I have utterly nothing good or respectable to say about Anassa’s so called ‘Notions of Elitism.’ If anything, they are notions in ridicule and stupidity. They do nothing to discredit Perpetual Decline Theory. Survival of the fittest and culling of the weak fall in line with Perpetual Decline. The evidence still supports it, yes, we may have outliers but they are called outliers for a reason. A beast like Fer or a monster like Maisara still stand at the pinnacle of Divine strength. There is nothing about that which has changed. Even if a Divine so tremendously strong would incarnate now that it would rival the aforementioned Divines, it does not change the general trend.

Averages are how we look at things, not exceptions. The standard of life in a society is not measured through the aristocracy, the literacy rate is not confined only to the universities, the power of magicians is not understood solely through archmages. I am honestly offended that such a base concept has to actually be explained. Anassa is supposed to be an intelligent Goddess after all, is she not?

The fundamental point, which is that Divines are created to suit the subconscious needs of the time, still stands. Anassa does not try to discredit it whatsoever for she knows she can’t. When a Divine is needed, a Divine is incarnated. As humanity becomes more content and safer through the advance of its own societies, when threats in nature such as great beasts are eliminated, when wild animals are hunted down or tamed, when hunger no longer is a mass killer and when disease is handled through medicine and injection rather than prayer, the need for belief in Divinity goes away.

If anything, Anassa should understand this point and instead of trying to discredit me simply because of her compulsive need for argument, she should accept it and realise that the lives of elder Divines, should be preserved. That is the natural conclusion, since after our creation our power is set to some degree, the lives of those who are already strong should be made to last for as long as possible in case some external threat decides to attack Arda.

And yet Anassa, in some stupid fashion, has managed to rationalize that the actual method of progress is in fact killing those who remain off! Fantastic! Truly wonderful! She considers herself a Gatekeeper of Divinity, in some ways, she is not wrong. Anassa is incredibly powerful, there are none who will argue with that. Yet it is because she is incredibly powerful that she sets the bar far too high. Someone like Kassandora, I may disagree with personally but all who talk of the Goddess of War acknowledge her Divinity. Yet Kassandora is weaker than Anassa, are we going to now reject her? Are we going to reject Kavaa? Are we going to reject Iniri? There are plenty of Divines who fail to meet the bar, yet we recognise unequivocally as Divines. Even Anassa herself would not try to steal Divinity from Kassandora.

Her logic is that of a child. The only reason she decides to state a theory is to be provocative and to disagree.

– Excerpt from “The Response of the Elite”, written by Goddess Elassa, of Magic.

“Why are they coming through this side?” Holdmaster Arkas asked his council room as they stared at a map of the local Highway and tunnel networks. Long ago, maps had supposedly been paper. Now though, it was a thin sheet of stone on which lines had been carved and painted. A tunnel that should supposedly be safe was now reporting signs of Tartarian advance. And the signs were not just rumours or someone’s pet bat disappearing in the darkness. The signs were living flames rushing across the stone and the ambient air temperature. Slight variation was expected as magmas underground shifted, but it was slight variations of one degree a century. In the past four days, the air temperature had risen six degrees.

Holdmaster Arkas looked around the council room of Hold Rhedos. It was a small hold, but an ancient one dating back all the way to before Worldbreaking. And it was deep in the Underkingdom, behind the frontline holds that were fortified. “The worst projections from the Arika earthquake have come true.” Loremaster Mod said. An old dwarf, yet his face was hard. He had a scar on his cheek and his grey hair only covered one half of his head. The other half had been rendered bald by Tartarian fire. The entire crowd in the council room fell silent.

Officially, everyone was allowed in here. There wasn’t enough living dwarves left to try and keep secrets from the general population. Rhedos only had five thousand dwarves alive, although more than a hundred thousand animated skeletons toiled in its mines.

“What are those?” A young lad called Bertrim asked. Muscled with youth, Bertrim was a boy who still found joy in battle and not much else. Arkas wished the lad hadn’t asked, every time he heard what happened, he wanted to throw up.

Mod sighed and scratched his chin. “Whatever caused it tore the entire continental plate. An expedition into the North-South highway reported there a crack running perpendicular from it. A crack large enough for a Legion to travel down.” The worst part was that they had no idea what caused it. But plans had been made. Hopes had been declared. And now, hopes were being dashed against the wall. More than two dozen holds sat on the North-South. It was not until the Hold of Rilkos that there was a barrier and even then, Rilkos was an agricultural centre, not a military bastion.

But Rhedos did not sit on the North-South, the fact that the South tunnel from them was reporting temperature increases meant that the crack extended hundreds of miles. If Rhedos was open, then so were its neighbouring holds. And…

Arkas had never thought he would see the day the war would come to a close. But now, as he stared at the map, that was becoming more and more of a possibility. Hundreds of holds would have to be abandoned. The population cost would be too great… Arkas shook his head as he looked around the room again. It was all grey stone illuminated by lamps which had bioluminescent mushrooms locked behind angled glass that amplified the light. A dozen dwarves all stood around the table stone table. A dozen dwarves all stared at the stone tablet. Red paint marked the tunnel they were discussing.

Arkas did not delay. There was only one sensible choice he could make. The cards had been dealt, his hand was forced. “As Holdmaster.” Arkas began slowly. “In the authority vested to me by High-King Penlok, under the watch of my ancestors, I declare an Obsidian Decree over Rhedos. If any wish to argue or find issue with my decision, then state your case or let your ancestors turn their heads on you.” Decrees were a funny thing, supposedly only a Holdmaster could declare them but when was the last time Arkas had actually used his authority to force a Decree onto the Hold? Hierarchy was a tool, but it wasn’t the only one. Desperation could easily replace it.

Arkas knew no one would argue against the mention of Obsidian. Even though Obsidian meant the full evacuation of a Hold and effectively another step back for the Underkingdom at large. It meant another Hold that would be put on the list of those to be reclaimed. Another name which would not be taken off anytime soon.

And yet if they were not to call Obsidian, then what were they to do? Air temperatures surging so quickly could only mean a Tartarian Legion advancing in full force. It was not scouting fires. No one said a word. The only sound in the room was of slow, deep breathes and the usual rumbles of the earth shifting in the Hold. That latter was a perpetual though, it was caused by the mines in the deepest reaches.

“What are we going to do about the dragonnest?” High-priest Azakin asked. A fellow with his beard close cut and in the ceremonial greys of the priesthood. Supposedly there had been a time when it was ceremonial reds, but red dye was impossible to find underground. Arkas sighed. Rhedos was a dragonnest hold. It had been so far away from the frontlines that huge caverns had been excavated down here in which the great lizards had been kept. They were still being tended to, asleep they may be, but alive. One could walk up to any of the lizards and place their palm upon its chest to feel their heartbeat.

“We evacuate those that we can.” Arkas said. “Load them up onto wagons. Bring up the skeleton crews. The ones that can be mounted on wheels, we mount. The ones we cannot, we drag out of here.” The was another problem, although Arkas would not call it a headache. Rather it was just an issue to be handled. If Arascus’ Empire was still around, then the Empire would supposedly act in the same way as the Dwarves did. Arkas did not know whether he believed it those tales, but he did know that it was that idea of Imperial Order that had pulled his kind through for a thousand years. He was not going to start breaking ancient vows now.

Arkas began to organise the operation. He was the Holdmaster here. It was his task to risk his soul and his legacy under the watch of his forefathers. “Empty the armouries. Of the skeletons, the ones that remember warfare, arm them. Of those that don’t, give them a rope and have them drag. Have the miners start working on collapsing the south gate. Strike the pillars and topple the wall. Buy as much time as possible.”

Arkas turned to Loremaster Mod. “Loremaster, organize your scholars and enlist the populace to ferry as many texts as you can. Those that you can’t, smash them to illegibility.” There had been a time when dwarves actually used books of paper. Now, it was all carvings on stones. Every library was a warehouse. “Runemaster Havlen.” Arkas picked out the dwarf next to Mod, he knew every living soul in Hold Rhedos. “You are in charge of the skeletons. Re-carve their commands, do not bother asking for permission. Your ancestors will understand.”

“I understand Holdmaster.” Havlen’s voice was a rumbling earthquake, low and deep.

“High-Priest Azakin!” Arkas turned. “You organise the populace. Send the woman and the children out first. Send me half the warriors, the other half are to be a vanguard on the evacuees.” That was the biggest risk. Arkas didn’t know if he should take them all, but then he could not risk more fissures in the escape route. For all everyone knew, Tartarian Legions had already surrounded them. He had to give the evacuees a fighting chance. “Any whitebeards who wish to stay are to be given a weapon and sent to me.” That was the term for the elderly, when a dwarf became ancient and brittle, his beard turned white. They did not make good warriors, likewise they did not make good evacuees. If they were sent off, then they would slow everyone down. Arkas did not like it, but he knew how to get them to stay. “Tell them that their descendants need to be watched over.”

Everyone in the room understood what that meant. No one even blinked an eye. It was the correct thing to do. Arkas sighed, he turned to another dwarf, beardless, with massively muscled arms that were exposed. “Forgemaster Kollin…” Arkas trailed off. Too fast. He directed his voice to the group at large. “As Holdmaster, it is my responsibility to keep as many of us alive as possible. The only way, may my ancestors smite me now if they disagree, that I see is for this Hold to become impassable. I hereby ask for disagreement on the Onyx Decree!”

No one blinked an eye. No one said anything. It was the correct thing to do.

“Forgemaster Kollin, start work on Decree Onyx.” Kollin closed his eyes and replied with slow nod. Barrels of Mercury would be uncorked and flooded through the streets, stibnite would be powdered until the air became a fog, torbernite would thrown into the water supply to stain it sickly black-green for decades, cinnabar would be vapourized into mist, the air would be contaminated to such levels that living creatures would keel over within minutes. When Tartarus got through the defenders, when it dug through the collapsed tunnels, it would need to clean the air before advancing. That would buy enough time for everyone on the other to get to the next hold, to warn them of what was happening and hopefully, to give them enough time to ready their own defences. “That is all.” Arkas said. Every moment here was a moment wasted.

Bertrim spoke up. “And you Holdmaster?” Arkas stared over at the young dwarf who had asked the question. A small lad, barely thirty years old yet. Maybe in the past, there had been a time when the elderly would look down on the young with pity at the lives that were stolen from them. Arkas did not. He had never seen the suns under the surface burn. He had never known anything but this constant threat that wanted to exterminate dwarfkind. Neither had Arkas’ father. Nor his grandfather. Nor his grandfather’s grandfather. It had been more than ten generations since the suns had burned, since merchant trains ran through the highways, since Arascus had called upon the dwarves to war.

And they still fought. Arkas’ father would not be waiting long anymore. He hoped his mother would smile. Arkas had led Rhedos for near six decades. It was an achievement in this day and age. He had stories to tell the ancestors. But it would not be today. Hopefully it would not be tomorrow. They had waited so long that waiting a little longer would not be too much of an ask. “I will rally the troops and I will buy time.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep