[The Sacristy of the Fire Cathedral]
Benedict stopped in front of him, locking eyes with the High Priest Matheus.
"Look at the board, Matheus. Look at what he has done while we debated theology. He conquered the Azelizia Mountains and the Great Forest of Tob without a single human casualty to his own ranks. He annihilated the Re-Estize Kingdom, millions dead in a matter of weeks, simply to make a geopolitical example of them. Not only that, but he terrified the Baharuth Empire into vassalage without drawing a sword."
Matheus stared at her as the staggering scale of the enemy's master plan finally settled into his mind.
"He established his iron grip over the Abelion Hills," Benedict continued relentlessly. "And now, his undead legions march freely through the Draconic Kingdom, supposedly acting as their 'saviors' against the Beastmen. Do you see it now?"
"He played us," Matheus whispered, the realization draining the last bit of color from his face. "He made us think the Kingdom was his primary target. He made us think we were safe behind our neutrality."
"He has methodically surrounded us," Benedict said. "He has cut off every geographical route for an alliance with the Argland Council State. We are playing perfectly into the palms of the Sorcerer King.
We aren't fighting a war tonight. We are being suffocated. He closed the noose before we even realized it was around our necks."
Matheus wiped a mixture of soot and cold sweat from his forehead. "Then what of the Dragon Lords? Surely the Council State sees the threat he poses to the world's balance? He has toppled nations in a few short years. The ancient protectors... we must send word through the magical channels. We must beg for their intervention. They are the only ones with the power to match him!"
Benedict scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound in the empty room. "Do not look to the sky for salvation, Matheus. You will find only vultures."
"But the Sorcerer King threatens them all"
"Did they care about the balance twenty years ago?" Benedict asked sharply.
Matheus blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in time.
"During the massacre of the Red Plains," Benedict clarified, her voice hardening with bitter anger.
"When the beastmen hordes breached the eastern borders. They slaughtered three of our frontier cities. They piled the severed heads of our citizens of our children into pyramids that stretched higher than the city walls. Where were the ancient protectors then? Where was the Council State?"
Matheus looked away, unable to answer.
"I will tell you where they were," Benedict said. "They were asleep on their hoards of gold. They are entirely indifferent to the suffering of humanity. And two hundred years ago? When the Demon Gods ravaged the continent and nearly wiped us from the map? They slept through that as well. They let millions of humans die in agony, intervening only at the very end when the fires finally threatened their own survival."
She paced toward the sealed blast doors, her mind racing with the cruel irony of their isolation.
"They are circling our mountain borders right now, yes. Our scrying spells detected their massive silhouettes gliding through the clouds above the eastern peaks at dusk. But they are not there to save our citizens. They are watching us bleed."
"If they are circling," Matheus argued desperately, clinging to the last shred of hope, "perhaps they are waiting for an opening to strike the Sorcerer King? Waiting for him to exhaust his mana on our walls?"
"They are waiting for us to fall so they can pick our vaults clean," Benedict corrected him flatly. "The Platinum Dragon Lord covets the legacy of our Gods. He wants our Divine Class artifacts."
Matheus stepped back, his face twisting in disbelief. "You are saying the Platinum Dragon Lord... the shining beacon of the Council State, the supposed guardian of the world... is no better than a common grave robber?"
"He would steal the legacy of the Six?" Matheus pressed, horrified.
"He will claim it is a necessity," Benedict said. "He will tell whatever surviving nations remain that he is simply securing the artifacts so the Sorcerer King does not claim them and become a greater threat. It is a very convenient political excuse. But it is a lie. He simply wants to hoard the treasures of the Six for himself. He always has."
We prayed to the sky for salvation, Benedict thought bitterly, and the sky looked down and calculated the resale value of our gods' relics.
"To the Dragon Lords, we are not allies," Benedict said, turning back to face him. "We are a lower race. Mayflies buzzing in their eternal peripheral vision. They will let the Sorcerer King break our civilization into dust, and then they will swoop in to steal the only things of value we possess."
Matheus's shoulders slumped entirely. The fight, the denial, the frantic search for a miraculous savior—it all left his body, leaving only the grim reality of the underground sacristy.
"They will not come," Matheus said, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper.
"No," Benedict said, looking at the heavy iron doors that separated them from the end of the world. "The Dragon Lords are not coming. We stand alone, Matheus, as humanity always has."
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