Chapter 1763: Proposal
Chapter 1763: Proposal
"Now then... If the honorable lords of the Beastman Confederation have screamed enough for one day, I believe we have a lot to discuss."
Skarn’s snarl hadn’t died and Rajah’s claws were still out, but Quinlan had already moved past the pair of them, the crimson fire behind his visor sweeping the field in a slow, measured arc.
The dwarves sat in clusters under guard, their war chief’s laughter long since swallowed by the tension that had replaced it.
Their king was not even among the prisoners but frozen in the Villain’s ice as a motionless memento of their defeat.
Their main army was shattered. Whatever holdouts remained in their mountain halls or scattered across the alliance, lords and garrisons who wouldn’t open their gates upon receiving the news, that was cleanup, not war.
He wouldn’t even need to show up, just send his souls or allies.
The elves were worse.
Rows upon rows of elven soldiers stared at him with wide eyes.
How couldn’t they, when he’d just given them a massive lore drop about Luminara, calling her the Primordial Nurturer and declaring that she had a mother’s gentle heart.
Thus, for all intents and purposes...
’Elvardia is already mine.’
His attention drifted to the beastkin ranks, and the calculus shifted.
The soldiers who had marched alongside his forces looked back at him with flat ears, lowered tails, and the careful stillness of people who had watched the man they fought for spend the last three minutes championing the elves and threatening their leaders.
Fear lived in those ranks, and beneath it, a question none of them were asking out loud.
He’d promised them. Standing on the flat ground with bodies still warm, he had looked every soldier in the face and sworn he’d repay the debt their blood had bought.
Dogkin, wolfkin, tigerkin, bearkin: they’d bled and died so his women could live.
Quinlan couldn’t care less if Skarn and Rajah hated his guts until the sun burned out, but those soldiers did not deserve his mockery or hostility, as far as he was concerned.
He returned his eyes to the beastkin lords.
"Reparations will be paid."
Skarn’s snarl cut short. Rajah’s amber eyes narrowed.
"The dwarves will send architects and engineers to rebuild every settlement that was destroyed during the conflict, and the full cost of materials, logistics, and labor will be split between the dwarves and the elves."
He looked at Alexios.
"The two races will also withdraw from Ravenshade’s occupied territories and extend the same rebuilding terms to the Vraven Kingdom."
Alexios stroked his beard once, his expression giving away nothing.
"In exchange," Quinlan continued, his tone flattening into a decree that had already been stamped, "all nations will release the slaves of other races they’ve taken. Prisoners of war, victims of border raids, spoils of invasion. Every last one."
He let the words settle, then added,
"That is what I propose."
Alexios kept stroking his beard, his flat gaze fixed on Quinlan, and said absolutely nothing.
The silence lasted exactly as long as it took for Skarn’s composure to break.
"This is NOWHERE NEAR ENOUGH!"
The wolfkin lord’s roar cracked across the field, his grey eyes blazing. "You want us to turn our armies around for concessions that would happen sometime in the future instead of taking what we’re owed right now?!"
Rajah took a step forward. "Our dead number in the millions and you think we’ll settle for houses?!"
"Rebuilding destroyed settlements will not right all the wrongs they’ve done to us," Gorruk announced, his massive arms folded.
Quinlan listened without a word, letting each of them finish before turning to the elven ranks.
Confusion sat on their faces, and under it, indignation.
Pay to rebuild settlements for filthy beasts who had been trying to conquer them for millennia? Some of the officers looked like they’d swallowed something rotten, and others glanced at one another for a consensus that hadn’t formed.
Behind him, Myrasyn’s aura carried a faint tremor that told him everything he needed to know without turning around.
His eyes settled on Gorruk.
"That’s exactly the thing." The words came unhurried and uncombative. "You will never right the wrongs."
In the beastkin ranks, soldiers shifted with visible displeasure, and Gorruk studied Quinlan with the quiet focus of someone reassessing a problem he’d thought he already solved.
The other lords bristled, but Quinlan didn’t give them a chance to snarl at him again.
"I’ve looked into the history of this continent, and I’ve arrived at a single conclusion." His visor swept the circle, lingering on no one.
Then, with a quiet voice that somehow carried far and wide enough to encompass all those who were present, he declared:
"No one is innocent."
He turned to the beastkin first.
"Your people raid their neighbors and eat their flesh while they scream. What’s worse, I’ve seen what the lionkin do with my own eyes, creating breeding ranches of your neighbor’s citizens, farming them like cattle. I’m told it’s a lionkin exclusive activity, but they were your allies for the longest time and you did nothing to stop them, embracing their culture as part of the Beastman Confederation."
He paused for a moment, then asked, "How could your enemies not demand blood?"
Skarn’s growl deepened, but Quinlan was already looking at the dwarven prisoners.
"Dwarven siege technology has caused more suffering than any plague in recorded history. Devastating engines and alchemical warfare are used without a shred of hesitation, bypassing the hundreds if not thousands of years your enemies spend on growing their personal strength, and you don’t mind using them on population centers either. How could your enemies not demand blood?"
The dwarven war chief’s expression went rigid.
Quinlan’s eyes moved to the elven ranks.
"Elves have controlled nearly all of the forests on the continent, and you enforce that control by shooting anything with a pulse that crosses your border. You use your supernatural affinity for nature and sharpshooting to terrorize others. Furthermore, your ancestors are the best at keeping history and knowledge, yet you never share any secrets with others. How could your enemies not demand blood?"
Myrasyn’s fanning stopped behind him.
"And humans." His visor turned to Alexios. "Are the single biggest slavers among the races. Dwarves are enslaved to reap their masters’ immense fortunes, treated as nothing more than worthy investments. Elves are enslaved for their natural beauty, treated as sexual objects. Beastkin are enslaved for their physical traits, used and abused until their bodies break down. How could your enemies not demand blood?"
Alexios’s hand paused mid-stroke on his beard.
"Yes," Quinlan said, turning back to the beastkin, "Elvardia allied with the undead. They did unspeakable things to your people. But that’s the latest entry in a ledger that has been open since before any of your nations had names."
"Before this, you raided their settlements. Before that, they burned yours. Before that, you ate their scouts alive on the border, and before that, they put arrows through your pups."
He looked between Skarn, Rajah, Myrasyn, and Alexios. "When was the last time all of you were actually at peace with each other?"
Nobody answered.
"I looked. Couldn’t find a single date."
He then looked over his shoulder, eyes finding a certain green-eyed woman. "Perhaps your royal archives know better?"
Myrasyn looked away almost instantly.
As Quinlan had just claimed, elves were the most meticulous record keepers on the continent, their histories stretching back further than any other race’s written word.
And even she couldn’t name a year.
Seeing he wasn’t going to receive an answer, Quinlan moved on.
"So no, Gorruk, Lord of the Bearkin. This isn’t enough to right the wrongs. But it’s what leads to moving on from the endless killing."
"MOVING ON?!" Skarn and Rajah’s voices collided.
"The way to ’move on’ from the killing," Skarn snarled, his stare fixed on the elven queen who still wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze, "is to end it. Elvardia is broken. The dwarves are running around like headless chickens without a king! There has never been a better chance to wipe them out, and you want us to take promises and go home?!"
"Exterminate the root," Rajah growled, "and the weed never returns."
"Haaah..." All warmth in Quinlan’s aura died at once as he exhaled with exhaustion. "I spoke with courtesy toward all parties out of respect for the people you represent."
The openness he had maintained through the speech collapsed inward, replaced by a pressure that landed on the circle like a physical weight.
"But don’t get the wrong idea. My ’proposal’ is not up for debate."
The fire behind the metal climbed. "You will accept it, or else."
"The Vraven Kingdom is willing to entertain the proposal."