At the center of the Flame Capital, in the deepest reaches of Ashen City, a decision that could alter the course of the entire war quietly took shape.
No other bug could possibly understand just how much resolve it had taken Lin Jin.
Merely trying to believe in the Snail Shaman's wildly unorthodox solution was a challenge in itself.
That same day, all manner of materials were gathered from across the nation.
Rust-covered weapons, soil soaked in blood, and even the burial shrouds of fallen soldiers.
Yet outwardly, they looked no different from ordinary objects. Only mages deeply versed in the ways of the soul could recognize what made them special.
Broken swords from ancient wars, battle standards steeped in blood, and warriors' severed limbs.
They all represented the same concept.
War-or, more precisely, the devastation wrought by war.
The Snail Shaman hurriedly fashioned his "solution" from these materials.
Lin Jin supplied the initial power the process required.
The Snail Shaman tossed the objects into the fire one after another, in a specific order.
Then, with the Soulfire Lin Jin personally poured into the flames, the objects were instantly reduced to pure white ash, without exception.
The Snail Shaman carefully gathered the ashes in a special little jar, then added a special liquid.
Using the mixture as paint, he drew runes on cloth pieced together from burial shrouds and bloodstained clothing.
Lin Jin watched with his heart in his throat. Having taken his first steps toward godhood, he could distinctly sense the concepts clinging to those objects.
At the same time, he gained a deeper understanding of the Snail Shaman's race. Not a single one of them was to be trifled with.
Death, slaughter, blood, self-destruction, and the desolation left upon a battlefield.
This patchwork rag, seemingly covered in nothing