The battlefield was silent.
The Orc Disaster had been erased, consumed by Atem's power, and the chaos of war finally gave way to uneasy calm. The swamp still reeked of blood, ash, and sorrow. Broken weapons and fallen bodies were scattered across the mire, and yet—for the first time—the endless roar of battle was gone.
Atem stood tall amidst the ruin, his crimson cloak stirring faintly in the damp breeze. His golden eyes scanned the field, heavy with thought.
"The battle is over," Atem declared, his deep voice carrying to every ear. "The enemy has been defeated. From here on… we look to the future."
His words struck the marshlands with finality, cutting through the lingering despair.
It was then a new presence descended.
The oppressive aura of battle melted away, replaced by something gentle and serene, like morning sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
From the depths of the marsh, a figure emerged—tall, graceful, and radiant. Her skin shimmered like polished bark, her long hair cascaded like living vines, and her eyes glowed with the light of the forest itself.
A Dryad.
Every monster present instinctively bowed, even the proud Kijin and the battered Lizardmen. The very forest itself seemed to kneel in her presence.
She spoke, her voice a calm melody that hushed the battlefield.
"You have done well, Pharaoh Atem of the Village. By your hand, the Orc Disaster has fallen, and the balance of Jura is preserved. But peace will not last unless order is forged."
Her glowing gaze swept across Goblins, Kijin, Lizardmen, Direwolves, and even the broken ranks of surviving Orcs who trembled in silence.
"Therefore, I propose the founding of an alliance among the forest's dwellers. A single banner to unite Goblins, Lizardmen, Ogres, and even Orcs. And I nominate you, Atem, as Chancellor of this alliance."
Gasps spread across the swamp. Gobta nearly fell backward. Benimaru and Shion stiffened, wide-eyed, while Hakuro quietly narrowed his eyes in thought. Gabil's mouth hung open, his pride shattering in disbelief.
The idea of one man—a foreigner—leading all the monsters of Jura was unheard of.
Atem's sharp gaze lingered on the Dryad. His jaw was firm, his presence absolute, but within his mind the Oracle's voice echoed gently.
<
Atem folded his arms, silent for a moment. His spirit as Pharaoh weighed the choice heavily.
"So… to lead them all," Atem muttered. His eyes scanned the gathered Goblins, the proud Kijin, the scarred Lizardmen, even the defeated Orcs. Hope and fear mingled in their eyes, waiting for his word.
He finally stepped forward, his crimson cloak fluttering, and raised his voice.
"Very well. I will accept. From this day on, I shall guide this forest. We will unite—not as scattered tribes, but as one people. Under my rule, we will build a land where none shall live in fear."
The swamp trembled, not from battle, but from the weight of his decree.
The silence that followed turned sharp as all eyes fell on the surviving Orcs. Tens of thousands knelt in shame, their bodies trembling. They were the enemy—killers, devourers, the horde that had nearly drowned the forest in blood.
The Kijin's hands drifted to their weapons. The Lizardmen bristled with suspicion. Gabil's spear lowered, ready to strike.
But Atem raised his hand, his voice cutting through their tension like a blade.
"Listen to me. These Orcs will not be punished."
Shock erupted instantly. Gasps, mutters, even outrage spread across the battlefield.
Benimaru stepped forward, frowning. "Atem-sama, surely you don't mean—"
"They were starving," Atem interrupted, his tone sharp, commanding. "They fought under the Orc Lord's command, bound by his cursed hunger. Their crimes are not their own. The true blame lies with him… and with Gelmund, who set this chaos into motion."
The Orcs trembled, unable to lift their heads beneath his judgment. Atem's golden gaze bore down on them like a Pharaoh delivering a verdict.
"You are free. But if you desire redemption… if you seek a place where you need not fear vengeance, then kneel beneath my banner. Serve me, and I will grant you food, shelter, and purpose."
The swamp fell still.
And then, one by one, the Orcs lowered themselves to their knees. Voices cracked with desperation and hope.
"Pharaoh Atem… please… guide us!"
The Kijin stared in silence, their thirst for vengeance softened by Atem's judgment. Gabil's pride gave way to awe. The Lizardman Chieftain lowered his head deeply, his voice carrying respect.
"You are truly a ruler, Atem-dono. This forest has found its leader."
Treyni's lips curved into a serene smile. Her leafy hair shimmered as she raised her hand.
"As I thought. You are the one destined to lead Jura. From this day forth, let it be known: Pharaoh Atem, Chancellor of the Jura Forest Alliance."
The swamp erupted—not with battle cries, but with voices of relief, hope, and loyalty. Goblins cheered, Lizardmen bowed, Kijin stood tall, and even Orcs wept with gratitude.
At the heart of it all stood Atem, his cloak billowing, his golden eyes burning like the sun.
FLASHBACK.....>>>>>>
High above the marshlands, where the fog curled into silver ribbons under the moonlight, four overwhelming auras lingered. Their presence was cloaked in deep sorcery, unseen by Orc, Goblin, or even the keenest Lizardman eyes.
The Demon Lords watched in silence.
Clayman lounged on a conjured throne of white mist, his lips curled into a sly grin, violet eyes narrowing as Atem's figure descended onto the battlefield to face Gelmud.
"Ah… so the truth is revealed," Clayman whispered, fingers tapping against his jaw. "Not a mere Goblin chieftain… not some random wanderer. But this Atem—he moves with command, like a ruler born. How curious. He's no pawn. He acts too decisively for that."
Beside him, Milim floated with her legs crossed, golden hair and twin tails bouncing as her bright blue eyes sparkled with delight. She leaned so close to the veil of magic that it seemed she might break through.
"Ooooh! Did you see that?! He crushed Gelmud without hesitation! Boom—splattered like a bug! Hahaha!" She clapped her hands, almost childlike in her excitement. "This Atem guy is amazing! He's strong, fearless, and I like the way he fights! I want to meet him!"
Frey stood tall, her great wings folded neatly behind her, feathers shifting faintly in the marsh's drifting winds. Her expression remained calm, though her sharp eyes never left Atem.
"Strength, yes," she said softly. "But it is more than that. Look at how he commands. The Kijin follow his orders without question, the Lizardmen rally to him as if he has always led them, and even the Orcs hesitate under his presence. This one does not simply fight—he unites. He will not remain small for long. He could change the balance of the forest."
Carrion, arms crossed, gave a low growl as his golden eyes tracked Atem's movements against Geld, the Orc Disaster. His mane bristled faintly, his tone grudging but honest.
"Tch. That's no ordinary warrior. He fights with discipline, like a veteran commander. He's stronger than most A-ranked beasts already… and cunning too. See how he presses the Orc Lord, breaking his guard piece by piece. He isn't reckless—he's leading the battle like it's a chessboard."
Clayman's smirk faltered for a moment, though he quickly masked it. His tone grew sharp with irritation.
"So he killed my little pawn, Gelmud. Hmph. No matter. The Orc Lord will serve me far better once awakened." His eyes glowed violet, his grin twitching into something darker. "Yes… devour him, become my monster, and your strength will be mine."
Below, Geld bent over Gelmud's broken body, swallowing the sorcerer whole. His flesh twisted grotesquely, waves of corrupted power spilling out as his aura erupted into madness. The Orc Lord was no more—what rose in his place was the Orc Disaster.
Milim's eyes widened in gleeful wonder. She bounced in place, fists pumping in excitement.
"Yes! Yes! He evolved! This is amazing! Now it's getting fun! I want to fight too!"
"Restrain yourself, Milim," Frey cut in sharply, her feathers rustling as she spread her wings slightly to bar Milim's path. "If you descend now, the balance will break. We are only here to watch."
Carrion exhaled slowly, though his gaze sharpened.
"Even so… that Orc Disaster is nothing more than a puppet drunk on borrowed strength. He won't last long. Not against that Atem. Look—he's already tightening the noose."
Indeed, as they watched, Atem's aura swelled—not wild, but controlled, steady, like a storm bound in chains. His sword gleamed under the moon, every strike measured, every step driving the Orc Disaster closer to despair. His allies moved as one, guided by his command.
High above, Clayman's smirk twisted with unease.
"…Impossible. He stands without fear, facing down a calamity born of chaos itself. That presence… no, this is wrong."
Then the air rippled faintly—Atem's voice, calm and steady, echoed in the marsh below. And in the minds of only one man, another voice whispered.
<
Atem's lips curved faintly as his eyes narrowed on his foe.
"Do it, Oracle. Let's end this."
Reality itself trembled as Atem moved, the battlefield erupting in light and shadow, leaving the watching Demon Lords silent in awe.
Milim grinned like a child with a new toy. "Hehehe… I like him! I really, really like him! I want to be his friend!"
Clayman's grip tightened on his throne until cracks spidered through the conjured mist. His voice was low, sharp, and tinged with fear.
"No… he's dangerous. Too dangerous to let live unchecked…"
END OF FLASHBACK.....<<<<<