Creation System: Reborn As A Fantasy Worldsmith

Chapter 221 Prosperity

"Shadow," Lyrian whispered, his voice a mere breath amidst the cacophony of the battlefield. The two slightly injured beasts, Tao trailing close behind, were rapidly enveloped in the inky darkness that radiated from Lyrian. The battle that had just unfolded had left a profound impression on him. It wasn't just intense; it was a visceral dance with danger itself. The sheer force behind the snapping slams as the creatures clashed was enough to send shivers down the spine of any normal person.

Standing there, in the midst of it all, Lyrian felt like he was on the edge of a precipice. It was akin to being in the presence of ruthless predators, creatures of remarkable precision and formidable ability. It was a primal battle, a raw display of power that stirred something primal within him. The rush of adrenaline, the feeling of being on the edge of chaos, he cherished it all. As the battle concluded, he contemplated entering ranked mode, eager for more challenges, when a notification on his bracelet interrupted his thoughts.

"Academy Announcement (IMPORTANT)," the message blinked insistently.

"Huh? What's this?" Lyrian wondered, his curiosity piqued. He hesitated for only a moment, not wanting to waste any time, before opening the notification.

"Good afternoon, lads and lassies–" The message began, and Lyrian immediately recognized the unique grammar style; it was none other than Julius.

"On this beautiful day, I'd like to announce that the date of the Entrance Ceremony Banquet, hosted by yours truly, is tomorrow! Please be there, as I recognize each and every one of you and want you all to take part in this grand celebration!"

"Tomorrow, huh? I suppose that's fine," Lyrian mused to himself. He stared at the bracelet for a fleeting moment before lowering his wrist. "Alright... It's time to rank up."

Seconds later, he found himself in his first match of the ranking mode. With a current score of around 140, the next rank required 250 points. Instead of relying on his creatures, Garmr and Zuuc, to quickly reach his goal, Lyrian chose to do it himself. There was something thrilling about facing an opponent alone, gaining more experience, and feeling the raw power of being superior.

"+1 Rank Point."

The battle was exhilarating, but it was just the beginning.

"+1 Rank Point."

"+1 Rank Point."

"+1 Rank Point."

***

By the time Lyrian emerged from his module at 9:30 PM, it felt as if he had been locked in there for years. Without hesitation, he slumped onto his bed. His body hadn't undergone any physical strain, but the mental exhaustion was undeniable. It hadn't drained him, but the weight of the virtual battles he'd fought clung to his consciousness.

If he could, he would have continued, craving more of the adrenaline-fueled virtual combat. However, he needed to ensure a good night's sleep to wake up refreshed the next day. He despised mornings, so the easier it was, the better.

He cast a glance over at his roommate, who lay on his own bed, engrossed in fiddling with his bracelet. "I didn't even notice him," Lyrian thought to himself, tilting his head back and gazing up at the ceiling. "Hopefully, we get new cultivation techniques tomorrow. Gale hasn't been of much use lately... it's too weak."

"10 hours inside Battle Forge, huh?" his roommate broke the silence with a nonchalant tone.

Lyrian shifted his attention to his roommate, and their eyes met.

"Why spend all that time in there... Do you want to become some sort of soldier? Pfft," the boy remarked, shifting his gaze to the opposite wall. "Soldiers are failures. Warlords are failures. Fighters... are failures. One should only strive to benefit from control; that's the smart option. But hell, a peasant like you wouldn't have any idea what im–"

The boy slowly turned back to Lyrian as he spoke, only to realize that his roommate had already fallen into a deep slumber.

"Wha–!? You! How dar–! Argh!" he exclaimed, rolling over in his sheets to face away from Lyrian, squeezing his eyes shut. "Damn peasant! How dare he disrespect me like this..."

***

In the heart of the colossal trench, a place where the meeting of earth and sky seemed to wage an eternal battle, an enigmatic figure stood as an unwavering sentinel. His mere presence commanded the very elements, an ethereal force that bent reality to his will. He was an enigma, a solitary force capable of steering the course of the world's most catastrophic conflict with a mere glance.

On both sides of the trench, armies adorned with scars from countless battles bore witness to this awe-inspiring display of power. Battle-hardened generals, their faces etched with the marks of innumerable campaigns, exchanged uneasy glances as they beheld the astonishing spectacle unfolding before them. The once fervent battle cries now faltered in the face of the enigmatic figure's overwhelming presence.

Amidst the chaos of war, the mysterious man remained resolute. His attire bore a tapestry of intricate runes, each symbol a glimmering emblem of ancient magic, each with its own tale of long-forgotten civilizations and arcane wisdom. His flowing silver hair, reminiscent of the radiant moon, cascaded like molten silver down his back. His sapphire-blue eyes held the weight of countless lifetimes, their gaze sweeping the battlefield with an intensity that seemed to pierce the very heart of the conflict.

A suspended moment of eerie silence enveloped the surroundings. The rivers of blood, the clash of weapons, and the cries of the fallen all receded into the background. It was as if the world itself held its breath, anticipating the next words from the man.

Then, with a voice like thunder, he spoke. "This war has endured for an eternity," his words resonated, carrying across the expansive battlefield. "The lands have bled, the innocent have suffered, and darkness has enshrouded the hearts of all who partake in this ceaseless strife. It ends here."

Generals, torn between loyalty to their factions and the might of the enigmatic figure, exchanged uneasy glances. Soldiers, weary and scarred by endless conflict, looked to their comrades with uncertainty. The promise of an end to the bloodshed, a world free from ceaseless warfare, was a beacon of hope in their darkest hour.

As the enigmatic figure extended his hand, a palpable shift coursed through existence itself. The earth responded to his command, and the colossal trench began to mend. The scarred land, once sundered by a gaping rift, gradually but decisively sealed itself. Armies, on the brink of mutual annihilation, watched in disbelief as the chasm closed, locking away the horrors of war.

The Ear War, a generational conflict that had ravaged the world, was drawing to a close. It was an epochal moment, a pivotal juncture in history destined to be recounted for centuries.

With the abyss sealed and armies no longer divided, the enigmatic figure turned away. His mission complete, his intervention a catalyst for change, the generals, soldiers, and the world itself were left to grapple with the implications.

As the sun descended, casting its crimson glow

upon the battlefield stained with the blood of countless battles, hope began to stir. It was a fragile flame, flickering defiantly against the darkness that had gripped the world for far too long. The war had ended, and in its wake, it had ushered in a new chapter—a chapter where the scars of the past served as somber reminders of the cost of unending conflict, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

Once more, the world held its breath, but this time it was not in anticipation of further chaos. Instead, it was in anticipation of the unknown future that lay ahead. The soldiers who had once fought with unwavering determination now found themselves disarmed and disoriented. Generals, who had led their forces into countless battles, were faced with a different kind of challenge: how to transition from war to peace.

The enigmatic figure, his mission accomplished, withdrew from the battlefield as quietly as he had arrived. He left behind a world forever changed, where the very course of history had been altered. The armies that had once clashed in a ceaseless cycle of violence now began the arduous process of reconciliation.

Leaders from both sides met on the newly mended trench, their faces still bearing the weight of years of conflict. The negotiations were arduous, filled with suspicion and doubt, but the memory of the enigmatic figure's intervention hung heavy in the air. It was a reminder that the old ways of war had led to the brink of annihilation, and a new path had to be forged.

Slowly but surely, agreements were reached. Borders were redrawn, reparations were promised, and initiatives for peace and cooperation were set into motion. The world had grown weary of war, and the sacrifices made had not been in vain.

In the years that followed, the scars of the Ear War began to heal, both on the land and in the hearts of its people. Rebuilding efforts were substantial, and the once-divided nations found common ground in the pursuit of progress and prosperity. Trade flourished, alliances were forged, and the lessons of the past were not forgotten.

Generations grew up without the constant specter of war hanging over them. The enigmatic figure who had brought about this change became a figure of legend, shrouded in mystery, and revered as a symbol of hope. His name echoed through the ages as a reminder that even in the darkest of times, a single act of courage could alter the course of history.