Twenty-five years later.
A span of time that's not too long, yet not particularly short either.
For ordinary people, it would be considered a significant portion of a lifetime. But for the long-lived wizards, it was just another chapter—barely worth mentioning.
Up to this point, the war between the wizards Civilization and the Gaiensar Civilization remained in a steady stalemate. Neither side showed urgency or desperation. Probes and skirmishes continued without pause—like hunters silently stalking their prey, full of patience and caution.
The daily consumption of resources, while catastrophic for any low-tier civilization, amounted to little more than a mild nuisance for empires of their scale. The scale of waste was immense, but for them, it was simply a cost of doing business—neither painful nor critical.
---
Gaiensar Civilization - Homeland
In stark contrast to the arcane and ancient aesthetic of the wizard World, the Gaiensar homeland was a beacon of futuristic science and technology. Infrastructure was hyper-developed; dazzling lights and extravagant scenes filled the streets, and crowds flowed endlessly through the urban sprawl. Noise, opulence, and spectacle defined this world.
Private spacecraft zipped through orbital lanes above like cars on modern highways—a common and widespread form of transit, reflecting the generally affluent lifestyle of its residents.
---
Inside the tallest building in the world.
Through virtual projection technology, hundreds of members of the Psionic Council had gathered for a high-level meeting.
At this moment, they were deep in discussions about the progress of the war.
From the second tier of the chamber, a councilor stood up with a solemn expression and began his report:
"Since our reconnaissance operations were compromised years ago, we've been unable to successfully infiltrate their homeland again. That wall—the Barrier of Wutomaag—not only blocks spatial teleportation, but also has the ability to detect foreign souls. Moreover, any material not native to their world is immediately rejected. As such, our understanding of their inner secrets remains extremely limited."
Another councilor asked, "Have we tried capturing wizards covertly, then brainwashing and replacing their identities so they can act as infiltrators?"
The first councilor replied, "We've attempted that. The results were poor. Every time a wizards returns to their homeland, they undergo extremely thorough inspections. Any deviation in behavior leads to instant arrest."
A third councilor posed the critical question: "Based on our current intelligence, what are our odds of winning this war?"
That question drew nods from around the chamber. It was what most were quietly wondering.
The war commander responded,
"According to calculations from the Central Brain, we currently have a 71.58% chance of victory. However, I believe that number is largely meaningless—it's based solely on known, surface-level combat strength. In reality, we don't know what trump cards the enemy holds—just as they don't know ours. Both sides are intentionally concealing their true strength."
He continued,
"During our prolonged standoff with their First Fleet, we've gathered substantial data on their weapon system known as the Aelthorpe Star. However, we've never been able to determine the upper limits of its power. What is clear is that constructing one of these weapons is an extremely complex and resource-intensive process. With that in mind, we may be able to engage in attritional tactics, trading ships with them to deplete their stock."
"In light of this, I have a proposal to present to the Council."
The three councilors seated at the very front exchanged glances before one spoke:
"Go on. Let's hear it."
Facing the highest councilors of his civilization, the war commander showed no signs of nervousness. Instead, he spoke with grim resolve—words that, to an outsider, might seem utterly heretical:
"I believe our initial phase of probing has gone on long enough. Continuing at this pace serves no further purpose. Worse, it risks turning war into routine in the minds of our troops—breeding complacency."
"That is a grave and hidden danger. Therefore, I propose we escalate the intensity of this war. It doesn't matter which side gains the upper hand. In a relatively stable warfront, we need a new round of deeper probing. Let blood remind our people that vigilance is necessary. Hatred, after all, is the most effective way to unite the public behind a war effort."
The unspoken message was clear: he was proposing to intentionally intensify the war—even if it meant sacrificing soldiers—to ignite public hatred and fuel widespread support for continued conflict.
Such a brazen, manipulative proposal would have caused public outrage if leaked. But among the councilors present, no one objected. In the Gaiensar Civilization, "survival of the fittest" remained the core doctrine. Despite some recent ideological reforms, those at the top still viewed sacrificing lower-tier soldiers for strategic gains as standard practice.
After a round of discussion, the Psionic Council unanimously approved the commander's proposal.
Seeing this outcome, a rare smile surfaced on the commander's usually stern face.
He knew that he had just gained expanded authority—and with it, a new stage upon which to demonstrate his capabilities in this long, grinding war.
---
As always, on the battlefield's outer fringes, Orsaga was scavenging for scraps—surviving as a lowly junk collector.
He casually dodged stray energy blasts, when suddenly, his instincts flared.
He raised his head toward the sky, sensing a subtle shift in the battlefield.
There was no clear evidence, no visible sign.
But his innate ability—something akin to a sixth sense rather than true precognition—had begun to warn him:
Something different was coming.
This sense constantly operated, alerting him 24/7 to anything that might impact him—warning him if something would prove harmful or beneficial.
"Bad things are about to happen... How annoying. I'm just a harmless demon picking through garbage..."
His gaze shifted toward one of Gaiensar's battleships. He could feel the disturbance emanating from there.
He didn't have to wait long. With his keen vision, he saw a faint silver ripple begin to spread—barely visible at first.
It was a swarm of microscopic mechanical bugs, spilling out onto the battlefield.
Anything that came into contact with them—whether flesh, soil, or stone—so long as it wasn't of Gaiensar origin, began to disintegrate at a visible rate. As if invisible jaws were devouring matter itself, leaving behind nothing at all.
Worse yet, the swarm multiplied with every bite, devouring matter and energy to fuel exponential reproduction. One became two, two became four, four became eight… Within a dozen seconds, their numbers had multiplied dozens of times, turning from invisible particles into a shimmering silver fog.
Watching the scene unfold, Orsaga let out a tired sigh:
"These damned micro-bots can even eat souls. It's really not easy being a junk demon these days..."
And with that, his figure vanished from sight.
He knew—the wizard World's counterattack was imminent.
And it was never good to be caught in the crossfire.
_____
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