Chapter 305: Ch 305 : War

The World of Luminara.

This was a world that had never known true darkness.

The flora here was bioluminescent, pulsating with a gentle light that mimicked the beating of a heart.

Even the air itself seemed to shimmer with particles of light-mana.

On the highest peak of the Crystal Range, where the clouds drifted by like sheets of folded silk, a tea table was set.

“Teacher,” a young voice broke the serene silence. “What is war?”

The question came from Aven, a six-year-old boy with cheeks that glowed with a faint, natural rosy light, a mark of the Luminara bloodline.

His eyes, large and sparkling like stars, looked up with innocent curiosity.

Opposite him sat Light.

To the universe, he was the First natural Demigod. He was the demigod of teaching, the radiant hand of the guidance. He was perfection incarnate, with beauty inherited from both the humans and elves.

But at that moment, the boy’s question acted like a key, unlocking a door in Light’s mind that he kept heavily chained.

War.

The word didn’t bring images of glory to Light. It brought the smell of ash and death.

His mind was pulled back to a time before he was “Light.” Back when he was Aerion. Back to the time when he was king of spirits.

He remembered the spirit energy. He remembered the battle. He remembered the sensation of his blade sliding between the formless body of another spirit demigod.

He saw the faces of the thousands he had slaughtered to climb the mountain of corpses and claim the title of King.

His hand, which was reaching for a teacup, trembled imperceptibly.

“You are not Aerion,” a voice whispered in his soul. “You are Light. You were reborn. You were washed clean by the Emperor.”

Light took a deep breath, forcing the phantom blood to vanish from his hands. He centered himself, the golden aura around him stabilizing.

He looked at Aven. The boy was a blank slate. He had never seen a sword drawn in anger. He had grown up in the Golden Age of the Empire.

“War…” Light murmured, his voice sounding ancient and weary.

He poured the tea, watching the steam spiral upward.

“Aven,” Light began carefully. “When two groups of people hold a conflict in their hearts, a difference in thought so deep that words fail and they decide to resolve it through blood… that is war.”

Aven tilted his head. His brow furrowed. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the words; he just found the logic flawed.

“Teacher, I know the definition,” Aven said, his voice laced with the innocence of a child. “But why do they have to fight? Even if they have different ideas, can’t they just live in different areas? Can’t they just mind their own business?”

Light smiled sadly. The innocence was refreshing, but it was also dangerous.

“There is a limit to minding your own business, Aven. Let us play a game of logic.”

Light placed his teacup down.

“Imagine a single tribe. Half of the people want to elect their leader by voting, they believe the smartest person should rule. The other half believes in the ’Divine Bloodline’, they believe the son of the previous King must rule, regardless of his intelligence.”

Light looked at the boy. “What happens when the old King dies? Who sits on the throne?”

Aven tapped his chin, thinking hard.

“Um… Teacher, I think they should sit down and discuss the pros and cons of both ways. Surely, they can find a middle ground?”

Light chuckled. “A compromise? Perhaps a Council? That is a very mature thought for a six-year-old. You are innately blessed with wisdom.”

“But,” Light leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly, “what if they cannot agree? The Royalists believe that voting is an insult to god. The Democrats believe that a Bloodline King is tyranny. There is only one throne, Aven. It cannot be shared.”

Aven stood up. He grabbed the kettle and began to refill Light’s cup, his movements fluid and practiced.

“Then, Teacher, they should split,” Aven stated confidently. “It is better than fighting. The Royalists go East, the Democrats go West. They form two different tribes. Problem solved.”

“Good,” Light nodded, accepting the tea. “Splitting. That is a solution. Now we have two groups.”

“Now, let’s add complexity. In the Democratic Tribe, a new conflict arises. Half the people believe eating meat is a sin against nature. The other half believes eating meat is necessary for strength.”

“The Vegans don’t just refuse to eat meat; they believe the Meat-Eaters are murderers. They protest. They sabotage the hunting parties. They demand a ban.”

Light raised an eyebrow. “What happens now?”

Aven frowned, mild annoyance flashing across his glowing face.

“Why do they care?” Aven huffed. “If they don’t want to eat meat, fine. But why force others? That is rude.”

“Ideology is rarely polite, child,” Light corrected gentle. “When people believe they possess the ’Moral Truth,’ they feel obligated to enforce it. So? What is the solution?”

“They split again,” Aven sighed, realizing where this was going. “The Vegans leave. The Hunters stay.”

“Excellent,” Light said, holding up four fingers.

“We started with one tribe. Now we have four: Royalist Vegans, Royalist Hunters, Democratic Vegans, Democratic Hunters.”

Light’s expression turned serious.

“With just two simple conflicts, Leadership and Diet, you have quadrupled the number of nations. Now imagine the thousands of other conflicts: Religion. Education. Resource distribution. Dress code.”

“2… 4… 8… 16… 32…”

Light’s voice took on a rhythmic cadence.

“Society fragments. It splinters into smaller and smaller groups of Like-Minded People. They segregate themselves into echo chambers where everyone agrees with them.”

“Good tea, child,” Light paused to sip, letting the math sink in. “But do you think this infinite splitting is the best decision?”

Aven hesitated. “Yes? I mean… if the groups are divided, then everyone inside the group agrees. There is no internal conflict. So, war will never occur.”

“Internal war will not occur, true,” Light conceded. “But you are forgetting the most important variable.”

Light waved his hand over the table.

Shimmer.

A holographic projection manifested on the wood. It showed a single, glowing village in the center.

“This is your perfect, like-minded village,” Light explained.

Then, ten more villages appeared around it, encircling it tight.

And around those ten, a hundred more appeared.

The table was filled with dots of light.

“Peace does not last forever, Aven. Peace creates prosperity. Prosperity creates children. Children need food. They need land. They need mana.”

Light pointed to the village in the center.

“This village has doubled its population. They need more farmland. But they are surrounded by the other groups you created. Where do they go?”

Aven looked at the map. The center village was trapped.

“Umm…” Aven bit his lip. “Every village should slowly move outward? Like a ripple? If the center expands, the neighbors move back, and so on?”

“Move?” Light laughed softly. “Why would they move? They have built homes. They have buried their ancestors there. They have cultivated the land. Do you think a neighbor will abandon his home just because you had too many children?”

“Teacher, for peace…” Aven tried, his voice small. “They would do it for peace.”

Light looked up at the sky of Luminara. The clouds were drifting peacefully, unburdened by borders.

“Peace…” Light whispered. “Peace is a luxury, Aven. Survival is a mandate.”

He looked back at the boy. “What if the villages at the end cannot move? What if there is an ocean? A mountain range? Or simply… the end of the world?”

“What happens when the map runs out of blank space?”

Aven stared at the projection. He traced the lines with his small finger. He tried to find a way out, a magical solution where everyone was happy.

But the facts was cruel. Finite space. Infinite growth.

“Teacher,” Aven whispered, his shoulders slumping. “In that case… the groups would be forced to fight. They would fight for land. For water, For survival.”

“Correct,” Light said softly. “The Fragmentation you suggested leads to tribalism. And tribalism, combined with scarcity, leads to Total War.”

The lesson seemed over. The conclusion was bleak: War is inevitable.

But Aven shook his head. A spark of realization hit him.

“But Teacher!” Aven exclaimed, pointing at the glowing landscape below the mountain. “Everything you said is hypothetical!”

“We live on Luminara. We are divided into thousands of villages and cities. We have different diets, different jobs. But we never fight! We don’t kill each other for resources!”

Aven looked triumphant. “Doesn’t that make your theory wrong? Reality proves you wrong!”

Light smiled. This was the moment he had been leading to.

“You can say so,” Light nodded. “But you are missing the piece that holds the puzzle together.”

“Different villages do not mean different Groups in the way we discussed. You do not fight your neighbor for land because you both answer to a higher power.”

Light pointed to the glowing river below.

“You all follow Lord Salmon, the God of this world. He regulates the rain. He ensures the crops grow. He mediates your disputes so they do not turn into blood feuds. He unites you.”

Aven nodded. “Yes, Lord Salmon protects us.”

“But even Lord Salmon is just a part of the greater whole,” Light said, his voice turning reverent.

He stood up, his head dictated at the distant sky.

“The Gods themselves… Lord Salmon, Lady Nyx, Lord Zir… they are powerful beings. They have egos. They have needs. Left to their own devices, they might fight for territory in the multiverse.”

“But they don’t.”

Light looked up, past the sky, past the stars, as if looking at the invisible throne that sat at the center of reality.

“Because there is a Ceiling,” Light whispered. “An absolute, immovable sky that covers us all.”

“Emperor Cosmos.”

Light looked at Aven, his eyes intense.

“He is the reason we have peace, Aven. He is the force that prevents the splitting. He is the Authority that says, ’There will be no war,’ and reality obeys.”

“War is the natural state of existence,” Light concluded, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “Peace… Peace is something that must be enforced by a God strong enough to carry the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.”

Aven looked up, his eyes wide. He didn’t just see a name anymore. He understood the structure of his world.

“So…” Aven whispered. “The Emperor protects us from ourselves?”

“Yes,” Light smiled, the darkness of his past finally receding. “He saves us from ourselves.”

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