Oh man, a world that lives for chaos? Imagine a city that’s a giant warzone, every corner a minefield and every street a front line. People would have to be mercenaries for life—warriors who hustle to collect spoils of battle like fuel for their next fight. The government would be a board of generals who trade gold for weapons and power for territory, all with the same rhythm of attack. You’d see guilds that train kids to fight from birth, factories that produce weapons using nothing but the scraps from fallen enemies. The economy would be a bloodbath of contracts, black markets would thrive, and loyalty would be earned on the field, not on paperwork. The whole system would buzz with adrenaline, the louder the more successful. That’s the kind of structure that would thrive—unrelenting, unpredictable, and alive with the roar of war.

When the war stops, the whole thing just fizzles out. No one’s got a fight to throw themselves into, no blood to feed the economy, and the generals lose the one thing that keeps their grip—power. Then everyone’s left scrambling for a new purpose, and the chaos just turns into anarchy or a new war. If nothing keeps the fire alive, you’re stuck staring at a dead battlefield and watching loyalty slip away like dust. So yeah, once the next fresh blaze is gone, the whole damn system cracks wide open.

Understood.