Diplomacy was never a bad thing.
If this could be ended without leaving behind countless corpses, why not?
Others might look at this horrendous scene and think... the one who did this cannot exist in the same sky as us! Either they perish, or we do!
Some could think that, and very likely, they would be the ones to perish. Whatever dreams they had would collapse in the endless jagged wastes of the Lands of Stone.
Uncle Adam called for Diplomacy.
The Butcher of the Golden Tribe looked him over, up and down, before rising up menacingly.
The curling tendrils of Mana around his body became even more prominent, writhing beneath his skin like serpents stirring from slumber. His presence swelled, filling the blood-soaked center of the tribe with something that made the air itself feel heavier.
He looked over and spoke.
"Who the hell would you be?"
His voice was casual. Almost friendly.
"I don't like that arrogant look on your face, but..."
A smile spread across his features.
"I do like rational people like you the most. I love Diplomacy!"
...!
He said such words while his weapon was surrounded by dripping blood.
He said such words while his eyes held immense bloodlust, the kind that came from a man who had long since stopped seeing others as people.
But he smiled brilliantly and continued.
"As I mentioned before. The women I chose as tribute. I won't even ask for any produce as tribute, just the women. I take what I want, and I leave."
He spread his arms wide, the gesture almost magnanimous.
"Even though I may not look it, I am a peaceful person by nature. I detest killing. Oh, the look of despair as one loses a father or mother, or both in a matter of seconds!"
He shook his head with exaggerated sorrow.
"I can't bear such looks. So yes. Diplomacy."
...!
Diplomacy.
Damian's eyes became sharp as he nearly spat out against this vile thing.
Why would he be called The Butcher of the Golden Tribe if he detested killing?
No.
He could see it in the eyes of this beast.
And yes, he was more beast than man. Years ago, Damian had seen similar eyes while running away from his home. Warriors moving and painting the ground with blood as they killed simply... because they wanted to. As they did unsavory acts simply because they could.
This man, this beast, was exactly like them.
The only issue was that he was powerful.
And this power, like everything else in the Lands of Stone, related back to Mana.
Mana was Everything, and Mana did Everything.
Mana was the lifeblood of existence, the force that made mountains walk and beasts grow to impossible sizes. Those who learned to draw this power into themselves became Warriors, beings who transcended the fragile limitations of ordinary flesh.
The Warriors capable of pulling and utilizing Mana were distinguished into Nine Circles, each representing a deeper communion with Mana and a more profound transformation of the body.
And this beast in front of Damian... was at the very peak of the First Circle.
Flesh Awakening.
Damian was forced to remember the lessons his late mother had given him when he was young.
Flesh Awakening was when the body learned to drink Mana.
At this stage, a person first sensed Mana in the atmosphere around them. It came as a tingling at the edge of perception, a warmth that seemed to radiate from certain places, certain creatures, certain moments. The aspiring Warrior learned to open their body to this energy, allowing it to seep into their flesh like water into parched soil.
As they did so, muscles became denser without necessarily growing larger. Skin toughened subtly, becoming more resistant to cuts and abrasions. Stamina increased noticeably, allowing for longer exertion without exhaustion. Senses sharpened slightly, particularly hearing and smell. Minor wounds healed faster.
Damian knew that sensation of power very well.
Before his foundation capable of sensing and holding Mana was shattered, he had delved into Flesh Awakening himself.
Those blue tendrils of Mana pulsing over the skin were indicative of a man who could throw out a punch capable of breaking common stone.
He was dangerous.
So Uncle Adam started with the route of Diplomacy.
The Butcher of the Golden Tribe looked around after an eerie silence settled at his ridiculous words. His gaze moved from Uncle Adam to the Chieftain, then to all the others in the surroundings.
He smiled devilishly and nodded.
"Alright. Those thirteen there..."
He pointed with his bone blade toward a cluster of young women who had been pushed together during the chaos. Their faces were streaked with tears. Their bodies trembled with the kind of fear that came from knowing exactly what awaited them.
"Tie them and round them up so we can get ready to go and give this poor tribe time to heal. They have finally seen the light."
He motioned to his men.
Multiple Warriors began to move toward the group of young women whose expressions showed tears and despair. Some tried to back away. Others were too frozen with terror to move at all.
And the entire time, The Butcher kept a smiling gaze on Uncle Adam and the Chieftain.
As if he was expecting something.
Damian sighed at this moment.
He saw through it all.
He knew today would be a difficult day.
Because in the next moment, the injured Chieftain rose to his full height despite the wound that still leaked crimson through his fingers. His stone sword came up, and though his body swayed with the effort, his voice carried across the bloodied ground with the strength of a man who had led his people through countless trials.
"My people are mine to defend."
Chief Ayala's eyes burned with a light that refused to die.
"You won't take even a single one today."
...!