Chapter 135: The Three Tarabal Sisters

War, once unleashed, is not easily stopped.

This time, the Mind Flayers have thrown everything they have into the fight; new reinforcements arrive every moment, and their ever-expanding encampment reveals the Brain's obsession with conquest.

Each Mind Flayer brought a horde of monsters and servants; this time, they drained their own reserves and summoned vast numbers of extraplanar beings.

The sole ruler of the Underdark is one, and the city of Mordothilka shall become the new starting point of the Mind Flayer Empire.

"Boom!" Wooden war carts were pushed beneath the city walls.

On the second morning of war, the reassembled slave army was once again driven onto the battlefield to die.

This was also why the dark elf nobles and the city governor arrived at the walls so early.

Compared to yesterday, their equipment was more refined; many servants and slaves had undergone basic training and were now thrust onto the battlefield.

Though it began again as the classic clash of cannon fodder, both sides had deployed at least fifty percent more combat power.

"For the honor of our families!" The Matrons swung their nine-tailed whips, throwing all their family assets into the brutal meat grinder of war.

Dark elf society is perhaps the most typical feudal clan system, where political and military power rests in individual families, and as a theocratic society, each family head (Matron) is the high priestess of a deity.

When faced with military threat, each family must make sacrifices.

"The deity will forever watch over your devotion."

In other societies, this might be merely a battle cry; in dark elf society, it is literal truth.

Even if dark elves have softened slightly since the past, certain internal logics and racial traits cannot be changed.

The weak deserve enslavement; the strong deserve higher status.

If the Goddess fails in battle, it is only natural for another family to take the city governorship.

Even more, if necessary, the deity will gladly "bestow" a new divine bloodline.

"We're running low on slaves—our war preparations were insufficient." They cared nothing for their losses, only that their slave reserves had been inadequate.

"Damn Mind Flayers—they stockpiled countless war slaves and even enslaved the local newborn monsters." One hawkish Matron regretted not having absorbed these scattered cannon fodder earlier, allowing them to become the enemy's assets.

"That great monster remains a constant threat—it can command those low-tier monsters." All the Matrons recognized it: the Beast-Child was the key to this war.

Yesterday's brutal fight dealt a heavy blow to the proud dark elves.

Today, they brought more war machines and slaves, yet still gained no advantage, for the enemy had increased even more.

"The Prince of Beasts" had enslaved newborn monsters, turning them into war fodder.

"We cannot retreat—holding this city is the will of the deity." Even frontline commanders were fanatical believers.

"He watches us. Those who retreat will lose divine favor." For dark elves, interest and piety were one and the same.

Dark elves are a fanatical warlike race, yet also driven by tangible gains; their core power structure consists entirely of priests and priestesses.

This means that as long as they retain divine favor and offer sufficient sacrifices, they will continuously advance—every family head is a High Priestess.

Priests are the most peculiar of the transcendent professions; many even refuse to classify them as a true profession.

They are servants and enforcers of the deity's will, wielding divine spells granted by the deity, drawing power directly from the deity's essence.

Thus, mere piety suffices—even if their martial skills and spellcraft are abysmal, it does not hinder them from becoming High Priestesses.

Therefore, among the young generation's top transcendent practitioners, High Priestesses are the most numerous, yet the absolute peak transcendent ones are the rarest.

After all, top-tier priestesses require immense divine power, which is carved from the deity's flesh and capital, and demands a body capable of bearing it.

Only a select few supreme ascetics, divinely favored ones, or divine sons/daughters can possibly become top-tier High Priestesses; for most priests, becoming a High Priestess is the inevitable end of their path.

"... his may be our chance." Some words were unspoken, but exchanged in glances among the Matrons.

"The order of Mordothilka needs reshuffling." The third-ranked family had long craved ascension.

"Hmph, Goddess? Fighting so poorly." The Matron of the second-ranked family had already set her sights on the governor's seat.

When dark elves face a major hunt or war, they often descend into a race-wide frenzy—this is their chance to reshuffle power.

Those who earn great battlefield merit are immediately rewarded; becoming a High Priestess outright is even possible. One day of brutal combat may equal years of sacrifice and prayer—they naturally grow fanatical.

This is why both hawks and doves always crave war; their only difference is timing. The Tarabal family already holds the governorship and the title of Goddess; even if they defeat the surface dwellers, they merely preserve their current power.

Victory brings little gain; defeat means losing everything—this is why they are doves.

This is also one reason for dark elf society's distortion: the doves are usually the strongest family and its allies; the hawks are the collective of families ranked second through tenth, with the higher-ranked ones hungering most for change.

It is said this structure was deliberately designed by the dark elf deity, ensuring they remain locked in internal strife, always progressing, while the deity remains the supreme patriarch they desperately court.

Probably, their priests spent last night frantically sending reports to the deity (the Silver Mirror Maiden).

After all, the Tarabal family rose to power the same way once.

"... hey probably want to force me out of the city to strike back." Verna Tarabal sighed; yesterday's losses had not yet healed, and today's battlefield had already arrived.

This day's battle remained a grueling stalemate; dark elf society had not truly prepared for war, while the Mind Flayers had prepared far too long for this moment.

Verna was weary, yet the divine radiance around her still glowed, and her signature black blade floated slowly beside her.

This is dark elf society: if the leader cannot maintain dominance, she must prepare for constant betrayal.

She could not even request aid from other dark elf cities; this was not a holy war against surface dwellers, merely an "internal conflict" of the Underdark. If she begged for help, she would be seen as weak and incompetent.

Divine bloodlines are hard to strip away, but divine favor and power can be diminished—she dared not imagine what would happen to her and her family if she lost her authority.

"My foolish, incompetent sister will likely become the slave desired by many families." The Goddess sighed, then rose again, summoning a swarm of black blades, preparing to charge once more.

This time, at least cripple that Beast-Child—if it keeps slaughtering freely, these noble girls' reports will surely erode the deity's favor toward her.

Other deities pay little attention to the mortal realm; the weak dark elf deity, however, watches every city, every family's gains and losses.

Verna slowly rose into the air, gathering her strength again; the Beast-Child's near-infinite regeneration was her greatest frustration.

Even if she cut it in half, it healed swiftly.

What exhausted Verna most was that she had always held back power, ready to confront a possible second Beast-Child at any moment.

Her "allies," however, would only see this as her incompetence, using sharp words to pressure her into exhausting herself.

"One who holds power but achieves no great merit deserves to be replaced." This was the quintessential dark elf mindset.

And at that moment, a streak of fire suddenly fell from the sky!

"Boom!"

With a thunderous explosion, a massive breach opened on the giant's body, and a Valkyrie clad in flaming wings descended from above.

"Is this... me?" Those familiar brows, that blade-like aura—wasn't this her own reflection in the mirror?

The power radiating from this Valkyrie, and the divine flame clinging to her spear, were of the same origin as her own—nearly drawn from her very self!

Verna was stunned. What was happening?

But a familiar voice suddenly sounded behind her.

"My foolish sister, are you so surprised to see your other sister?"

Verna spun around—and saw her "incompetent sister," yet the woman's face radiated triumph and confidence she had never seen before.

"She, too, is Tarabal. Alekne Tarabal—your own elder sister."

(End of Chapter)