MTLNOVEL CHAPTER 233: PLANS OF EXTERMINATION
The war raged on, and despite the fierce resilience of the minor clans, they could not match the overwhelming might of the major clans. One by one, they were forced to raise the white flag in surrender. Their pride crushed, their lands ravaged, and their hopes dimmed by the shadow of defeat. Eventually, only one race remained that refused to kneel—the humans.
The elves and dwarves, once proud allies of the minor clans, turned their backs to save face. As members of the major clans themselves, the other powerful factions offered them an olive branch—a way out, a chance to preserve their status. The cost of war among equals was high, and so, with weary eyes and trembling hearts, the elves and dwarves accepted the truce. Their betrayal was quiet but deep, a scar etched into the soul of the war effort.
With the withdrawal of two of the strongest contributors to the war, the resistance crumbled. The goblins were the first to yield. A single fiery breath from a crimson-scaled dragon over their capital was enough to quell their defiance. The treants, ancient beings of the forest, once immovable and wise, followed suit, their limbs weighed down with sorrow. One by one, the others gave in—the trolls, the ogres, and even the proud orcs—until only the human clan remained.
In the shattered halls of the once-proud human capital, now a grim fortress surrounded by smoldering ruins, the newly crowned human king sat before his war council. He was young, but no longer youthful. The war had aged him brutally. Deep bags sagged beneath his sleepless eyes, his once-shining armor dulled by blood and ash. The golden circlet on his brow looked heavier than any crown should be.
"What should we do?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse. "We are the last. Should we, like the others, bend our knees and surrender?"
The question echoed through the silent chamber. The elders looked at one another, their eyes filled with fatigue, grief, and quiet fury. Then one stepped forward, his beard streaked with ash, and his robes stained with battlefield dust.
"We cannot, Your Majesty," the elder said firmly. "The soldiers will not accept surrender. Neither will the people. The mothers who've buried their sons. The wives who wait for husbands who will never return. The children left orphans. And the comrades who now sleep in shallow graves. They all still stand—wounded, broken, but unbowed. They would rather die fighting than live in chains."
The king clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white. His heart was torn between compassion and duty. "But if we continue like this, humanity may be wiped from the face of the world. I cannot—will not—watch my people perish under my rule."
A different elder rose from the corner of the room, his eyes sunken, his voice trembled—not from fear, but from fury long held back. "Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, my king… but what would you have us do? Bow our heads? Watch our daughters stolen in the night? See our sons turned into slaves or fodder for twisted experiments? Should we cower, waiting to be picked off one by one, never knowing when our turn will come?"
His voice cracked at the end. The pain in his words spoke of personal loss—his child, taken by the enemy, just like the king's own sister, the princess.
The king didn't rebuke him. He couldn't. They were both grieving. He had nothing to say that would make it better. Then another elder stood.
"I agree. I'd rather die standing on the battlefield, sword in hand and my name remembered, than be caged like cattle. Than be dragged off in silence."
One by one, the elders gave their opinions. They were unanimous. Surrender was not an option.
With his council standing behind him, the king rose from his throne, back straight and voice steeled. "Then we fight. If this is to be our last stand, let it echo in the heavens. Let the world remember the day humanity refused to kneel."
That decision, made in a ruined hall filled with dying torches and defiant hearts, would trigger a series of events that would reshape history itself.
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Far from the human capital, in a fortress carved into the side of a volcanic mountain, Drakonix—the young dragon prince—stood on a balcony, staring at the horizon with storm in his eyes.
He had grown weary of this war.
Though years had passed since the first blade was drawn, the flames still raged, fueled now more by pride and politics than any sense of justice. The other minor races had long submitted. Only the humans remained, a flickering ember in the wind, yet his father—the Dragon King—refused to let it be extinguished peacefully.
At first, Drakonix had trusted his father's judgment. But along the way, truths had surfaced. The kidnappings that had sparked the war—children, warriors, nobles spirited away in the night—were no doing of the minor clans. The real culprits were the celestials and demons, confirmed by investigations carried out in secret. But his father did nothing. Justice, it seemed, mattered less than ego.
"Father, this madness must end," Drakonix said, stepping into the throne room, his voice echoing. "They were innocent. It was the major clans—our supposed allies—who committed the crimes. The humans were right all along."
"Silence, boy!" the Dragon King roared, his molten eyes glowing with rage. "You dare speak to me of innocence? They killed members of our clan. They must burn for it. Every last one of them!"
Drakonix didn't back down. "The investigations you ordered were bribed into silence! You know this. That human king you executed—he uncovered the truth and tried to stop the war. And you killed him to preserve your pride. You've allowed demons and celestials to manipulate us into a war for their own gain!"
The Dragon King rose from his throne, towering, his aura suffocating. "Enough! I will not grovel to lesser races. If we admit fault now, they will see us as weak. Next time there is even a whisper of suspicion, they will demand explanations. That can never be allowed."
Drakonix stood in stunned silence as his father walked away, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow of stubborn tyranny.
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In a grand obsidian chamber, the leaders of the major clans gathered. Celestials with radiant halos, demons with curling horns, titans whose very breath shook the air. And of course, the Dragon King.
"So?" asked the Celestial King, reclining lazily upon his seat of light. "What is your decision, Dragon King?"
"Why are we even gathered here for one measly race?" grumbled the Titan King, his voice a deep rumble. "Crush them. They're insects clinging to a cliff."
"Do not underestimate them," said the Dwarf King, crossing his arms. "They're clever—too clever. They find ways to counter everything we throw at them. Their minds are sharper than our blades."
The Titan King snorted. "Then what's the plan? Dance with them forever?"
"No," the Dragon King said. His voice was deathly calm, but carried the weight of finality. "We attack. All of us. Together. With overwhelming force. Leave no survivors. Erase them from history."
There was silence.
The Elven Queen spoke up hesitantly. "Extermination? Is that not… excessive?"
The Dragon King turned toward her with eyes like smoldering coals. She flinched, understanding that this was not a metaphor. He meant it.
"It seems your son's fondness for the humans has motivated you to destroy them," the Demon King said, amused.
The Dragon King didn't deny it. "Indeed. That sentiment has no place in a future ruler. I'll burn away the root of it."
"So be it," the Celestial King said, rising with a sigh. "Extermination, then. A lesson to the rest."
And with that, the meeting ended.
A storm was coming—and humanity stood alone at its center.