On the desolate mountain range lay a small manor. Within the not-so-large hall remained a lone, lithe figure. Silvia stood silently in front of the massive mana-tempered wooden council table, her mind spiraling with many thoughts.
Having dismissed the leaders of the other kingdoms, who had adamantly been against her proposal, she couldn't help but hesitate despite being the one who proposed it.
The Goldsborn world had experienced a rare decades-long peace, having been cut off from the rest of the universe as a result of her Master's intervention.
But with the advent of the demons, the Goldsborn world had been thrown into turmoil, and with the recent appearance of the giant, they were now left with no choice but to re-establish contact with the outside world. After all, the sighting of a giant was a matter that concerned the most dominant race in the Dark Galaxy.
With a soft sigh that slightly lifted the silk covering her world-toppling beauty, Silvia took out a crystal engraved with several intricate silver runes.
Her mesmerizing golden eyes flashing with resolve, she sent her mana into the transmission crystal. It took several minutes of continuously injecting her mana before the crystal lit up with a bright silver light.
At the same time, in another hall, countless light-years away...
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The Simian world was one of the most dominant forces of the Lunar Starzone. As a middle world, it was almost five times larger than a lower world, with abundantly more mana, not to mention its far greater purity.
The majority of the population of this world was composed of beasts, with a greater percentage being of the primate-type. The Simian world was one that could rightfully be deemed "below one and above thousands."
Surrounded by thousands of lower worlds, the Simian world was in jurisdiction of this entire starfield, with almost non-existent monitoring from the werewolves, as only a few of their envoys were left with them.
Despite being one of the most powerful races in an entire starzone, the werewolves were not arrogant and instead were quite amicable to associate with. Of course, that was if one did not overstep their bounds.
Contrary to what one would expect from a world dominated by beasts, the earth was divided into numerous cities filled with elegant architectural structures. After evolving from spiritual beasts to magical ones, they could assume the form of humans and live as such as well. Not to mention, it was easier to connect with the laws in their humanoid form.
At the center of a lush forest spanning thousands of miles lay a massive clearing now turned into a city. Beasts flew across the skies as humans with beast-like features roamed its streets.
The roars of beasts shook the earth, and the delightful cries and chirps of young birds created a picturesque scene that emanated a profound sense of community. Despite beasts of various species mingling together, there was no conflict, and instead, thousands of beasts intermingled and moved with purposeful steps.
However, while it was like this in the city, it was an entirely different case in the largest structure positioned at the center of the city.
"Why are there only a few noteworthy warriors among the army you have built?"
The tension in the hall was palpable as a short purple-haired man questioned with furrowed brows.
Before him were many figures seated around a large table resting at the center of the hall. Seated around were the most prominent and powerful beasts of this world.
Despite the dreadful might emanating from each of their bodies—as every individual possessed shocking power that could sweep through any lower world—many still couldn't help but tremble in fear when they saw the look of anger on the purple-haired middle-aged man's face.
"Lord Garthon..." A figure seated at the head of the round table and directly facing the purple-haired middle-aged man began calmly. "We sent conscription orders to thousands of minor worlds just as you asked. The warriors we have gathered are the strongest of their worlds."
The crease on Garthon's face couldn't help but deepen. He was a warrior of the glorious werewolf race and was the last envoy remaining after the others returned to their home world a few months ago.
In normal times, these beasts before him wouldn't dare to sit while he stood before them, yet here they were—even having the courage to act oblivious to his intentions. How could warriors who were below the orange core assist in the war they needed them for?
The tight muscles underneath Garthon's robe flexed as a bit of his aura leaked, a growl escaping his bared fangs. "I don't have time for this nonsense, and do not test my patience."
Cracks formed on the ground around him, the massive chandeliers above swerving erratically, with the round table splintering and groaning as if it would crumble at any moment. Garthon ignored the trembling figures of the other beasts and focused on only one figure—
the one sitting at the head of the table.
The strongest being in this middle world.
The leader of the Simian Sol Race, who held the title of the Radiant Prime. His body was lean and corded, with muscles rippling smoothly beneath his golden fur, clearly visible and defined through the open cut of his robes. On his hands, multiple golden rings adorned each finger—some plain bands, others intricately carved with solar motifs. His aura was nothing short of overbearing.
Yet, Garthon dismissed his presence and ignored the look of hatred flashing within the latter's eyes as he focused his aura on him, the chair below the Radiant Prime creaking from the pressure despite the powerful material it was constructed from.
"I do not care about your feelings and grievances. Gather the most powerful beasts under you, and if there are not many, then you can join the conscription yourselves. I want to see a minimum of a thousand orange core Simian Beasts—if not, do not blame me for being cruel."
Having said his mind, Garthon turned and stomped out of the great hall, each step causing the chairs on which the beasts sat to tremble as deep foot indents were left in his wake.
The Radiant Prime watched Garthon's receding back with a menacing glint in his eyes. A few years ago, he had been excited when the werewolves asked him to form a large army and had even sent his descendants—among them his most talented, one comparable in cultivation to the middle stages of the orange core of human mages, and with his God-tier talent, could even rival him in strength. He had tasked this talented descendant to lead many of his strongest subordinates. The same was true for the other rulers seated beside him.
It wasn't every day they could find a chance to curry favor with the werewolves. Eager to assist, they didn't hold back and poured in their full efforts. Together with the tens of millions of other mages they had conscripted from the lower worlds under them, they had embarked with great fervor into the only higher world in their starzone to support their mighty ruler. Only to receive news, not even a week later, that the army he had formed had been annihilated.
He had lost his son.
He had lost the only God-tier talent of their race—and two others of the only five in their world. It was a devastating loss to the Simian world.
Yet despite their loss, the werewolves continued to request more warriors, and this had continued since then.
Now he was fed up.
He wasn't willing to sacrifice even one member of his world, not to mention his race.
The werewolves could die for all he cared. He had heard they were facing an unknown uprising race—some blood-sucking vampires.
"Who knows?" A cruel smile twisted his face. "It might turn into an opportunity for us."