Tri-Border Ocean, Ravendawn Mechanical Fleet

  On the Tri–Border Ocean, the Ravendawn navy watched as the massive Dwargonian fleet sailed across the horizon.

  Bronze warships cut through the waves below, while bronze airships drifted above them in steady formation. Against the orange glow of the sunset sky, the entire fleet looked like a masterpiece painting—beautiful, majestic, and absolutely capable of erasing civilizations.

  “HURRAAAAYY!”

  “GOOD JOB!”

  “PEACEEE!”

  Ravendawn sailors flooded their decks, cheering and waving their hats toward the passing Dwargonian fleet. Some waved flags, some waved bottles, and some waved both with equal enthusiasm.

  The ceasefire had been called.

  The culprits had been punished.

  And the rest would follow.

  Admiral Lorenzo and Captain Rhines enjoyed the spectacle from the bridge of the HMS Luxtor.

  “When we’re not fighting them,” Admiral Lorenzo muttered, “they have a terrifying yet beautiful fleet.”

  “Indeed, Admiral. Like a beautiful sabertooth tiger,” Captain Rhines replied. “It’s a good thing we don’t need to fight that tiger anymore.”

  “True… If we did,” Admiral Lorenzo said, “the Murican fleet might survive. But ours…”

  He turned his eyes to the left, toward the direction where the Dwargonian fleet had come from.

  The orange sky in that direction was different.

  It wasn’t orange because of the sunset.

  It was orange because of countless fires—countless pillars of smoke rising from the ocean.

  What had once been the Meridinian fleet was now nothing but burning debris, floating on the waves, slowly waiting for gravity and time to drag it down to the ocean floor.

  “…might end up like them,” Admiral Lorenzo continued.

  “Indeed,” Captain Rhines replied solemnly.

  “But we should cheer up!” Admiral Lorenzo said, forcing a brighter tone. “It’s just a kind reminder that we need to build and strengthen our own forces, without over-relying on the Muricans.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Captain Rhines said. “And that we will. For today, let’s just celebrate.”

  He popped open their customary wine bottle with a practiced flick.

  “I bet the Muricans are also celebrating right now,” he added, looking to his right.

  Not far from them, the Murican First Fleet was parked, also watching the passing Dwargonian fleet. Murican sailors poured onto their decks, shouting toward the horizon with great enthusiasm.

  ---

  Tri-Border Ocean, Murica First Fleet

  Unfortunately, it was not friendly enthusiasm.

  It was pure, unfiltered jeering.

  “BOOOOOOOO!”

  “STUPID DWARFS!”

  “KILL THIEFS!”

  Solo had decided to let the Dwargonian fleet handle the Meridinians alone, without interruption from the Murican First Fleet.

  Because, in his wisdom, he thought the Dwargonians needed something to vent.

  The Murican First Fleet, meanwhile, had woken up happily that morning expecting a glorious day of killing—whether it was Dwargonian or Meridinian didn’t matter.

  They were the last ones to know about that executive decision.

  Inside the HMS Bahamut aircraft carrier bridge, Captain Cetus—a professional adult—watched everything calmly.

  “Sir, we have received orders to return to Dawn,” his XO reported.

  “Very well, let’s return home,” Captain Cetus replied. He paused. “Ah, anyway. Have you seen the admiral? I’ve been looking for her for a while.”

  “Ah, if it’s the admiral,” the XO said.

  He pointed toward the crowd at the end of the landing deck.

  “She’s over there, leading the protest.”

  At the frontmost line of the sailor protestors, Admiral Rusalka could be seen shouting into a megaphone toward the Dwargonian fleet.

  “YOU STUPID BEARDED PEOPLES! YOU’RE NOT EVEN TALLER THAN ME AND YOU DARE FINISH THEM ALL BY YOURSELVES, YOU SHORT-LEGGED DIMWITS!”

  Rusalka continued shouting for a long, long time.

  Captain Cetus sighed. “Please call security to remove her from there.”

  But despite the Murican First Fleet’s anger, for the first time in Talvaris…

  Peace was actually achieved.

  When the “evil side” was winning,

  and the “holy side” was bleeding.

  ---

  Goddess Realm

  And this time, the most holy of them all could literally feel the pain of defeat.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “KYAAAAAAAAAA!”

  Goddess Celes lay sprawled on the marble floor before her throne, clawing at her own throat like it had personally betrayed her. Her secretary, Seraph, and several angelic servants surrounded her in panic, wings fluttering uselessly as they tried to keep her from bumping into a decorative pillar.

  “IT HURTS! IT FUCKING HURTS!” Celes screamed, her voice echoing across the divine hall. “WHY DOES IT HURT THIS MUCH?!”

  “G-Goddess, please be strong!” Seraph pleaded, kneeling beside her. “We are still disconnecting your divine wavelength from Archangel Gabrielle. It will be over in… thirty minutes.”

  Celes slowly turned her bloodshot eyes toward him.

  “…You mean I still have to suffer for thirty more minutes?”

  “Yes, Goddess…”

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!”

  She slammed her fist, cracking the marble floor.

  For the last half hour, the goddess had been hit by repeated waves of agony ever since Gabrielle’s existence diminished. The downside of sharing divine power to create an archangel was simple:

  When they died, you felt it.

  And archangels were never supposed to die.

  Not in any plan.

  Not in any prophecy.

  “DEMONS!!! ALEX FUCKING SOLOMON!!!” Celes shrieked, writhing on the floor like a furious, glowing worm. “I FUCKING SWEAR YOU WILL ALL TASTE MY DIVINE PUNISHMENT!!! AAAAAGH!”

  Her halo flickered violently, short-circuiting between holy gold and murderous red.

  ---

  Meridinian Alliance, Caravin

  And what was happening to the one above…

  was happening also, to the one below.

  “Y-YOUR MAJESTY!”

  A military officer burst into the grand hall and dropped to his knees before King Cassemir’s throne.

  “W-we’ve received an update from our fleet,” he said, voice shaking.

  “And?” King Cassemir demanded, gripping the armrests so hard the gold creaked.

  “We… lost almost eighty-five percent of the fleet,” the officer said. “The surviving fifteen percent… are retreating.”

  “CURSESSSSSS!”

  Cassemir’s roar shook the hall, servants flinching as his voice bounced off stone walls and priceless statues.

  Bad news.

  Only bad news.

  First, the fleet reported that the Dwargonians had attacked them, not the Murica–Ravendawn fleet.

  Then the Goldenclaws mana-comm had gone completely silent. No confirmation. No report. No celebration. Nothing.

  And the Church?

  They hadn’t even bothered to reply.

  Before he could begin his next screaming fit, another officer sprinted into the hall.

  “Y-Your Majesty! The seven messengers sent to every Goldenclaws bases have send their reports!”

  “And?!” Cassemir shouted. “AT LEAST TELL ME THEY HAVE TURNED DAWN CITY INTO FLAMES!”

  “U-unfortunately… they don’t know, Your Majesty,” the officer replied.

  “…What do you mean they don’t know?” Cassemir’s voice dropped to a dangerous calm. “It’s a yes or no question.”

  “B-because…” the officer swallowed. “There was no one left to ask, Your Majesty.”

  Silence fell.

  “Every Goldenclaws base… is gone. There are only burning crater,” the officer continued softly. “All of them.”

  Cassemir’s face slowly darkened, the information refusing to connect into anything resembling logic.

  None of it made sense.

  None of it fit the plan.

  “W-WHERE IS DUKE WILLIAM?! WHERE IS DUKE EMMERSON?!” he roared, finally losing control. “SUMMON THEM NOW! EMERGENCY MEETING! NOW!!!”

  ---

  Duke William Manor

  While some others… were fortunate enough to be spared from bleeding too much.

  Inside his bedroom, Duke William was preoccupied with different matters.

  He sat on the edge of his bed wearing nothing but his underwear, his hands buried in a mess of documents spread across the sheets—ledgers, name list, mission reports, all screaming hard evidence.

  “A-are you sure Duke Emmerson is also in on this?” he asked, his voice trembling.

  In front of him sat a beautiful woman with long blonde hair, equally undressed, lounging confidently in a chair with one leg crossed over the other. A thin trail of smoke curled lazily from the tobacco pipe in her hand.

  On the table beside her sat a Murican laptop, its screen paused on a burning fleet — Meridinian ships torn apart by Dwargonian fire.

  “Yes,” she replied sweetly. “My friend made sure of that.”

  “B-but I…” Duke William swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the papers. “I—”

  “My sweet, sweet Duke,” she said gently.

  She rose from her chair and approached him, each step unhurried, deliberate.

  “No,” she corrected softly, smiling. “I should say… my sweet, sweet King.”

  She sat beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her voice lowering into something warm and poisonous.

  “The Muricans and the Dwargonians want blood now,” she whispered. “Meridinian blood.”

  Duke William’s face slowly darkened.

  “But it doesn’t have to be yours,” she continued. “Or your people’s.”

  She leaned closer.

  “Many — and I mean many — former kings in the alliance are being offered the same proposal right now,” she said calmly. “Withdraw your kingdom from the Meridinian Alliance, and Murica will ensure your kingdom is spared from Dwargonian wrath.”

  She kissed his cheek.

  Duke William didn’t react. His body was too tense. His mind too loud.

  “And please,” she added with a playful smile, pulling back, “believe me when I say… the seats are limited.”

  “Teehee.”

  The room felt colder.

  And Duke William finally understood:

  this was no longer a negotiation.

  ---

  A Few Weeks Later

  Somewhere in Murica

  In the end, Murica finally got what it had been screaming about.

  Peace.

  And for once, it was real.

  Or at least… real enough to be enjoyed while it lasted.

  On a television mounted to the wall, the Faux News Channel logo pulsed proudly in the corneer of the screen. The broadcast showed Levi and Dwordoug standing side by side, holding up signed documents for the cameras like trophies before shaking hands stiffly, professionally, and just a little too enthusiastically.

  “Murica and Dwargonia have officially ratified the peace treaty between the two countries,” the news narrator announced. “It is scheduled that Ravendawn and Dwargonia will do the same within the next two days. There are also rumors of Dwargonia joining the Murica–Ravendawn Alliance, but no formal declaration has been made by either side.”

  “Oh! Look, look! Mommy! Daddy!”

  Bella was excitedly pointing at the television like she’d just spotted herself in the tv.

  “That’s what I was telling you about!” she said cheerfully. “Me and my friends are actually helping the peace!”

  When Bella turned back from the TV, her parents sat across the small table from her.

  Two vampire parents who looked… completely normal.

  “Really?” her father muttered, one eyebrow rising.

  “For real!” Bella said proudly, shoveling a spoonful of pancakes into her mouth. “Me, Ivy, Kovalski, and the captain didn’t even plan it! It just happened!”

  She swallowed and continued, eyes glowing.

  “I’m not really supposed to tell you, but one day we were adventuring, and the next day we were in this huge — I mean really huuuuge — dwarf mercenary base!” She spread her arms wide for emphasis.

  Her parents exchanged a look.

  “Over there we fought dwarves, steam robots, airships, like… a lot!” she continued. “And I really mean a loooot!”

  “Uh… Bella, sweetheart,” her mother said nervously, reaching across the table to hold her hand, “isn’t that dangerous? Are you sure… this is what you really want?”

  “Bella,” her father added carefully, “do you remember your cousin James? Last time we met, he asked if you were still single. Maybe—”

  “Ew! Daddy! No!” Bella protested instantly.

  She grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth as she finished her pancakes.

  “Anyway,” she said, pushing the plate aside, “you don’t need to worry about me. And I need you two to trust me.”

  She spread her arms wide, chest out, smiling brightly.

  “This is what I wanted,” she declared. “And this is where I belong!”

  Suddenly a shadow fell over the table.

  A figure in MP uniform stepped beside Bella, posture rigid, voice flat.

  “Visiting time is over.”

  Apparently they were in a military prison visiting area — rows of metal tables, guards standing like statues, other prisoners being visited by relatives bringing homecooked meals.

  “Well…” Bella said quickly, flashing a smile, “maybe not in this prison, but I bet you both understand what I mean.”

  As for the misfits…

  After returning from their fake and very unauthorized adventure, General Hanz decided they also deserved to enjoy the peace — even if it had to be forced upon them under surveillance.

  For their sake.

  And especially for everyone else’s.

  But nevertheless…

  Peace was coming.

  And Murica — and its friends — were enjoying it.

  At least for now.

  BOOK 1 COMPLETE

  one-week break from posting Building World Peace on Royal Road. I need some time to realign my brain, restock my backlog, and make sure Book 2 doesn’t immediately explode on launch.

  20 chapters ahead, and yes, the passcode is still “support.” And oooh! There's a 48 hours valentine discount there! Such a lovable merchant over there.