Hadenfell was filled with noise for the first time in ages. Even the incessant creaking of the mechanical creations throughout the city could not alter the ever-mounting excitement.
For when news spread of the duel between the Old Deus, it naturally became a topic that members of any race could discuss without reservation.
Although the various races' envoys had not yet received word that they were to attend, the fact that the Dwarves' authorities had not denied it undoubtedly made it true to some extent.
Otherwise, fabricating stories about the Old Deus was an extremely dangerous act in a world where gods truly existed.
Ordinarily, such news would have been little more than conversation fodder for other races as they organized their intelligence. After all, most races did not even qualify to attract the attention of the Old Deus. Their foremost goal was finding better ways to survive.
But things were different now. Whether they had intended it or not, they were already hitched to the Elchea Alliance's chariot, bound to fight a battle to the death against the world's strongest Old Deus that would determine whether this war would end.
Under such circumstances, the importance of power and powerful individuals went without saying.
Even if they could withstand the Flügel's offensive, once the Old Deus serving as their main fighting force died, every race would face true annihilation.
Thus, this decisive battle was no longer idle chatter about something that did not concern them, as it had been in the past. It was intimately connected to every race-their confidence and hope for victory.
Before anyone realized it, this matter had eclipsed discussions about the various races' positions within the alliance, becoming an important issue that even the taciturn Giants could discuss.
"That should count as a success, right? Thank