Bashington DC, The Black House
Solo, Lilith, and Bub sat around the meeting table in Solo's office.
On the large screen mounted on the wall, Luke's face appeared live from Hellicon Valley.
Luke laughed.
"Solo, my bro, you were right again."
Solo leaned forward slightly.
"By not censoring the goddess or the church online," Luke continued, "we can track exactly how strong their influence is in Ravendawn."
Solo rested his elbows on the table.
"So?" he asked. "How's the data look?"
Luke's grin widened into something borderline evil.
"Our beta test is a success."
The screen changed.
Charts filled the display — steep curves rising and falling, clusters of data points shifting across heat maps, colorful trend graphs updating in real time.
"If we analyze the trend on the non-demon Boogle users," he explained, "people in Ravendawn are getting less and less interested in the goddess, the church, and heaven."
Another chart appeared.
"Instead," Luke continued, "they're Boogling how to get rich fast, how to get famous, what their sexy demon idols are wearing…"
He swiped to another graph.
"…all their wicked desire."
"And according to Lich's study," Bub added, reading his own data, "the humans in Ravendawn are now less afraid of demons. That makes the goddess virus inside them more dormant."
Solo leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile.
"Good." He spread his arms proudly. "Same as my old world."
"Give people something tangible to worship — money, fame, entertainment — and they forget about their god."
He clapped his hands once.
"Okay! Time to start spreading this to other countries!"
"Nope."
Lilith and Bub answered at the exact same time.
Solo's confident smile collapsed instantly.
"Whyyy?" he whimpered.
Lilith crossed her arms.
"Even countries who have trade agreements with us still forbid any obvious demon presence," she explained. "They fear the church backlash."
She paused briefly.
"And now? They fear the Dwargonian too."
Bub immediately jumped in, raising a finger dramatically.
"And!" he added loudly.
"Do you know how much raw materials we need to fill a country with smartphones, internet, and electricity?"
He slammed his tablet onto the table.
"A LOT!"
"We can barely supply Murica and Ravendawn!" Bub grabbed his almost-bald head in frustration. "Now you want ANOTHER country!?"
His voice rose higher and higher.
"The factories are screaming!"
"The distributors are screaming!"
"The markets are screaming!"
"I'M SCREAMING!"
TING
Bub froze.
Slowly, he pulled out his phone and read the notification.
A vein popped on his forehead.
"…YES LUKE, I KNOW YOU NEED TO RELEASE A NEW iPHONE IN THREE MONTHS!"
Bub shouted toward the screen.
"STOP TEXTING ME EVERY DAY AT THE SAME EXACT TIME!"
Luke calmly put his own phone down on the desk beside him.
"Demons get irritated if they can't buy the newest model."
Then he leaned back slightly.
"And I…" he added slowly.
"…get irritated if I can't harvest jealousy from demons who can't afford a new one."
A faint dark aura began rising around him.
Bub immediately slammed his fist on the table.
"They wouldn't need new ones so often if YOU DIDN'T ASK ME TO MAKE THEM EASY TO BREAK!"
His own aura surged upward.
"YOU RUIN MY DIGNITY AS AN INVENTOR!"
"Guys, calm down!" Lilith tried to intervene. "We're still in a meet—"
"Oh shut up, you fat bitch," Luke shot back casually.
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING FAT!?" Lilith instantly roared.
Her demonic aura exploded outward as she joined the argument without hesitation.
Within seconds, the meeting room had turned into a full dark-aura battlefield of insults.
Luke yelling from the screen.
Bub yelling from the table.
Lilith yelling at both of them.
Solo didn't even look at them anymore.
With a long, tired sigh, he stood up and walked toward the window.
The argument behind him grew louder.
He ignored it.
"This wouldn't be happening if things with Dwargonia hadn't collapsed…"
Solo stared quietly at the city.
His plan had always been simple.
Turn Talvaris into something like Murica.
Democratic.
Consumerist.
Hedonistic.
Flood the world with entertainment, wealth, and convenience until people gradually forgot about the goddess altogether.
Military technology, however, remained tightly controlled. The demons had no interest in making other races fear them again. If everyone stopped fearing demons, fewer people would panic and pray — and the goddess would receive less power.
It was a long-term cultural strategy.
Unfortunately…
Before cultural diplomacy could fully take effect—
War arrived at their doorstep.
---
Pentagon
"Sir! The Dwargonian is moving!" A military aide burst into Stan's office so fast the door nearly bounced off the wall.
Stan looked up from his desk immediately.
"Where?" he growled.
"Their fleets and airships just departed," the aide reported. "Most likely heading for Ravendawn."
Stan slowly leaned back in his chair.
Then a grin spread across his face.
"Kukuku… good."
He stood up, already energized.
"Set up a conference call with General Fujin, General Hanz, and Admiral Rusalka. We'll strategize en route."
He grabbed his coat from the chair.
"Prepare my plane."
The aide did not move.
Stan noticed.
"…Why are you still standing there?"
"Uh… sir…" the aide said nervously. "You can't."
Stan froze.
"What do you mean I can't?"
"You are not allowed to leave Bashington during conflict," the aide replied carefully. "Prime Minister's orders."
"GAAAAH!" Stan wailed in despair, collapsing dramatically back into his chair.
The new wartime rule had been very clear.
No demon duke is allowed on the battlefield.
Too scary for the enemy.
Adding too much sauce to the goddess's dinner.
---
Dwargonia Coast
The ocean thundered as the Dwargonian fleet sailed forth.
An enormous formation of brass-colored dreadnoughts, destroyers, and cruisers carved through the waves like a moving continent of steel. Their hulls gleamed under the sun, polished plates reflecting flashes of gold and bronze.
Above them, countless steam-propelled airships drifted across the sky.
Propellers roared.
Engines thundered.
A golden haze of metal, pipes, and gears filled the heavens as the air armada advanced alongside the fleet.
Black smoke poured from chimneys and exhaust towers, staining the horizon until the entire coastline looked like it was experiencing an industrial sunrise.
Their objective was simple.
Destroy the Ravendawn and Murican navies.
On the flagship's deck, Admiral Durnick Axebreaker stood motionless, watching the armada stretch across the ocean as far as the eye could see.
Rows of warships.
Endless airships.
The full might of Dwargonia marching to war.
It was a sight that would have filled most dwarves with pride.
But Durnick felt none of that.
Only grief.
And rage.
"Sir," the ship captain reported, approaching with a salute, "the Titan Fleet and Black Coast Fleet will join us within the hour."
Durnick nodded slowly.
"Very well."
"With four fleets combined, the demons and Ravendawn don't stand a chance," the captain said proudly.
Durnick's eyes shifted toward him.
"Confidence is good, captain," he said coldly.
The captain stiffened.
"Do not let it make you underestimate the enemy."
"Of course, admiral."
The captain saluted again and departed.
When he was finally alone again, Durnick exhaled slowly.
His hands gripped the metal railing of the flagship.
Knuckles turned white.
"Dwordoug…" he whispered. "I swear, on our clan name…"
His jaw tightened.
"I will make the demons and their allies pay."
His eyes burned with the fire of a dwarf ready for war.
After the Grand Council released every piece of information to the public — the sinking of the Atlas, Ravendawn's attack on a merchant ship, and the assassination of Grand Marshal Dwordoug by Murica's Foreign Minister — the dwarven nation had erupted.
Taverns.
Factories.
Barracks.
Everywhere across Dwargonia, the reaction had been the same.
Fury.
Every dwarf in Dwargonia wanted Murican and Ravendawn's blood.
And now…
Their golden fleets were moving to collect it.
---
Dwargonia Fleet
"So basically, other than the battle between Murica and Vandoria last year, we still don't know much about their military capabilities in a full-scale war. So I know some of you think this is somewhat overkill—bringing this much force—but this is for the best."
Inside the flagship, Admiral Durnick Axebreaker stood at the head of the strategy table.
A massive naval map covered the polished steel surface, filled with carefully placed markers representing flotillas, supply lines, and projected engagement zones. Around the table stood a ring of dwarven officers, their armored boots planted firmly on the floor and their beards angled downward in intense concentration.
Every pair of eyes studied the map with the seriousness of men planning a historic campaign.
"No sir, none of us think that way," one of the officers replied firmly. "Since we know we can do the same thing the Muricans did to the Vandorian army, that only proves how dangerous they are."
"Thank you, Captain," Durnick said with a respectful nod.
He moved one of the markers across the map.
"Which is why we are going to approach them carefully. We will form several vanguard flotillas to probe their capabilities, meanwhile—"
The dwarves continued planning their operation with the quiet efficiency Dwargonian command was known for. Orders were discussed calmly. Positions were adjusted. Contingencies layered on top of contingencies.
It was the kind of careful, disciplined planning that won wars.
---
Murica, Pentagon
Meanwhile, the Muricans were also planning their move strategically.
And more or less, professionally.
"So basically, other than our battle with Vandoria last year, we still don't know much about the major nations' military capabilities in a full-scale war—such as Dwargonia. So I know some of you might think this is somewhat overbearing, but this is for the best," Stan declared with authority and dignity.
Trapped inside his office, he conducted a war strategy meeting through an online call with his three highest-ranking generals. On the shared screen was a live satellite feed showing the enormous Dwargonian fleet cutting through the sea.
The camera zoomed in slowly, revealing ship after ship after ship.
"WHAT 'FOR THE BEST'!? IT'S YOU WHO IS NOT ALLOWED TO BE PRESENT IN FRONT OF THE ENEMIES!" Admiral Rusalka shouted from her window. "WHY DOES MY FLEET HAVE TO DO THE SAME!?"
Her voice blasted through the speakers with the emotional subtlety of naval artillery.
"Rusalka, I regret that this is becoming necessary," Stan sighed.
His shoulders slumped slightly.
"But as the highest military authority—"
Stan slowly raised his hand.
On the screen, Rusalka's eyes widened.
"Stan, don't you dare!" she hissed.
"And also as the admin…"
"STAN!"
"I hereby declare you… silenced."
With solemn ceremony befitting a battlefield command, Stan pressed the mute button on Rusalka's icon.
Instant silence.
Rusalka's square continued moving violently as she shouted with visible fury. Her mouth moved rapidly, hands waving, shoulders shaking with outrage.
But no sound came out.
Peace.
"So, what about you, Fujin and Hanz? Any objections to the plan?"
General Fujin appeared entirely unbothered by the dramatic execution of digital authority.
"No, sir." He shook his head with a calm, pleasant smile. "My men are more disciplined than a certain other branch of our military. We'll follow the plan to the letter."
Rusalka visibly gasped in betrayal.
Then she turned her head toward Fujin's video window.
Which was impressive, because technically she should have been looking at her own camera.
None of that mattered.
The rage redirected flawlessly.
She began unleashing a new, completely silent storm toward Fujin, pointing aggressively at Fuijin's window while shouting words that the mute button had mercifully erased.
"My paratroopers are prepared as well," Hanz added calmly. "They've been training for a year for this method."
"Good."
Stan nodded and turned around, folding his hands together as he looked outside his window.
"In five days, we'll see the fruits of their training."
Behind him, Rusalka was still yelling silently.