Chapter 173 - Battle for the Holy Land (3)

'How can this be so unfair...?'

Perhaps this was the burden a parent had to bear. If your children turned out well, they deserved the credit. If they turned out badly, their parents deserved the blame.

Ah, Raviel. Perhaps we, too, should refrain from having children. I don't think I could bear it. Imagine a child who looks just like you saying, "Dad, fuck!"...

Huh?

'That might be cute in its own way.'

"You crazy bastard... You're not just blinded by love. Your fucking brain's been blinded by it..."

'Open race status.'

Imagining that happy future, I examined the newly evolved Earth Spiritfolk's status.

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[Earth Spiritfolk]

Extinction Grade: C (Danger Level: Safe)

Maxim: 'We are fire.'

Political System: Republic

Description: How on earth did this happen? The Earth Spiritfolk have undergone an astonishing evolution. They have established a highly unusual civilization: an [Aura Civilization]!

To the Earth Spiritfolk, an adult is none other than [one who can use aura]. Politicians use aura, artists use aura, warriors use aura. In every profession, advancement depends on whether one can use aura.

Once an Earth Spiritfolk masters aura, they join the council beginning with the very next full moon. The Fire River Council is a body in which every adult Earth Spiritfolk participates, and all matters concerning the race, great and small, are decided here. An Earth Spiritfolk who uses aura is an [adult], a [citizen], and a [council member].

Rank within the council is determined by proficiency in aura. The highest-ranked member—in other words, the Earth Spiritfolk most skilled at wielding aura—serves as chair.

'Fucking gor.'

In short, the strongest person is the race's boss!

On nights when the full moon is deep in the sky and silence envelops their surroundings, the Earth Spiritfolk gather. When their hideous faces and wicked buckteeth are buried in darkness, it is time for their council meeting. Intoxicated by the cool night air, the Earth Spiritfolk solemnly discuss their race's destiny.

"Chair, no matter how I think about it, I don't think that's the right solution."

"Got a problem?"

"I do."

"Then come at me."

"I will."

Despite gathering every citizen to decide its agenda, the Fire River Council boasts astonishing efficiency and speed. This feat is possible because its chair is the race's strongest warrior.

It is hard to believe such a boneheaded warrior race exists.

If someone brought this race into being, perhaps they ought to spend a little time reflecting on their actions!

Traits: [Republican Tradition], [Doctrine of the Bad Friend], [The Fucking Aura Instruction Method], [Cavefire], [Legacy of Records], [Will to Win]

Evolved Form: Unknown. A total of 1 evolution remains.

Aliases: Hobgoblin, etc.

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Hmm.

Hmmm.

Right.

I beamed inwardly.

'Wow, the goblins evolved into hobgoblins! Great! Awesome!'

"Zombie, is that all you have to say?"

'Damn it, how did this happen...?'

I clutched my head.

'I really only helped them preserve [Cavefire] and, while I was at it, steer [Supreme Greed] in a slightly more positive direction!'

"Guess that positive direction came full circle and turned them into fucking lunatics."

'N-no. There was nothing wrong with my teaching methods. Now that I think about it, doesn't this mean at least several hundred of them can use aura? Maybe even thousands. Isn't that awesome? It is. This may be an unexpected miscalculation, but it's a happy one. That's me for you.'

"This bastard... The parent who failed at raising his kids has now reached the self-justification stage..."

I examined the Earth Spiritfolk's traits. Six hundred years was a long time. They had acquired additional traits that hadn't existed before.

[Republican Tradition], for instance.

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[Republican Tradition]

Category: Politics

Origin: [Cavefire]

Description: The Earth Spiritfolk have established a republic. This republic originated in their distinctive [funerals]!

When a member of their kin died, the Earth Spiritfolk gathered in an underground cave and held an assembly. The cave was so dark that it concealed each individual's appearance. Although they were merely holding funerals away from the Mountain Snailfolk's oppression and surveillance, they inadvertently experienced a [veil of ignorance].

In the darkness,

The Earth Spiritfolk discussed freely.

"How did this person die?"

History.

"Did this person lead a righteous life?"

Judgment.

"How should we respond to this death?"

Ethics.

"Is Kekereukker a lion bastard or a son of a bitch?"

Philosophy.

As time passed, the Earth Spiritfolk began discussing not only the dead, but the living as well. After escaping the underground caves, they held assemblies whenever the dark moon set. Naturally, matters agreed upon there came to be regarded as the collective will of the Earth Spiritfolk, and the assembly became a council.

Unlike other councils, eloquence is not important here.

"Ugor. What a pity. There seems to be a considerable difference in our perspectives."

"Crush one person's eyes, and that difference in perspective will disappear."

"An excellent solution."

The strong survive!

In a sense, the Earth Spiritfolk's council is still a funeral hall!

※ However, this trait may change as history unfolds.

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"..."

They had mixed.

Some extremely incongruous things had... mixed together.

'The strong survive, but it's not a dictatorship. They have a council, but rank is determined by strength rather than eloquence. What is this? Something, something is wrong...'

"Isn't this all the result of your teaching?"

The attendant spirit clicked his tongue.

"Your foreign policy boils down to [talk first, then use your fists]. Or [we'll talk, but I'll use my fists anyway]. Fits perfectly. They're the spitting image of Kim Zombie."

'Is this... my true self...?'

"Yep. Parents learn who they really are by raising their children."

Shocking.

Apparently, I was more of a reckless thug than I'd thought.

"Hmm. As one would expect of the Death King's race, they're excellent fighters."

The Sword Star looked out across the plain.

"This is already the third duel, yet the Earth Spiritfolk have won them all without even changing champions. The gap in martial skill doesn't seem particularly large, but their proficiency in aura seems quite different."

As the Sword Star said, the duels were continuing. Both the coalition and the Mountain Snailfolk sent out champions in turn. Yet every time a duel took place, an Earth Spiritfolk warrior emerged victorious.

The Black Dragon leader murmured,

"You're right. I underestimated them because they were goblins. Despite their appearance, the way they use aura is elegant."

"Ahem."

"... Death King, why are you suddenly shimmying your shoulders? Stop it, please. It's unpleasant to watch. As the person responsible for your fashion, I find it rather despair-inducing."

"The kids are doing so well, I can't help puffing up with pride. Speaking of fashion, Black Dragon leader, why do I have to wear an outfit with all this black leather strapped around me? How do I put it? It's a little wannabe-edgelord, isn't it? I looked online, and people are really divided about my fashion..."

"It's fine. Leather suits you."

"This isn't just your personal taste, is it?"

"Of course not."

The Black Dragon leader spoke calmly, feigning ignorance.

"I merely put together an outfit that objectively suits you. No ulterior motives whatsoever."

My suspicions deepened, and the night deepened with them.

"Those fucking Mold bastards!"

The coalition's leaders ground their teeth. They shuddered with humiliation. They had sent out champions all night long, yet their record was abysmal.

"For every four of ours who die, only one Earth Spiritfolk dies."

The bloodsucking aristocrat lamented,

"They must have handpicked elite soldiers for their vanguard... Even so, that ratio is alarming."

The leaders of the multiracial coalition seethed.

"The Mountain Snailfolk are in much the same position. Damn it. They've planted themselves right in the middle of the battlefield..."

"Do you intend to keep playing along with the Mold's tricks? We're fighting a holy war! We're carrying out the gods' will! We must ignore the Mold and throw our entire army into an all-out assault!"

"So you propose declaring war on the Earth Spiritfolk? Foolish."

"What? Foolish?"

"Charging in on emotion will only benefit the Mountain Snailfolk. Didn't the Mold tell us? They're merely the vanguard. The Earth Spiritfolk's great king, their council chair, is bringing the main force. According to legend, their great king is a monster who can single-handedly dam waterways and bend flames to his will. If they attack us, we'll have no answer."

The bloodsucking aristocrat smacked his lips bitterly.

"Mountain Snailfolk before us, Earth Spiritfolk behind us... We'd be annihilated. The one consolation is that the Mountain Snailfolk are probably making the same calculations. It's a stalemate."

"Hah. Then what do you suggest we do?"

The Demonfolk commander hissed through clenched teeth. The Demonfolk had suffered oppression under the Mountain Snailfolk longer than any other race. Their hatred ran correspondingly deep.

"We've driven Slimepolis to the brink of falling, and you want to give up now? What about the expense of this expedition? Are we to return home saying we accomplished nothing? Ridiculous. What will you tell the soldiers who served loyally unto death and the people who devoted their lives to supporting us? And you call yourselves generals!"

"..."

The commanders fell silent.

The duels continued the next day, and the day after that. Occasionally, an Earth Spiritfolk warrior lost their head, but three times as many coalition and Mountain Snailfolk bodies were cleaved apart.

The Earth Spiritfolk had achieved their objective: [prevent battle between the coalition and the Mountain Snailfolk].

At last, on the fourth day.

"Ugor."

Hundreds of Earth Spiritfolk sniffed the air.

"The wind smells of mud."

One hundred Earth Spiritfolk had died over those four days. The warriors, their numbers slightly diminished from a few days before, raised their heads one after another and looked across the plain.

"That dear, familiar scent of earth."

"The scent we rolled in and caught in our mouths to drink."

"The scent of Guru."

Their noses were right.

A little later, an army slowly appeared beyond the horizon.

Every one of the approximately three thousand warriors rode a lion. Strange tattoos marked not only the warriors themselves, but their lions' bodies as well. Was that why? From a distance, they looked like a writhing mass of living tentacles approaching.

BWOOOO.

A warrior at the front blew a horn. Only then did the multiracial coalition's soldiers and the Mountain Snailfolk troops holding out in Slimepolis turn toward the horizon.

An army advanced with the sun at its back.

BWOOOOO.

The horns sounded in a strange succession. Some were made from Mountain Snailfolk shells. Some were made from the single horns of Demonfolk. There were horns decorated with Conforming Human skulls, and even horns studded with teeth from the Bloodsucking Race.

They were the traces of battles these warriors had conquered.

At the head of the army was an Earth Spiritfolk riding an especially enormous white lion.

"Wow," said Viper.

"That's not a great king. That's straight-up Demon King energy. Hey, Death King. You've gone beyond the Demonic Cult and finally raised a Demon King. Congratulations."

The leader of all Earth Spiritfolk.

The chair of the Fire River Council had brought his warriors to join the war.

3

"Greetings, everyone!"

THOOOM!

An axe the size of a building's pillar slammed into the middle of the battlefield. The Earth Spiritfolk chair planted a foot on its blade. His aura-amplified voice shook heaven and earth.

"O lives that sparkle like the shining stars of this world! I am Uburka, the 212th chair of the Fire River Council!"

A face brimming with dignity. Muscles bulging all over his body. A huge scar marked one side of his face, as though advertising that he had slaughtered a few people in his time. The chair spread his arms wide, proudly displaying every reason his chest muscles had to exist.

"You're all working hard to live your fucking lives today!"

His words weren't particularly dignified.

"Not everyone enjoys life's blessings, but doesn't everyone enjoy life's fuckery? Though we seven races differ in appearance, we are brethren sharing the same fuckery!"

My fellow hunters murmured.

"What does 'fuck' mean to the Earth Spiritfolk, that they tack it onto every sentence?"

"I don't know. If I had to guess, perhaps it's something like 'whatchamacallit.' It can mean anything, or nothing at all."

"Death King... Your teaching really is..."

I wanted to see a child who looked like Raviel.

No, I just wanted to see Raviel. Forget children. We didn't need any...

While I busily escaped reality, the Earth Spiritfolk chair's lengthy speech picked up steam.

"That's right! We are brethren! In my left pectoral dwells the soul of the Earth Spiritfolk, and in my right, love for my brethren! Behold! My chest muscles bulge with soul and love!"

That metaphor was fucking awful.

Seriously bad.

The sight of his green muscles actually bulging made me feel a little queasy, too. What the hell was he? This musclebound pig whose brain, not just his body, was made of muscle. What was this beefy bastard who looked like he'd make a passing orc instinctively shout, "Big brother!"?

"Even the way he keeps throwing out hopeless attempts at flirting..."

"The more I look, the more he seems like the Death King's spitting image..."

"I'm really not that bad!"

The multiracial coalition and the Mountain Snailfolk quietly watched the chair from opposite sides of the battlefield. Despite being enemies, the soldiers in both armies wore similar expressions. They all looked as though they were staring at a lunatic.

"However! I! Am deeply saddened!"

The lunatic assumed an anguished expression.

"Even if the Mountain Snailfolk committed unforgivable sins six hundred years ago, how can exterminating an entire race be a means of atonement? It is not right! It is not just! It is not beautiful! What's more, you wage war here in Slimepolis, the place you call holy land. It is not even sacred! We deem this a truly fucking situation, and hereby declare our entry into the war!"

Following their chair's proclamation, the Earth Spiritfolk warriors shook their weapons up and down.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

"Hear me, seven races!"

The chief of the lunatics spoke.

"You who groaned as slaves beneath the Mountain Snailfolk are not bad! What can we do if you wish to settle your ancestors' grudges? The Mountain Snailfolk aren't bad either! What can we do if they resist because they don't want to be destroyed?"

The multiracial coalition and the Mountain Snailfolk stirred. "What is that lunatic talking about?" some said. Others said, "We keep calling them Mold, but have their brains actually gone moldy, Raim?" United in heart and voice, they all expressed their incredulity.

"That's right! You are not bad!"

His next words shut all seven races up.

"The holy land is what's bad!"

Every soldier stared at the chair's mouth with an expression that said, "What?"

"There are no gods in this world. Naturally, there is no holy land, either. Yet you create something you call holy land, stake your lingering attachments on it, and burn your convictions for it. You pour your sparkling lives into a bottomless hole in the earth! The holy land is entirely to blame! Therefore, I—the Fire River Council—have decided as follows!"

"What are you saying...?"

The coalition leaders were bewildered. Regardless, the Earth Spiritfolk chair folded his arms and declared,

"We will destroy the holy land!"

The leaders fell silent.

"We cannot divide the holy land among us! We would only divide and fight! So let us all take part in destroying it!"

"..."

"If you cannot forgive someone else for possessing it, then none of us need possess it. This is simple reason! We will utterly erase Slimepolis, so that no one can occupy it and no one can live in it! Come! Brethren of the seven races! Let us destroy the holy land together and build a world where we can all be happy!"

They say a tiger never fathers a dog, don't they?

The race I'd raised had returned as a pack of complete lunatics.