Two days after Ivan's quiet departure from the beastfolk capital, the kingdom stood at the edge of war.
Smoke curled from forge chimneys as blacksmiths worked day and night, hammering out weapons of war. The rhythm of steel striking steel echoed like a war drum across the mountainside. The once peaceful beastfolk villages were now filled with soldiers and volunteers—warriors from the lion tribes, panther clans, wolf kin, even the elusive serpentine warriors of the southern marshes. They all rallied under one banner.
The Princess, their pride, had vanished under suspicious circumstances, and all fingers now pointed toward the humans.
In the capital's war chamber, the Beast King stood tall, wrapped in his royal fur-lined battle cloak. His mane bristled with fury, golden eyes gleaming with rage. Around him, his advisors and generals formed a tight circle, each one armed and armored.
"I want the eastern wall fortified. If they dare cross the border, make them bleed," he growled.
"But Your Majesty," an elder leopard warrior said cautiously, "the Holy Church has sent a high priest as an envoy. They urge for peace."
"Peace?" the king roared. "Where was this peace when they allowed their Crown Prince to lay a hand on my daughter?! I warned him before—I gave them a chance to make peace with dignity. They spat on it."
"Still... the Holy Church is powerful. If they enter this war, it won't be just humans we fight," another general added grimly.
The king's hands curled into fists. "Then let them come. We will fight gods if we must."
Meanwhile, several miles beyond the beastfolk border, a large procession of white-robed priests and holy knights marched through the forest path. At its center rode a serene figure cloaked in brilliant silver robes, adorned with a sun-shaped pendant—the symbol of the Holy Light.
He was the Holy Pope's representative, High Priest Elric, said to be the mouth of God himself.
He halted the march as he looked toward the looming mountain peaks where the beastfolk kingdom lay.
"So... the flame of war is already lit," he whispered.
One of the templars beside him asked, "Shall we enter their land, Your Grace?"
"Yes. But remember—we are not here to threaten. We are the image of peace. At least... for now."
From a quiet watchpost built along the neutral zone, Ivan stood with a small Akatsuki scout party, watching it all unfold. His arms were crossed, face unreadable. Beside him, Kahl and Reeva stood silent, their expressions conflicted.
"This isn't just war anymore," Reeva murmured. "This is should we tell the king?"
Ivan nodded. "No or our Guild will be caught in this war, our priority for now is to guide the kid that are lost in shelters."
Kahl looked at him. "You don't seem surprised by what is happening."
"I'm not," Ivan replied simply. "Humans rarely make peace when they feel their pride is challenged. Especially the Holy Church."
From his vantage point, he could already sense the growing chaos, like a web tightening across the continent. Rumors were spreading faster than blades could be drawn. Beastmen raids were being exaggerated. Human retaliation was getting crueler. And through it all, the Holy Church played the diplomat—while quietly moving their pawns.
Back in the Holy Empire's capital, the Pope stood beneath a stained-glass window depicting the victory over the necromancer clans. He was old, tall, gaunt—and brilliant in manipulation.
"So the beastmen march... how predictable," he said, sipping from a golden chalice.
Beside him, a younger priest asked, "Shall we begin the purge, like what we did to the necromancers?"
The Pope smiled. "Not yet. Let them be the aggressors. Let the world see them as savages again. We must appear righteous when we strike. Prepare the Inquisitors. Let them blend into the battlefield and document every moment."
"Yes, Your Holiness."
He turned back to the window. "This is how empires rise—not just through steel, but through stories written in blood and sung in prayer."
In the neutral territories, tension could be felt in the air itself. Mercenary groups were pulling out of the region, traders closing shops, and civilians fleeing southward. The Holy Church had begun moving into border villages, "offering protection" in the name of peace. Beastmen who couldn't escape were jailed, interrogated, or vanished mysteriously.
Akatsuki, on the other hand, remained quiet. Ivan had instructed all of them to avoid direct interference.
"We are not here to play hero," Ivan said during one of their evening meetings in a hidden base. "Our job is to observe, to grow... and survive."
"But we can help the innocents!" Kahl protested, her small fists clenched.
Ivan smiled gently, masking his intent. "And we will—strategically. Not suicidally."
He didn't say it out loud, but the truth was simple. He wanted to see who would rise. Who would fall. Which names would be sung in coming years... and which graves would be forgotten. And he will be there to pluck the fruit when it's riped
War, to Ivan, was the greatest truth-teller.
By the week's end, the first blood was spilled. A beastfolk scouting group was ambushed near the western border. Their bodies were displayed on Holy Church pikes, with a message written in divine script:
"May the beasts remember their place."
The beastfolk responded with fury. Raids were launched. Outposts burned. Holy knights were dragged into forests and vanished, never to be seen again.
The Pope responded not with fury—but with a declaration of holy war.
"We did not strike first," he told the world. "But we will strike last."
And so the war began.
But in the shadows, beneath the mask of a philantropist, Ivan watched.
And smiled.