“Grandpa,” Arin asked as they walked back from the Command Center, hands tucked behind his head in a relaxed posture, “what are our orders for next month? And are we still assigned to Legion Twenty-Three?”

  He grinned.

  “I quite like Eloi. Even if he looks like he’s about to explode every time we question him.”

  Karl snorted faintly.

  “You enjoy provoking him too much.”

  “That’s not true,” Arin replied with exaggerated innocence. “Our resistance to authority simply… clashes with his worldview.”

  Karl gave him a sideways glance but didn’t deny it.

  “No, we haven’t received orders yet,” Karl said after a moment. “But from what David overheard while sneaking around—”

  “He wasn’t sneaking,” Arin corrected.

  “He was absolutely sneaking,” Karl replied dryly. “It seems the generals are considering restructuring. One experienced legion may lead four newly formed ones. A few veteran legions will remain behind to guard the bridges.”

  Arin’s eyes lit up.

  “So we’ll be… role models?”

  Before Karl could respond, a third voice burst into the conversation.

  “That’s so cool! Let’s go show them what we’re made of!”

  Tilly appeared as if summoned by the word cool, practically materializing out of thin air.

  She puffed out her chest, chin raised high, marching beside them with exaggerated steps like a tiny general reviewing troops.

  Arin blinked.

  “…Where did you even come from?”

  Karl didn’t look surprised in the slightest.

  Tilly ignored the question.

  “If we’re going to lead new legions, that means people will listen to us, right?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

  Ah.

  There it was.

  Arin fought a smile.

  It was almost adorable how she carried herself when she was full of ambition. She walked like destiny had personally signed her birth certificate. Not because she wanted responsibility—

  But because, for once, she wouldn’t be the youngest.

  She would have underlings.

  “Tilly,” Arin sighed, “why aren’t you home?”

  She froze.

  “Brother…” she began sweetly.

  No.

  He knew that tone.

  “Show me the plants again,” she said, clasping her hands and standing on her toes. Her eyes widened into full puppy mode.

  Arin winced.

  “You know I can’t.”

  Ever since that day… he hadn’t been able to replicate it.

  When he first crafted his bow—the one he had lost to the goblins—he had been injured. Badly. In that moment, his Physique awakened in a way that defied explanation.

  The forest had answered him.

  It had healed him.

  He had felt like he belonged to it.

  Like the trees recognized him.

  And then—

  It was gone.

  The closest he had come since was two weeks ago, in the forest beyond the bridge. A fleeting sensation. A whisper.

  But nothing like before.

  “Sorry,” Arin said quietly. “You’ll have to find your own entertainment.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  Tilly’s confident posture crumbled instantly.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” she said quickly.

  She tried to bolt.

  Arin caught her easily.

  “You snuck out again.”

  Silence.

  Their mother had not forgiven Tilly for sneaking into Legion Twenty-Three’s staging area before the Marshal’s official orders had been given.

  And when their mother was angry—

  The world parted like the Red Sea.

  Arin felt a bead of sweat run down his back.

  I would rather endure Grandma Lilly’s training for a week than face Mom’s disappointment.

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  He looked down at Tilly.

  “Right,” he said brightly. “Let’s go home.”

  Tilly’s eyes widened in horror.

  “You wouldn’t—”

  “Oh, I absolutely would,” Arin said cheerfully.

  Because if there was one universal truth in the Sonneberg household—

  It was that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of their mother’s lectures.

  That evening, far from the bridges and forests, a rider burst through the portal into the Human heartland.

  His horse was lathered in sweat, breath heavy, but he did not slow until he reached the central administrative complex.

  The message he carried bore the seal of the European United Army.

  Within minutes, the President of the European Union and the fourteen Vice Presidents were summoned.

  It was well past midnight.

  The air in the council chamber was heavy with irritation and exhaustion.

  The President read the letter once.

  Then again.

  Then—

  He smiled.

  “Well,” he said, looking up at the gathered officials, “we finally have good news.”

  The room stirred.

  “Sort of,” he added.

  That earned a few groans.

  “We can use this to stabilize our treasury,” he continued. “Because, as you are all painfully aware, it is not looking good.”

  That was an understatement.

  The currency switch had drained reserves at an alarming rate. Governments across the world were facing a problem unseen in centuries.

  They no longer controlled money creation.

  Points came from combat.

  From risk.

  From death.

  “How could we possibly have prepared for this?” Jean-Loup Demaret of France snapped. “The transition happened far earlier than projected. If those damned merchants had simply tempered their point acquisitions, we wouldn’t be in this position!”

  He slammed his hand on the table.

  “They destabilized the market!”

  His voice shifted suddenly from petulant to cold.

  “Have we confirmed who was behind it?”

  Kevin Haren leaned back in his chair, expression dark.

  “No confirmed names,” he said. “But the transactions trace back to Wall Street.”

  Silence.

  “So,” Kevin continued flatly, “the United States.”

  A few grim smiles appeared around the table.

  “As usual,” someone muttered.

  “In my opinion,” Kevin said, “we sell this information to the rest of the world at a reasonable price.”

  “And the United States?” Jean-Loup asked.

  “Double.”

  No one objected.

  “They benefited no one,” Kevin said sharply. “And the rest of the world is suffering the same treasury collapse we are after the switch.”

  He looked around the table.

  “I assume we are in agreement that all of the double fallen will be accounted for?”

  Quite a few soldiers had died twice within unsafe recovery periods.

  future elites potentially crippled.

  “Yes, sir,” the Vice Presidents replied in unison.

  The President stood.

  “Good.”

  He rolled his shoulders, irritation flickering across his face.

  “Let’s get some rest.”

  There was a faint twinkle in his eyes, though.

  Annoyed at being woken.

  But pleased.

  Because information like this—

  Information about soul recovery times—

  Was worth more than gold.

  More than points.

  More than pride.

  And for the first time since the currency collapse—

  Europe had leverage.