"—those with ill intent!" Alexander's voice halted, his indignation fading as he surveyed the gathering, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding as if it might burst from his chest. He had spoken his piece, thrown every accusation he could, and laid out his offer of aid. Was everything going according to plan? No. People were unpredictable, and although he tried to expect every outcome, all that remained was to wait.

On Earth, they would have dismissed him as a crazed conspiracy theorist—shifting blame, making accusations based on pure conjecture, and disregarding due process. But here, despite the uncertainties, Alexander had successfully swayed many of the assembled representatives.

"Do you truly believe this?"

"It's the saint."

"But…"

"I know."

His moniker as the Saint made people perceive him as an authority on truth and honesty. Though misplaced, this reputation endured, tied to peace, prosperity, and aiding those in need. Regardless of race, his actions and initial debut did not suggest deception—a testament to a world where perception outweighed cold logic.

"So, those others then…"

"If even the leader supports him, I think you are right…"

Alexander's accusations became irrefutable by adding the weight of Lavafist's recognition and the undeniable support conveyed in a single sentence. A ripple of reluctant respect spread through the crowd, prompting many to pause and reevaluate their initial hostility. Camps exchanged wary glances, their indignation shifting into contemplation.

"They wanted to bring war because of some useless piece of land?"

"What if they had attacked the Moorgrelians? Can you imagine the—"

A furious snarl cut through the murmuring debate. "You dare speak to us that way?!" a female voice from the crowd demanded, her anger crackling like static. "Accusing one of our oldest clans of such dishonor?! How dare you!"

Another voice rose, slicing through the tension with commanding authority. "Enough! Didn't you see him get attacked? Everything he said is true—are you blind?"

Murmurs erupted on all sides, and a volatile mix of auras surged through the hall, some crushing, others searing. A distinct fracture formed among the clans—half seething with outrage, the other half lost in contemplation. Alexander grimaced, recognizing the precarious atmosphere. 'Accusations always turn things ugly,' he thought, swallowing hard. 'But not like this?! I need to—'

Before he could devise a plan to exploit the situation, a scorching [Energy] arrow tore through the air, missing him by mere inches—only avoided thanks to Barry, who blurred in front of him, extending his palm to absorb the fatal strike.

"Oh, shit!" Alexander only reacted after it was too late. The lingering heat scorched his skin, sweat breaking out instantly.

"Mr. Alexander, be careful," Barry's deep, urgent voice echoed over the sudden uproar. Alexander's heart hammered in his chest as he tried to catch his breath, adrenaline spiking.

"Thanks." Alexander's gaze darted frantically from one corner of the hall to another. Shock and fury mingled on countless faces, and if he had any doubt left about the clans' willingness to use violence, that arrow had erased it. "Gotta say," Alexander muttered, half to himself, "haven't expected such a reaction."

The tension escalated further, and when words and isolated attacks no longer sufficed, skirmishes erupted—each side seizing the opportunity to blame the other for obstructing their progress.

"Your clan is to blame for cutting off my trade routes, isn't it?! This war, the support you've provided—it's all on you!"

"You traitorous animal fucker! Would you trade the purity of our blood for a handful of glittering metal?!"

As the first significant ripple spread, the heat escalated to a dangerous level, with auras flaring wildly and [Energy] condensing into volatile forms. 'Uh oh,' Alexander thought, his concern deepening. Taking no chances, he meticulously arranged an array of mana constructs, prepared to activate them in an instant.

'I think I overdid it,' he mused bitterly, working frantically on constructs and contraptions while shedding the mana collar and weight-increasing artifacts that had burdened him with 64 times his usual weight. 'I really am a frog in a fucking well.'

The majority of representatives, approximately 80%, were Tier 4 to 5, while 15% had reached the first conjecture at Tier 6. The truly formidable individuals, comprising the remaining 5%, were at their second conjecture or higher—capable of challenging even Barry and Lili. Worse still, each representative possessed a unique specialty, a defining trait of their clan, backed by formidable training and the corresponding strength. None of them displayed any signs of weakness or lack of training; even their guards were prepared to fight fiercely.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Alexander gulped, dreading the worst. While he could handle an average Tier 2 or 3 soldier or an inexperienced young talent, this was an entirely different battlefield—even the weakest among them could overwhelm him. Each of these clans had carved their legacy through sheer strength and purpose. He truly was a frog in a well.

"Prepare." Barry's aura resonated like an unseen force, dispersing the oppressive heat and lightening Alexander's burden—along with the anxiety gnawing at his resolve. Yet, this was an opportunity he couldn't afford to ignore. With the Alliance fractured, he could throw his full support behind Lavafist—not just for altruism, but for his own reasons as well. To do so, he had to survive first, though.

Just as Alexander turned to thank Barry, the hall's temperature suddenly spiked as if someone had flung open a furnace door. The oppressive heat tore through the ox-kin's aura, consuming it like dry parchment in a roaring flame, making the young noble activate his mana bubble so as not to turn into a heap of ash.

Alexander wasn't the only one thrown into turmoil as voices around him rose in frantic confusion, the hall dissolving into utter chaos. 'Finally,' he thought, his grimace a mix of tension and anticipation—he was eager to witness firsthand what someone of this caliber could truly do.

Baldur Lavafist, his massive frame radiating residual heat, bellowed, "Enough of this madness—"

But his command died on his lips when an explosion tore through the surrounding space. The force of the explosion blew several unlucky bystanders back, drowning their cries in the blast's roar. Only those who had undergone at least the first body modification or something of equivalence withstood the shockwave without collapsing.

"You dare?!" Lavafist's voice thundered, a wave of scorching heat rippling outward, effortlessly dissipating every incoming attack. His eye blazed like the molten core of a planet, swirling with an intensity Alexander had never witnessed before.

"Dear leader," a young man with a cocky smile and an immaculately groomed forked beard spoke his attire, an intricate blend of gentlemanly suit and combat efficiency. His waistcoat, adorned with brass buttons and intricate embroidery, glowed faintly with embedded enchanted circuitry. A long, flowing coat with metallic plating lined his shoulders, and leather gloves reinforced with delicate brass joints covered his hands. A polished monocle with shifting lenses sat over one eye, flickering with mana enchantments.

"This isn't personal, ya know?" he continued, brushing his hand through his hair. With a casual wave, a colossal mechanical hammer materialized in his other grip. Gears within its core spun with a whirring hiss, and steam vented from hidden pipes, releasing a faint scent of burning coal and oil. The weapon hummed with barely contained power, its impact promising devastation.

'Is this—' a thunderous roar and a blinding flash of light cut Alexander's surprise short. A young woman materialized beside him, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she cast a glance at Lavafist from beneath an oversized top hat adorned with a delicate feather and intricate brass embellishments. Her fitted attire, a fusion of elegance and mechanical ingenuity, shimmered with embedded enchantments.

Gears of various sizes whirred around her, clicking methodically into place, each movement producing electric sparks that crackled through the air—mithril tubing ran along her sleeves, channeling currents of raw [Energy] that coiled like living serpents around her gloves. With a smirk, she raised a hand, the coils surging with a violet glow. "We need only that boy," she said, pointing toward Alexander, her voice smooth yet commanding. "Just his lil' head, and we'll be on our way."

Alexander couldn't believe what he was seeing. 'This isn't just steampunk, right?' Their outfits unmistakably mirrored the designs he had seen in online videos but layered with a distinct tribalistic influence akin to the Oyaras. Intricately woven patterns adorned their clothing, blending seamlessly with the brass and copper gears embedded in their attire.

The absurdity of their impractical machinery was clear, yet there was an undeniable cohesion—every piece, every ornament, held significance. Their trinkets and colors weren't just for show; they bore the unmistakable insignias of the Pure-Steam clan, interwoven with enchantments.

Before he could make any sense of it, Lavafist's laughter erupted like an earthquake, shaking the hall with its sheer force. "Hahaha! You think that just because you've made a bit of progress—like those meddlesome gnomes—you have the right to challenge me?" His body radiated an overwhelming heat as molten lava surged across his form, encasing him in an incandescent shell. As he expanded, his figure loomed over the gathering like a blazing titan, his sheer presence forcing even the strongest among them to retreat.

"Do you understand? Once this is over, your clans will be nothing but ash!" His voice was a thunderous decree, filled with absolute certainty, as the ground beneath him cracked from the sheer intensity of his power, turning into a molting puddle.

The young man swung his hammer with effortless confidence. "Maybe, but maybe not," he said, his smirk unwavering as he settled into a poised stance. The heat emanating from his body was controlled and refined, channeling its raw intensity into the pulsating glow of his weapon. The hammer thrummed with barely contained [Energy], its surface rippling like molten metal just before it hardened.

"You'll be too busy dodging Valrus to even think about surviving," he continued, his voice carrying an eerie certainty. "Nothing else will matter once we take the boy's head."

Lavafist's smile widened, his molten aura flaring. "This is your death sentence," he declared, reeling back with lethal intent. "Once, I'll kill you. I will uncover the reason behind your betrayal."

The young man sneered as his hammer whirred to life, its mechanical components shifting with precision. Steam billowed from its core, enveloping him in a haze of heat as the weapon's inner mechanisms roared into motion. A sphere within the hammer spun at an astonishing speed, its glow intensifying to an almost blinding radiance.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, ominous tone. His eyes darkened, a shadow of intent flickering within them. "But perhaps you will be too busy to save the boy."

Lavafist's eyes widened in realization, but before he could react, the gears surrounding the young girl whirred into a frenzy, their synchronized motion producing a deafening screech. Arcs of electricity crackled through the air, dancing wildly between the spinning mechanisms, building toward an inevitable release of devastating [Energy].

'Uh,' Alexander gulped, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach as it was the beginning of something terrible.

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