Herman stared at the prototype in front of him for a long moment, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
It was ugly.
There was no gentler way to put it.
The carriage sat squat and heavy in the hangar, its reinforced frame bristling with metal joints and thick wheels designed to endure mud, stone, and shattered terrain. Harnesses lined its front—six of them—arranged in a way that made Herman’s jaw tighten.
It looked less like a supply wagon and more like something meant for animals.
“Alright,” Herman finally said, breaking the silence. “How much weight can it carry and still move reliably over rough terrain?”
Laelia Sevso straightened instantly, clearly waiting for the question. Her exhaustion vanished beneath professional pride.
“That’s a good question,” she replied. “After extensive testing, I’ve concluded that a single carriage can reliably transport one thousand kilograms without causing serious long-term exhaustion.”
She tapped the metal frame with enthusiasm.
“With proper conditioning and if the pullers are around Stage Three in their class progression—preferably Warrior-class—the maximum load increases to approximately two thousand kilograms.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered marshals.
“And?” Herman prompted.
“They can maintain that output for an entire day,” Laelia added. “Provided they rest appropriately.”
Herman exhaled slowly.
It was impressive.
And he hated it.
In his mind’s eye, he could already see the resistance forming. Before, supply duty had been a comfortable assignment. Sit on a wagon. Guide a horse. Keep an eye on the road. The most strenuous task had been feeding the animals and repairing wheels.
Now?
Humans were the animals.
The harnesses were unmistakable. Designed not for elegance, but efficiency. The kind of efficiency that stripped away pride.
He imagined the outrage. The complaints. The propaganda campaigns that would follow.
And yet…
“That solves our horse shortage,” John said bluntly, breaking the tension. “And it frees up mounts for cavalry and messengers.”
He clenched his fists.
“I’m tired of sitting behind walls while those things live freely on our land. Did you hear what they did to our bodies?”
His voice rose uncontrollably near the end.
The mood in the hangar plummeted.
Images flashed unbidden through every mind present—battlefields turned into slaughter grounds, legions erased, corpses twisted beyond recognition.
John wasn’t shouting anymore.
He was remembering.
“He’s right,” Xian said calmly, though his expression was grim. “But this time won’t be easy.”
He stepped closer to the carriage, hands clasped behind his back.
“They’ve wiped out over a billion of our troops. That means they’ve acquired our gear—armor, weapons, tools.”
A pause.
“Even if much of it doesn’t fit them properly, they will adapt. They always do.”
The silence grew heavier.
“Reports already indicate goblins using captured equipment against us,” Xian continued. “And those battles rarely end in our favor. That was with our elite forces present.”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He turned to face the others fully.
“If we don’t request reinforcements now, we will be overrun.”
“I agree,” Arun said slowly. “But the homeland won’t like it.”
No one laughed.
They all understood why.
Back in the heartlands, life went on.
People worked their jobs. Shops stayed open. Cafés were full. The Trail was something distant—something abstract.
Points were bought for a hundred thousand each.
Families with loved ones on the front lines sold fragments of points for ten thousand, thinking they’d struck gold.
They didn’t realize money itself had become meaningless.
Printed endlessly.
Worth less than the paper it was written on.
The longer the illusion lasted, the better it was for corporations.
And governments.
“They don’t have a choice anymore,” Herman said firmly. “It’s time to burst that bubble.”
His gaze hardened.
“They’ve forgotten that guns no longer work. That every person is now a weapon.”
That woke the others up.
Fear was one thing.
Loss of power was another.
Laelia stood quietly at the edge of the hangar, listening.
Sweat trickled down her back—not from heat, but from knowledge.
She wished she had left earlier.
But at the same time, relief curled in her chest.
The military was competent.
Which meant her secret—that secret—would remain hidden longer.
As orders were transmitted across military HQ, the gears of state began to turn.
Messages flew to every fortress.
To every command center.
And then—
To the heartland.
People were woken in the middle of the night.
Business leaders.
Industrial magnates.
Political elites.
All summoned to emergency meetings.
Confusion turned into irritation.
Irritation turned into dread.
In the European Parliament building, the atmosphere crackled with tension as leaders gathered beneath vaulted ceilings that had seen centuries of power struggles.
Prime Minister Erik Behrend stood at the podium, hands folded.
“We’ve gathered you here,” he said evenly, “to discuss the military’s request for additional troops. They anticipate significantly heavier fighting and refuse to sit behind walls waiting for death.”
The response was immediate.
“Ridiculous,” scoffed House Pettmond of Poland—the youngest of the great houses. “Why should their failure affect us?”
Murmurs of agreement followed.
Erik’s eyes sharpened.
“Because,” he replied coldly, “if you keep driving the citizens into a ditch, they’ll eat you alive.”
Silence.
“You of all people should understand that,” Edison Gray of Britain added, voice sharp. “Your history certainly does.”
Faces paled.
Eyes cleared.
They remembered.
Slowly, painfully.
“…We will cooperate,” said Orazio Vassevilliers at last.
As the eldest house in Europe, his words carried weight far beyond the room.
It was a signal.
The board pieces were being reclaimed.
As the nobles withdrew, governments began preparing the unthinkable.
A currency switch.
