The ancient hall remained silent beneath drifting blue flames.
Cold mana moved slowly through the massive underground chamber while shadows danced faintly across the gigantic six-armed deity statue towering above everyone like an ancient witness to countless forgotten eras.
No one spoke.
Not the expedition members.
Not the guardian.
Because Kel's previous words still lingered heavily within the atmosphere.
Humanity destroys itself more efficiently than any dragon ever could.
The statement had not sounded emotional.
Not angry.
Merely factual.
And perhaps that was what unsettled everyone most.
The guardian quietly observed Kel beneath the pale flames, his ancient eyes carrying strange curiosity now. The lonely scholar who had guarded ruins for thousands of years no longer viewed the young human as merely an intruder.
No.
He viewed him as something rare.
A human capable of looking beyond tribal instinct.
Then finally—
Kel spoke again.
Calmly.
Quietly.
"Still…"
A faint pause followed.
"…not all humans desire war."
Several expedition members slowly lifted their heads slightly.
The pale flames reflected softly across Kel's black coat while ancient mana drifted around the chamber like mist.
"Not all humans wish for destruction."
His voice echoed gently beneath the colossal hall.
"Nor do all species seek conflict."
The guardian remained silent.
Listening carefully.
Kel slowly walked a few steps forward beneath the giant deity statue.
"The true problem…"
His black eyes darkened faintly.
"…is fear."
The word echoed softly through the chamber.
"Fear of the unknown."
Several expedition members unconsciously stiffened hearing that.
Because deep down—
Every human understood fear.
Kel's calm voice continued.
"The masses fear what they cannot understand."
A slight pause followed.
"And those standing at the highest positions…"
His gaze sharpened faintly.
"…often use that fear to justify war."
The pale blue flames trembled softly around the hall.
"Because from a strategic perspective…"
Kel spoke almost analytically now.
"…destroying a potential threat before it grows stronger is effective."
The guardian slowly narrowed his eyes.
Interested.
"It ensures temporary safety."
Kel continued.
"It removes uncertainty."
"It unites populations beneath common enemies."
Several nobles among the expedition visibly lowered their gaze slightly.
Because they had seen such politics before.
Border conflicts.
Noble propaganda.
Manufactured hatred.
Kel quietly exhaled.
"And logically…"
A faint pause followed.
"…it works."
The atmosphere grew colder afterward.
Sairen softly murmured through the soul-link.
"…You really hate how practical war is."
Kel internally answered.
"War is efficient."
A brief silence followed.
"That's why civilizations keep choosing it."
Meanwhile—
The guardian quietly smiled faintly.
A tired ancient smile.
"But…"
Kel's voice echoed again beneath the gigantic hall.
"…there is a flaw in that logic."
The pale flames reflected softly within his eyes.
"When humanity destroys another species…"
A slight pause followed.
"…it also destroys a future possibility."
Silence.
"A future ally."
"A future teacher."
"A future civilization capable of helping humanity survive future catastrophes."
The guardian's expression shifted subtly hearing those words.
Because Kel's reasoning extended beyond morality.
Beyond compassion.
Strategic coexistence.
The young human standing beneath the ancient deity statue understood something most rulers never considered.
Long-term survival required cooperation.
Not endless extermination.
Kel slowly looked upward toward the enormous six-armed statue.
"Still…"
A faint sigh escaped him.
"…even coexistence itself is fragile."
Several expedition members frowned slightly hearing the change in his tone.
Kel continued calmly.
"There are too many variables."
The ancient guardian listened silently.
"Suppose two species choose coexistence."
Kel slowly raised one gloved hand.
"At first…"
A faint pause followed.
"…the first generation succeeds."
The pale blue flames drifted around the hall softly.
"Because the first generation understands suffering."
Images of the Vaelari civilization still faintly lingered upon the walls like dying memories.
"They understand loss."
"They understand war."
"They understand the cost of conflict."
Kel's voice remained calm.
Measured.
"And because of shared hardship…"
He slowly lowered his hand.
"…they cooperate."
The guardian's pale eyes softened slightly.
Because that was exactly what once happened between humanity and the Vaelari.
Trade.
Knowledge exchange.
Peace.
For a time.
Kel's gaze darkened faintly afterward.
"But generations change."
Silence.
"The second generation inherits peace…"
A slight pause followed.
"…without understanding the suffering that created it."
Several expedition members visibly stiffened slightly hearing that.
"The third generation…"
Kel's calm voice echoed beneath the hall.
"…begins questioning old agreements."
The pale blue flames flickered softly.
"New rulers emerge."
"New ambitions form."
"New fears appear."
The atmosphere became heavier with every word.
"And eventually…"
Kel quietly looked toward the guardian.
"…someone rebellious rises."
The ancient scholar slowly closed his eyes.
Because once again—
That was exactly what happened.
Kel continued calmly.
"No matter how much the current generation desires coexistence…"
A faint pause followed.
"…they cannot guarantee the next generation will feel the same."
Sairen softly whispered through the soul-link.
"…Because every generation believes itself wiser than the previous one."
Kel internally answered.
"Exactly."
The gigantic hall remained silent afterward.
Even the expedition members seemed lost in thought now.
Because Kel was not speaking idealistically.
He was dismantling idealism itself.
Not because coexistence was impossible.
But because permanence was.
Finally—
Kel quietly spoke the conclusion.
"So yes…"
His black eyes reflected the pale blue flames softly.
"…humanity may coexist with another species."
The guardian slowly looked toward him again.
"For centuries perhaps."
Kel's calm voice echoed beneath the temple.
"But forever?"
A faint pause followed.
"…No."
Silence.
Ancient.
Heavy.
"If we observe all possibilities objectively…"
Kel softly exhaled.
"…then perhaps one thousand years is the maximum limit."
The pale flames trembled faintly.
"Beyond that…"
His gaze lifted toward the giant deity statue.
"…history eventually repeats itself again."
The hall fell completely silent afterward.
Several expedition members lowered their eyes.
Not because they disagreed.
Because deep down—
They understood the terrifying realism behind his words.
The guardian remained motionless for a long time.
Ancient blue eyes quietly observing the young human standing before him.
Then finally—
The old scholar laughed softly.
Not mockingly.
Not bitterly.
Almost sadly.
"Hahahaha…"
The sound echoed gently through the giant hall.
"You truly are frightening, Aster."
The guardian slowly shook his head.
"To speak so calmly about the limits of peace…"
A faint smile appeared upon his pale face.
"…while still wishing for coexistence."
Kel remained silent.
Because he already knew something painful.
Even temporary peace…
Was still better than endless war.
And perhaps—
That alone already made it worth pursuing.