Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 888 - 825 War Conference

A few days after the war council on the Sleeper convened by Andrey, the meeting began. The allies of the Liches and the oppressed gathered together, and the representatives from various factions alone occupied more than half of the courtyard. The round table had been expanded using Mr. Scholar’s spell, and viewing platforms were set up nearby for attendants to rest.

Mr. Scholar glanced at the round table. Most of the attendees were friends familiar to him. Beside the Dean sat the Soulshock Theater troupe leader and the Resentful Spirit. Forces of order and chaos were distinctly seated on opposite sides.

There were exceptions, of course.

Mr. Scholar first looked at Fema Black Abyss sitting to his left on the Demon Race’s side, then shifted his gaze to Gogallan Black Abyss seated alongside elves and dwarves on a different faction’s side.

"Princess Fema, does the Grand Duke of Black Abyss have any interesting proposals?"

The rightful Prince of the Black Abyss interrupted his sister’s speech.

"Lord of the Old City, this is my personal wish and does not represent the collective will of the Black Abyss Demon Race."

"Oh?" All eyes turned to Gogallan. Both the Scholar and the Dean smiled faintly.

"It’s obvious that the side of justice must have the significant force of the Holy Light. Since Lord Raymontos isn’t here and my invitation to Lord Lylethos was declined, I had no choice. I could only bring the Hellfire Legion—moved by the Holy Light’s call—to temporarily occupy this seat. Indeed, part of the Black Abyss Demon Race, under my leadership, will fight for Holy Light in the names of Lord Lylethos and Lord Raymontos!"

The idea of Demon Race representatives fighting for the Holy Light sparked an exchange of peculiar glances among the factions. Fema and Lyle, seated at the spectator area near the Dean, simultaneously covered their faces. The surrounding pitiful gazes amounted to total public humiliation.

Fema’s eyes locked fiercely onto the Blue Dragon Priest, her gaze blazing with fury. It was evident that her anger was directed at someone she desperately wanted to dissociate from.

"This is also the will of the Grand Duke of Black Abyss, Lord Morocoy. Gogallan Black Abyss’s actions during the war have no connection to the Black Abyss Demon Race. The Prince of Black Abyss will aid the battlefield as a retainer of other factions." The emphasis she placed on "Prince" was heavy and deliberate. This atypical demon, who normally favored formal wear and a gentle manner of speech, displayed rare signs of raw demonic rage.

"Mother even said there’s no need to worry about his death. The Hell dimension will reclaim his failed soul. If the Evil God manages to corrupt him, it’d be even better if he died outside and didn’t return."

The rebellion within the Demon Race and their parenting approach was quickly overshadowed by the urgent topic of addressing the Evil God, which refocused the allied factions on this dire matter.

"Lord Morocoy, we are well aware of the dangers posed by the Evil God. Some allies even empathize with the threat. We all understand His overwhelming power. So, the question for everyone here is: are there any among us who truly possess the strength to confront the creator directly? Should weak tribes be forced to confront the terror of divinity?" The inquiry came from a representative of the Harpy tribe. Her tone wasn’t one of casting doubt on others’ capabilities but rather one of self-preservation. Harpies in the Wandering City weren’t known to be warriors; they were mainly involved in logistics like mail delivery. Having been forcibly summoned, this young leader harbored a constant fear of her tribe being annihilated in the Sleeper’s wrath.

Mr. Scholar glanced at her apologetically and calmly explained, "I understand your concerns. But fighting the Evil God is actually not as you imagine. Gods do not use strategy; Gods do not employ tactics. His attacks on us are more akin to an immune response—a mechanism."

Standing in the Elf faction’s section, General Charles raised his head. Green Dragon Priest Faelga tilted her head, casting him a brief glance, prompting Charles to lower his head again.

"The Master of the Planet’s power is constant. Whenever opposing forces emerge, a portion of His power is divided to counter the enemy. The degree of resistance isn’t a tidal wave crushing a small pebble. The creator, possessing the wisdom of all living beings, only allocates enough force to slightly outweigh you. Weak assailants confront weaker manifestations; strong ones face stronger manifestations. Every living being feels the suppression of fate equally. By participating in this assault, each of you contributes to fragmenting divine power. Even the weakest among you can divert the focus of His strength, making it easier for us to confront the Sleeper’s core essence."

"Does this mean juvenile or weakened individuals can also be sent to the battlefield to share the pressure?" A Lich participant immediately began scheming, attempting to exploit loopholes in the Sleeper’s divine mechanics before representatives of mortal tribes.

"The prerequisite is surviving unaided within the mire of the Dark Tide, thus triggering the God’s immune reaction." The all-consuming Dark Tide was established as the threshold for divine combat, swiftly erasing this potential exploitative proposal. Relieved murmurs emerged from some factions, as the grim reminder of their differences compared to Chaos resurfaced. Though seated at the same round table, the damned remained damned. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"We have no further questions, Lord Morocoy."

"From what I’ve heard, the Evil God doesn’t seem all that frightening—just a brainless brute." Many began attempting to lighten the mood, though everyone understood the grim truth beneath these words. The Holy Light has long since dimmed; once, this was its era.

"Triton is not incapable of thought. Rather, He understands us far better than we understand ourselves. Being so thoroughly deciphered, we don’t stir His sense of crisis nor become unsettling variables." Mr. Scholar cast his gaze in a specific direction.

"Put simply, the Sleeper believes He doesn’t need to think to handle us—a mere straightforward sweep will do the job."

"Hah, what an arrogant God!"

With the bellicose tone set, the discussion transitioned to logistics: equipment, potions, supply chains, and other matters of preparation.

"The Red Dragon Queen’s Molten Dwarves can provide sturdy armor and weapons!"

"Arcanists can offer equipment enchanted to resist corruption, along with various Spell Scrolls." Under Lord Morocoy’s encouraging gaze, the Blue Dragon Christo spoke up.

"Food supplies, fortification construction, medical treatment, and even psychiatric restraint." Faelga crossed her arms and coldly smiled at the Lich spectator section. Lyle shrank back in fear, trembling as the once gentle, playful Green Dragon Priest seemed like a completely different person, brimming with aggression.

"We can provide an array of miraculous potions!" The Dean spoke slowly, and for a moment, the spirit of friendly collaboration cooled—an unspoken tension rose in the room.

"And other services." Apparently unaware of the shift in mood, the Dean finished reading his prepared remarks. He paused for two seconds, waiting for enthusiastic cheers, but reality left him slightly displeased.

"Are you questioning the professionalism of Andrei Academy?"

"No offense, honorable Dean." An Ogre Wizard tentatively responded.

"It’s just that we find it hard to accept your support. After all, to us, a potion lethal enough to kill is merely mouthwash for the Liches, isn’t it? Your potions haven’t been tested on living beings and can’t guarantee safety."

"Nonsense, we clearly..." An indignant Lich stood up, then promptly sat back down, reconsidering whether "yes" or "no" was the optimal answer here.

"Honorable Dean, it’s alright. You can still provide potions to those unique tribes, such as the Resentful Spirits..."

The Resentful Spirit representative immediately rose in protest.

"Enough of this nonsense! Their potion side effects impact incorporeal beings too!"

"Enough. The Witch tribe will provide potion support for all races, as long as you’re willing to accept temporary fur growth as a side effect." The Cat Matron raised her head and glanced at the Lich spectator section, wondering: where’s Avonreiter? Isn’t he always the one who loves stirring excitement?

The meeting continued. Lyle listened to the rowdy, marketplace-esque chatter at the round table and the hushed conversations of his companions.

"Discrimination. This is absolute discrimination."

"They’re willing to accept temporary fur growth but won’t accept permanent extra limbs. They clearly hold something against us, right, Mr. Plague Doctor?"

Lyle tilted his head in the opposite direction.

"Don’t ask me. I can manage without potions anyway."