the third time this week :P

Anyways, enjoy the chapter!

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Kingdom Of High Tarxa, New Tarxa, High Elven Ville, Outskirts, Inside A Room.

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

Dark times were ahead over the Tarxans, and their treatment of the inferiors grew increasingly worse and cruel with each passing day. The string of defeats they suffered at the hands of their adversaries, an enemy known only as the Iron Kingdom, fueled their bitterness.

But despite the mounting failures, King Acheron has not publicly declared their humiliating defeat as he remained silent and refused to acknowledge these humiliations.

Without official word from their king, the Tarxan elite relied on underground vigilantes and shadowy syndicates for scraps of intelligence.

Suffering such hardships, the lives of the inferiors spiraled deeper into misery. They held to the faint hope of salvation, a hope sparked months ago when foreign men, cloaked in strange garments, had delivered a mysterious black box.

But days had turned into weeks, and weeks into months, with no further word. Doubts crept into the hearts of the desperate, had they been abandoned? Or worse, had their unlikely saviors been captured?

Nevertheless, they are rapidly losing hope of any liberation. Such hopes of things getting better have been becoming more and more blurry lately.

Some whispered that the transmissions had been nothing more than a cruel trick played by some superior-class organization, mocking their desperation. Others began to question if liberation had ever been possible, or if the messages were merely a mirage, designed to manipulate and humiliate them.

It all began with that man with an attire unlike anything they'd seen. His clothes, woven from strange, muted fabrics, blended seamlessly into the environment, making him nearly invisible to all but the most watchful eyes.

In a world where bright, flamboyant attire was worn as a mark of honor in battle, this man's garb seemed alien, even dishonorable. But over time, the inferiors came to understand its purpose that these clothes were not meant for pride, but for survival and for silent calculated kills.

However, things were going to change soon enough.

On a far side of the outskirts of the High Elven Ville, there was a desolate village of inferiors who had reached their breaking point. Poverty was at its highest and many were dropping like flies on the streets.

Starvation ravaged their bodies, exhaustion dulled their minds, and despair had extinguished the last flicker of their will to fight.

At this point in time, they no longer dreamed of freedom or salvation, they merely awaited death, imagining the black crows hovering around them, pecking their eyeballs and eventually their entire body. At least their flesh would serve some purpose, feeding the animals of this bleak world.

But just as the silence of death seemed certain, a sudden, jarring noise echoed across the village.

"Hello..."

The sound was clear and resonant, spoken in their own tongue.

Startled, the inferiors woke up and scrambled to locate the source of the voice.

When they found it, there it was. Their eyes fell on the black box, the device those strange men had given them. Once dormant and lifeless, it now lit up and broadcast a series of messages one after another.

--The Transmitted Message--

"Workers, Slaves, Inferiors or whatever my fellow kind are called in this world. I am Emperor Juan Delroy Maximo of the Austronesian People's Empire! I am broadcasting this message to my fellow kind. The people in my nation are all humans! Everyone of the citizens of this Empire has equal privilege and rights. I sincerely believed that all of humankind deserve such things, and so to bring justice to those who oppress us, I Emperor Juan Delroy Maximo, the First Emperor of the Austronesian People's Empire, hereby declare a war of National Liberation towards our fellow humankind who dares to oppress them! We will seek justice for all the suffering that our fellow kind have all suffered!

I am also hereby declaring, the creation of the Internationale Avant-Garde, we shall be the vanguards and the First Light of a New Age, a new age where everyone will be treated equally regardless of status or whatever class that exists, may you be either the two official genders such as woman or man, you'll get the same treatment as everyone else!

Justice, freedom and equality reign above all else!

May The Light Of The Internationale Guide Us! We Are Coming!"

--Transmission Ended--

Hearts were beating fast as the dawn of realisation came over them. Those who had given up themselves to despair rose once more with tears streaming down from their eyes.

The message was impossible to ignore, somewhere out in the world, there were others like them, a hidden group of their kin who had declared a war of National Liberation, meaning that they have the means to fight those magical superior scums.

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. If this group had the means to fight back against the superiors, what did that mean for those left behind? What were they supposed to do now?

The name "Austronesians" carried with it equal parts promise and danger. If the inferiors had learned of them, then surely the superiors would soon find out as well. Wouldn't their very knowledge of this group put them at greater risk? And could they truly trust the Austronesians? Were they sincere, or could this all be an elaborate ruse designed to further demoralize them?

No, that couldn't be it. No one would go to such lengths to mock them. The effort it took to send this message, to communicate in such a way, suggested something genuine. It might be worth the risk to believe in their words, to hope for a future beyond their current misery.

But what exactly were they supposed to do? Was the message telling them to hide and wait for rescue? That seemed too passive, too simplistic. Surely it had to mean something more profound, something that required their participation in the greater fight.

As the inferiors wrestled with their doubts and questions, the black box hummed to life once again. A new message began to play, and with it, the answers they so desperately found.

--Music Started--

A Song for the Workers

Let Man toil to win his living.

Work is not a task to spurn;

Poor is the gold of others' giving.

To the silver that we earn.

Let Man proudly take his station

At the smithy, loom, or plough;

The richest crown-pearls in a nation

Hang from Labour's reeking brow.

Though her hand grows hard with duty,

Filling up the common Fate;

Let fair Woman's cheek of beauty

Never blush to own its state.

Let fond Woman's heart of feeling

Never be ashamed to spread

Industry and honest dealing,

As a barter for her bread.

Work on bravely, GOD's own daughters!

Work on stanchly, GOD's own sons!

But when Life has too rough waters,

Truth must fire her minute guns.

Shall ye be unceasing drudges?

Shall the cry upon your lips

Never make your selfish judges

Less severe with Despot-whips?

Shall the mercy that we cherish,

As old England's prime boost.

See no slaves but those who perish

On a far and foreign coast?

When we reckon hives of money,

Owned by Luxury and Ease.

Is it just to grasp the honey

While Oppression chokes the bees?

Is it just the poor and lowly

Should be held as soulless things?

Have they not a claim as holy

As rich men, to angels' wings?

Shall we burn Boyhood's muscle?

Shall we bar the brain from thinking

Shall the young Girl mope and lean,

Till we hear the dead leaves rustle

On a tree that should be green?

Of aught other than work and woe?

Shall we keep parched lips from drinking

Where refreshing waters flow?

Shall all Spirit-light be treason

To the mighty King of Wealth?

Shall we stint with niggard measure,

Human joy, and human rest?

Leave no profit-give no pleasure,

To the toiler's human breast?

Shall we strive to shut out Reason.

Knowledge, Liberty, and Health?

Shall our Men, fatigued to loathing.

Plod on sickly, worn, and bowed?

Shall our Maidens sew fine clothing,

Dreaming of their own, white shroud?

No! for Right is up and asking

Loudly for a juster lot;

And Commerce must not let her tasking

Form a nation's canker spot.

Work on bravely, GOD's own daughters!

Work on stanchly, GOD's own sons!

But till ye have smoother waters,

Let Truth fire her minute guns!

Song Of The United Front

And because a man is human

He'll want to eat, and thanks a lot

But talk can't take the place of meat

or fill an empty pot.

So left, two, three!

So left, two, three!

Comrade, there's a place for you.

Take your stand in the workers united front

For you are a worker too.

And because a man is human

he won't care for a kick in the face.

He doesn't want slaves under him

Or above him a ruling class.

So left, two, three!

So left, two, three!

Comrade, there's a place for you.

Take your stand in the workers united front

For you are a worker too.

And because a worker's a worker

No one else will bring him liberty.

It's nobody's work but the worker' own

To set the worker free.

So left, two, three!

So left, two, three!

Comrade, there's a place for you.

Take your stand in the workers united front

For you are a worker too.

Song Of The Internationale

'Tis the final conflict,

Let us unite tomorrow.

The International

Will be the human race

Arise, the damned of the earth!

Arise, prisoners of hunger!

Reason thunders in its crater.

'Tis the eruption of the end.

Let's make a clean slate of the past,

Enslaved mass, arise, arise!

The world's foundation will change,

We are nothing, now let's be all!

There are no supreme saviors,

Neither God, nor Caesar nor tribune;

Producers, let us save ourselves,

We decree common salvation!

So that the thief should offer us his throat

So that spirit be wrested from its cell,

Let us fan the forge's flames ourselves

And strike while the iron is hot.

The state represses, the law cheats,

Taxes bleed the poor;

No duties are imposed on the rich,

The rights of the poor are empty words,

We have languished long enough under domination,

Equality wants other laws:

"No rights without duties," it says

"Equals, there are no duties without rights."

Hideous in their apotheosis,

The kings of mines and rails,

Have they ever done aught

But robbed from labor?

In the safes of that gang

What is created is smelted,

By decreeing that they turn it over

The people only want what is their due.

Kings intoxicated us with smoke.

Peace among us, war on tyrants!

Let's apply the strike to armies,

Rifle butts raised on high and breaking ranks.

And if they insist, those cannibals,

On making heroes of us,

They'll soon learn that our bullets

Are for our own generals.

Workers, farmers, we are

The great party of the workers,

The earth belongs only to men,

Idlers can go someplace else.

How many of our flesh eat their fill?

The sun would shine still!

But if the ravens, the vultures

One morning disappeared

'Tis the final conflict

Let us unite and tomorrow,

The International

Will be the human race

--Music Ended-

What a profound song, they thought. Could they, the inferiors, truly rise against the superiors who wielded unimaginable power and attain their freedom? At first, the question seemed absurd, but then the answer came, burning bright in their minds.

"Yes, they can."

No matter how weak they were deemed, they possessed a weapon no superior could take from them, the power of the mind. The time for mere survival was over. The days of scraping by and cowering in fear were gone. This time, they would resist.

They would no longer see themselves as inferior beings. That backward mentality, the internalized chains of oppression, was shattered. The dawn of progress had arrived, and with it, a clarity that had eluded them for generations. The light of reason had pierced through their despair and shined a path forward upon them.

The village buzzed with an energy it hadn't seen in years. Men and women of all ages moved purposefully, where once they had trudged aimlessly. This was no fleeting optimism, it was as if something had hit their heads and forcibly changed their way of thinking.

It felt addictive, this sensation, this "hope". And they craved more. For the first time, they had been offered genuine hope, not the cruel mirage of salvation they had once suspected the black box to be. What they had dismissed as a cruel joke, a sadistic trick to deepen their misery, had instead brought them the voice of reason.

The Austronesians and their Emperor had awakened something long dormant within them: a reason to live, to fight, to dream. And now that they had it, they would take it with both hands. If the superiors had ruled them through fear, then it was time to repay that cruelty in kind. They would fight back, even if it meant striking them in cold-blood.

Little by little, each man and woman of all kinds of ages were raising the edge of their mouth as the sun was now on the opposite side of them which blurs their faces. They now started making plans and plans they did, taking shape in whispered words and determined nods.

They would not wait idly for liberation to come. No, they would act. They would take matters into their own hands, laying the groundwork for the day they would finally be free.

What were they thinking, these once-broken people? Only this is that the world of the Third Civilization Zone would tremble.

Its very foundations would shake beneath the weight of their rising rebellion.

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Kingdom Of High Tarxa, New Tarxa, High Elven Ville, Outskirts, Inside A Room.

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

Men and women all gathered inside a single house. From the outside, it appeared to be a meeting, but a closer look revealed heated arguments breaking out among them. Despite the tension, there was no denying the purpose of the gathering, it was, indeed, a council of sorts.

These people were inferiors, bound by a shared struggle against a society that had deemed them worthless. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the embers of their extinguished hopes in their hearts burned brightly once more.

The message from the mysterious "First Austronesian Emperor," delivered through the black box, had sparked something new within them, a fierce determination to resist their oppressors.

Once scorned for their lack of mana or magical affinity, they now found themselves united by a single goal, which is to fight back.

Inside the house, plans were furiously debated from strategies for how best to strike at the superiors who had kept them in chains for so long. The black box, still transmitting the Emperor's message on repeat, filled the air with inspiring words and music. For these newly emboldened inferiors, the songs felt like a lifeline, a connection to something greater than themselves. It inspired not just hope, but unity.

Eventually, the arguments began to die down, and the room grew quiet. The men and women, ranging from the young to the elderly, took their seats. A man stood at the front with the presence that commanded attention. Upon presenting himself, the surrounding people nodded, not quite what he expected, nevertheless, he presented his plan.

"I believe that as a manaless people, we must recognize our limitations," he began. "We cannot defeat the superiors head-on. If we want to survive and help the Austronesian Army achieve victory, we must focus on covert tactics. Preservation of our lives is essential, not just for us, but for the liberation effort as a whole."

Nods of agreement rippled through the crowd, but not everyone was convinced. Murmurs spread as one man raised his hand and stood.

"If I may."

The man in front looked quite perplexed by the sudden question. After all, with all the nodding and talking a while ago, it seemed like his plan was absolutely perfect.

"I think you're mistaken. While I respect the Austronesians and their efforts, I believe we should take an offensive approach. By showing our support through action by striking at the superiors, we prove our worth. We demonstrate that we are willing to fight for our liberation, not just hide and wait for someone else to save us. And when the dust settles, wouldn't that make us more likely to take a leading role in the new government, instead of being pawns in someone else's game?"

The first man's face darkened with anger. "Lusting for power already? We haven't even achieved freedom, and you're worried about who will rule after the superiors are gone? The Austronesians came to save us. How can we help them if we throw away our lives in a reckless offensive? If we die now, what's the point of their efforts? We must survive, for our families, for ourselves, and for them."

The debate grew more heated as others chimed in, some agreeing with the first man's cautious approach, others siding with the boldness of the second.

"Just think about it!" the second man pressed as he raise his voice. "What if the government that replaces the superiors is just as corrupt? If we don't secure power for ourselves, we risk trading one master for another. Would that truly be freedom?"

As of now, the debate was getting more and more heated, until the argument reached a breaking point. The once-unified group fractured and divided into two camps.

"Those in favor of the offensive doctrine, gather here!" someone called out.

A majority of the villagers moved to one side, then finally came the time for the other side.

"And those in favor of covert operations, gather over here!"

Only a measly amount of people crossed to the side of the covert operations. After it was decided the group then splitted up, and those who are in favor of covert operations have now begrudgingly moved out of the village.

The divide was more than ideological, it became personal. The offensive faction began to view the covert group as cowards, even traitors. Tensions escalated until the covert group had no choice but to leave the village entirely.

As they departed, they carried their bitterness with them, but also their purpose. They refused to align with those who are only lusting power for themselves, believing that the true fight lay not in reckless bloodshed but in the preservation of lives and the eventual victory of freedom.

The village was left divided, and with it, the seeds of conflict spread. Whether their world would rise or fall in the coming storm, one thing was certain is that the Third Civilization Zone would never be the same.

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After winning the battle for control of the majority of the people, the other man wasted no time rallying his followers to prepare for battle against the enemy. With limited resources, they armed themselves with whatever they could find from sharpened sticks, bolos, to rudimentary bows became their primary weapons.

For secondary arms, they carried crude kitchen knives, their blades barely suitable for combat but a testament to their determination. To symbolize their unity and cause, they tied strips of red cloth to the tips of sharpened sticks, creating makeshift banners to unite them under a single defiant identity.

Realizing the village's proximity to the enemy capital, High Elven Ville, made it a dangerous position for a command center, the group decided to abandon it.

Carrying their meager weapons and newfound resolve, they began their march, determined to find a safer location from which to launch their rebellion.

What was once a united faction had splintered into two, torn apart by infighting. Now, both sides raced in a journey to gather more people's support for their cause.

Whoever will win would determine the fate of the Kingdom of High Tarxa, the closest nation to the conflict's heart. As such, it would bear the brunt of the National Liberation War's opening months, witnessing the fiercest fighting.

These two emerging factions were driven by conflicting ideologies, and their differences were too deep to coexist for long. As their influence grew, so too did the inevitability of friction, and an explosive confrontation between them would surely happen, threatening to escalate into an even greater fallout.

This was not only happening in the High Tarxa alone. Across neighboring nations visited by the Special Operations Soldiers, similar unrest brewed. Armies and organizations were quietly forming throughout the Third Civilization Zone. But the full scale of this rising storm remained hidden from the nations at large.

But the truth would soon break through, with all the intensity and spectacle the Austronesians were known for.

Now, everyone was on the move.

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Kingdom Of High Tarxa, New Tarxa, High Elven Ville, Outskirts, Inside A Forest

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

The group that followed the man advocating for an aggressive stance against their adversaries marched tirelessly for an entire day before setting up camp deep within the forest, near the city of High Elven Ville.

They endured the harsh conditions of the wilderness, refraining from even lighting a fire for fear of being spotted by dangerous magic beasts or the enemy's far-reaching senses. Cloaked in darkness and plagued by crawling insects, they braved the night with unyielding resolve.

Their leader, Epikrates, was a staunch proponent of an offensive doctrine, choosing the path of bloodshed to achieve his goals. In contrast, Themistius, leader of a rival faction, advocated for stealth and covert operations that value safety over direct confrontation.

These factions were among the first of many to formed within the Third Civilization Zone, each driven by conflicting ideologies. Together with the Austronesian People's Empire, they would unleash chaos across the region, spreading their influence and cults of personality.

Late into the night, a group of men were moving towards Epikrates' camp with baggy eyes on their faces. To the people outside, it as if they hadn't rested for days. Not only that, they were also walking sluggishly, like a bunch of drunkards.

However, behind those baggy eyes and sluggish walking was a persistent mentality.

Because of the fact that they could have been travelling for a long time from a while ago. They didn't stop until they reached Epikrates and when they finally did, they finally let go as if everything was let off their shoulders.

After catching their own faltering breaths, one of them spoke, which wake their leader from his slumber.

"Leader, we've scouted the surrounding area and discovered a group of enemy soldiers camping a few kilometers from here. Thankfully, they didn't spot us, and it seems they lack sensory magic users. After observing them for a while, we retreated to report. What are your orders?"

Epikrates, having been half asleep, demanded the men repeat their findings to confirm their authenticity. Knowing the dangers of magical deception, he had established a secret code to verify his men's identities.

After the men repeated the information that they had gathered by enduring the hardships of non-stop on the move, a sharp smile crossed his face as an idea was formed in his mind

"I believe we should strike now, while they're asleep," Epikrates began. "You know these superior scums never bother posting guards as they are convinced of their invincibility, so I suggest that we should move in and kill them. A small skilled group can slip in and eliminate them. Who will follow me?"

The surrounding men hesitated for a moment, but one stepped forward. "Epikrates, we've hunted together many times, and you've always been the one to track and bring down the prey. We trust you. You've helped our village in ways no one else has, even when it wasn't your duty. We knew this path would be bloody, but we're ready to avenge for the people we have lost along the way, not until those weird men calling themselves the "Austronesians" came to send us a message that help is on the way."

Others voiced their agreement, inspired by the shared grief and their leader's resolve.

"Alright, thank you very much with such kind words, so please spread the word around to gather some volunteers," Epikrates commanded, "This will be our first offensive against the enemy."

Although the men were tired, the men roused themselves and followed through with their commander's wishes before forcibly standing up to recruit others.

After waiting for a while, a group of determined villagers stood before Epikrates. He reiterated the risks of his plan and emphasized the high stakes but also the potential rewards. When asked if they were prepared to follow him, every one of them agreed.

Epikrates was very thankful that they are willing to go and show those superior scums who's the boss.

"Gather your weapons and prepare yourselves. This mission is dangerous, but if we succeed, we'll show these superior scums that they're not untouchable. If we don't return by sunrise or noon, you must abandon this camp immediately."

Upon receiving the instructions on what they were going to do and what they are not supposed to do, they all then started packing up and brought their weapons, meanwhile they promised they would come back victorious to the people that are going to be left behind. However, if they aren't back by sunrise or noon, then they recommend they should leave as soon as possible, as they are most likely dead by then.

After bidding farewell to those staying behind, the small band set off into the dense forest with weapons in hand and determination in their hearts, ready to carve their names into the annals of rebellion.

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After a few hours of walking. Epikrates and his group finally arrived the outskirts of the enemy camp. The glow of campfires illuminated the area, casting long shadows and heightening the risk of detection. Despite the danger, they did not falter and proceeded to move with the utmost caution.

Their first task was to scout the perimeter to make that there were no traps or hidden sentries. Finding none, they moved closer while observing the camp from the shadows. To their relief, the enemy appeared to be fast asleep, appearing that their arrogance leaving them vulnerable. With the plan set in motion, the group moved into position, each person assigned to silently eliminate a target.

Beforehand, they had a plan and so using it was a must. The plan was that they all have designated positions and they would slice or stab the superior scums when they are all at their own position.

Nothing could go astray as they would need it to be perfect, however fate wasn't on their side, as one man, due to panic, immediately stabbed the superior that he was supposed to kill with all his might.

To add even more salt to the wound, the stab was very shallow despite using all his human strength to stab, therefore it only drew a startled gasp from his target and the elf screamed at the top of his lugs which shattered the quiet night, jolting the camp awake.

Chaos erupted as the rest of the group, consumed by fear and desperation, stabbed their targets that they were supposed to kill. But just like the first elf, most of their wounds were shallow and not enough to kill them.

One managed to cry out, "Fucking inferior Monkeighs!" before attempting to cast a spell.

Panic spread through Epikrates' group like wildfire. Seeing the elves begin their chants, they attacked blindly and wildly stabbed their blades into their flesh to whatever part they could stab in a desperate bid to silence the enemy before their magic could take form.

Blood splattered across the ground, staining the camp in a deep crimson hue as the air was filled with the guttural sounds of stabbing and the dying screams of the elves as they attempted to cast their magic.

It was unfortunate that if they only had someone who could cast Chantless magic along with them, then it would be much easier.

The battle was brutal and disorganized, but after minutes that felt like hours, it was over. The once-pristine camp lay in ruins, littered with the deformed bodies of the elves. Epikrates stood among the carnage, heaving his chest as he surveyed their work.

Then, a wicked grin spread across his face.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" he laughed. "We won! We've shown those superior bastards they're not invincible!"

The others joined in, letting out war cries of victory mixing with nervous exhilaration. Many were drenched in blood, and they would need to clean themselves soon to avoid infection, though none seemed aware of the danger. For now, they basked in their hard-earned victory.

The weaknesses of their enemies were now showing as they believed. The elves' reliance on chanting to cast magic left them vulnerable and provided critical openings for an aggressive strike.

Furthermore, their bodies are weak and had to rely on physical enhancement magic was another flaw and despite their airs of superiority, they were no match for the raw strength of the average men and women that has been working their ass would easily overpower their superiors.

But this victory came with a warning. The elves' reliance on chant-based magic was just the surface. There were deeper, more dangerous secrets hidden from the eyes of the inferiors.

For now, though, Epikrates and his group celebrated, unaware of the challenges yet to come.