A few hours later, the elder announced the shocking truth to the townspeople at the city hall, leaving everyone stunned—including Arthas and his companions. Especially after realizing that the history they had learned and believed in was nothing more than a lie born from the fears of the human race.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say that some began to harbor hatred, while those who had long considered the human race inferior finally gained the ultimate weapon to use against them.
The elder had never intended to reveal such a massive secret, planning to take it to the grave. But that figure would never allow it.
From what he had learned, that being wanted great chaos for the Demon King—perhaps to slow the heroes' progress so that none could stand against the Demon King.
But enslaving an entire race?
The elder never imagined the Demon King had considered such a thing from the very beginning. A truly terrifying entity.
Especially since humans were easily swayed when it came to their own safety. If they discovered that their very first hero had actually worked with the Demon King, massive chaos would surely erupt, and the fall of the human race would be inevitable.
Of course, he didn't reveal that the Dragonar hero was killed by the human hero back then for refusing to use the instrument. If that were known, the chances of the Dragonar race also enslaving the humans would multiply many times over.
Even now, some among them had already begun plotting to enslave the human race, seeing as they were the weakest among all races—and now with a justifiable reason to do so.
This news would soon spread across the entire continent, and for the first time in centuries, a great war would return.
A perfect canvas for the Demon King's resurrection.
And the finest forge to strengthen the heroes who would face him.
The elder could only hope that the human race would survive through this cruel and difficult time, and that he could find a way to stop those who also sought to enslave humanity.
Even though he had no close relationship with them, the elder strongly opposed slavery. No race was lesser or superior. All were equal, and he would make sure that truth stood within the Dragonar race, even if some would despise him for it.
Many among the Dragonar rushed out of the city, intending to reach nearby human villages to enslave them.
Realizing this, the soldiers acted on the elder's orders to stop them—though they were a bit too late, as some had already escaped.
Those who fled thought they were safe now—but of course, they were not.
He was always watching, always seeing—and no creature could escape his gaze.
That night, while they rested at the edge of the forest, warmed by a blazing campfire, one of them said while staring into the flames,
"Imagine what we could gain if we enslave humans. Not just wealth—we could also have their women. As you all know, human women are so soft, beautiful, and definitely comfortable to use. We could sell them for a high price, and use them when we're bored."
His friend laughed in agreement.
"I've been eyeing them for a long time, but they always panic and run every time we show up in their cities. Now I don't need to try anymore. I just have to take them and force them."
They laughed together, filling the quiet night with their wicked joy.
"No wonder the human race has grown stronger. Back in the day, they were so weak. Who would've thought their hero stole power from every race and generation for their own? Slavery is a small punishment for people like that," added another Dragonar as he poked the fire with a stick.
"No problem. Thanks to that, we can finally do what we've always wanted, right? And now, we have a reason to justify it. That way, even humans would have to accept their cursed fate—because of their cowardly hero."
Suddenly, one of them screamed as he was about to enter the tent.
The others rushed over and asked what happened—and when they looked inside, one of them was already decapitated, his body torn apart as if mauled by a wild beast. Blood sprayed everywhere, turning the tent into a horrifying masterpiece that would forever be burned into their minds.
Assuming they survived, of course.
"Get ready! No way a monster did this! No monster could breach our bodies at the forest's edge. This was done by someone!" yelled the leader, gripping two massive cleavers, ready to retaliate a hundredfold.
"Show yourself, if you're not a coward!"
He appeared before them—stepping out from a crack in the world, surrounded by glitching distortions that sealed behind him.
They all froze in place, stunned.
They knew who he was, knew what he had done, knew how powerful he was.
Even Arthas, the hero of the Dragonar race, couldn't do anything against him—so what hope did they, mere civilians, have?
Cold sweat trickled down the leader's face. Both hands trembled—uncertain whether to keep holding his cleavers or throw them down to save his own life.
"I've shown myself. So why are you all still silent? Or do you need something more?" he asked with a smile.
A relaxed smile, as if the situation weren't horrifying at all.
The leader's heart pounded furiously. He didn't know whether to beg or to run.
Was running even an option?
Against him—who could?
"If I heard correctly, you said human women feel better?" he asked, and their bodies tensed. "I do hate humans, but isn't that going a bit too far?"
The leader summoned his courage and replied,
"Y-you hate them, don't you? So why not do something that brings you joy? I'm sure once you experience them, you'll understand too."
"Do something that brings me joy, huh?" he repeated.
The leader nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course! If you help us, we'll give you the best women! We'll even share half of everything we get!"
He grinned—and pulled out a breathtakingly beautiful woman from the spatial crack, which immediately sealed shut.
Their eyes widened.
They couldn't believe what they were seeing with their own eyes. A legendary figure known across every race. An extraordinary human woman—whose beauty even rivaled the elves.
One of the heroes.
Her long golden hair shimmered, with eyes as blue as the sea and full, sensual lips. Even the armor she wore, while modest, couldn't hide the graceful curves that left them stunned.
Strangely, she didn't look alive. More like a doll.
Especially her eyes—lifeless, hollow, devoid of purpose.
He cupped her cheek and said,
"You mean someone like this? The human hero—Charlotte Ryseheart. You're not wrong. My happiness does come from her."
Their hopeful smiles bloomed—only to vanish less than two seconds later as his hand pierced the hero's chest, gripping her heart.
"Yes, this is my happiness."
And crushed it.