"Twenty percent? This is outright robbery!" The President of the United States couldn’t contain his indignation as he turned to Lian. Did the elves truly understand the devastating impact of losing 20% of human resources?

  Yet, the elves’ intellect far surpassed that of the U.S. President. Among the 13 races, they not only excelled in magic but also ranked among the highest in intelligence.

  Lian let out a cold snort, a faint smile pying on her lips.

  "We, the elves, have already calcuted the exact number of humans using maximum-level magic, Celestial Eye. Your popution stands at 7 billón, a substantial figure, but your consumption of mineral resources is retively low by comparison. Every year, your high-ranking officials stockpile a significant portion of resources as strategic reserves. Even with a twenty percent reduction in annual minerals, it won’t cause any major issues"

  Her words left everyone momentarily stunned. Once the initial shock subsided, they could only sigh inwardly. The elves truly were extraordinary, possessing knowledge even of such details.

  The U.S. President clenched his teeth, prepared to argue further, but the other leaders signaled for him to stop.

  Reluctantly, seeing the others shake their heads in resignation, he gave in. With a deep sigh, his voice heavy with frustration, he finally relented.

  "Fine. Twenty percent it is" he said through gritted teeth, the words escaping as though they physically pained him.

  As he spoke, it seemed as if he had aged several years, the weight of the decision etched on his face. His shoulders sagged, and it was almost as though his hair had turned gray in an instant. After all, what kept the United States at the pinnacle of global power? Its unparalleled technology and weaponry, decades ahead of the rest of the world, if not more.

  However, from now on, technology and weaponry would no longer be the primary driving forces behind human development. They were to be repced by magic and levels.

  This shift spelled an absolute disaster for countries like the United States, where the popution was retively low. It might not take decades, or even years, for them to lose their status as a global superpower. Who would rise to take their pce? All the leaders present, possessing even a shred of common sense, already knew the answer.

  Socialism, despite its many fws and chaotic structure, was far more adaptable to the new world order than capitalism. Its efficiency in mobilizing resources and organizing society would give socialist nations an undeniable advantage.

  Meanwhile, in another part of the world, a country infamous for its belligerence faced an entirely different reality. Daily riots pgued its streets, fueled by the stark contrast between individuals. Troublemakers, empowered by their ability to kill with impunity, boasted extremely high levels. Ordinary citizens, on the other hand, lived in constant fear, their levels painfully low. The divide between the strong and the weak was stark, and the social porization was suffocating.

  At that moment, in a bustling supermarket, chaos unfolded. A masked man wielding a knife stood menacingly before the store owner.

  "Hand over all the money! This is a robbery! Got it?" the man shouted, his voice filled with ferocity.

  Yet, the store owner, a calm elderly man with a white beard, remained unfazed. Without a hint of fear, he reached into a drawer beneath the counter and pulled out a massive sword.1This part I didn’t quite understand. The text 屠龙宝刀 transted to 'dragon-sying sword', but I’m not sure if it refers to a specific type of weapon, like a cymore, katana, etc. So, I left it as it is.

  The old man, a cigar resting casually in his mouth, pointed the massive Sword at the masked man attempting to rob the store. His voice was calm, even slightly amused, as he said.

  "What was that? I'm old, and my hearing's not what it used to be... I didn’t catch that"

  The masked man froze for a moment, clearly startled, but quickly regained his resolve. With a sharp movement, he pulled a small pistol from his pocket, disengaging the safety with a distinct click.

  "This is a robbery! If you don’t want to die, hand over the money now!" he shouted, his voice firm and his teeth clenched.

  The old man let out a long sigh, a look of resignation crossing his face. He carefully pced the Dragon Syer Sword on the counter and exhaled a puff of dark smoke.

  "Ah, kids these days… always in such a hurry" Turning his back on the masked man, he opened a long drawer behind the counter.

  Shuá!

  When he turned around again, the sight left the masked man utterly stunned. In the old man’s hands was now a gleaming golden AK-47, the weapon aimed squarely at the would-be robber.

  "Put the gun down, son" the old man said evenly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  The masked man swallowed hard, his instincts screaming at him to retreat. Yet he held his ground, clinging to his pistol. After all, a gun was a gun, whether a pistol or an AK-47, a wrong move could mean death for both of them.

  "Old man" the masked man said with determination "Do you really think that frail body of yours can handle a hail of bullets? I served in the army, I guarantee I can shoot you before you even pull the trigger"

  The old man raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised this time. He thought to himself, Are young people really this brave these days? Resigned, he decided to escate the situation further.

  "Hold on, son. Let me grab something else..." he said calmly, turning his back once more to rummage through his belongings.

  The masked man’s patience was wearing thin, and he began stomping his foot on the ground repeatedly.

  "Are you done yet or not!?" he barked, his voice filled with frustration.

  "Ah, yes, yes. Age is catching up with me, I nearly forgot where I put it. Now, take a look at this little toy…"

  When the old man turned around again, the masked man’s eyes widened in sheer terror. Slung over the old man’s shoulder was a massive RPG rocket uncher, the barrel of which was wider than the masked man’s head.

  The masked man’s legs started trembling uncontrolbly. I just wanted to rob this pce… Was this really necessary?

  He began mumbling incoherently, his words barely audible. He knew that for anyone under level 20, a pistol was still a deadly weapon. But something like a rocket uncher? That was an entirely different matter. To survive a direct hit, one needed to be at least level 40, and neither he nor the old man appeared to be anywhere near that level.

  "Old man… are you really pnning to go all out against me? Fine! If we’re going to die, let’s die together!" the masked man shouted, taking a deep breath as if trying to convince himself this was the choice of a brave man.

  The old man, however, merely chuckled faintly. Without a word, he reached under the counter once more and pulled out a small vial filled with a glowing green liquid.

  [Life Elixir (Lower Quality)]

  When consumed by those below level 40, it significantly boosts recovery abilities.

  "How can you possibly have something like that!?" the masked man excimed, his hands trembling visibly. An item of this caliber was incredibly rare, and given humanity's current level of development, it could easily fetch at least 10 million dolrs on the bck market.

  The old man smiled calmly, expining that he possessed many more of them. His profession as a Master Distiller allowed him to craft healing items endlessly, provided he had enough time.

  "That’s why I say, young man, you’ve been far too reckless. I hope you learn some wisdom in your next life."

  Just as the old man was about to pull the trigger on the rocket uncher resting on his shoulder, the space near the shop’s entrance began to ripple and distort. Suddenly, two figures appeared, one with the head of a bull and the other with the head of a horse.

  "Damn it! Where are we? Something must’ve gone wrong with the transfer!"

  "Are you serious? Do you have any idea how much magical energy the transfer spell consumes? The elder of the sect spent all 500 of his magic points, plus some special techniques, just to send us here. Our priority now is to locate the new Priestess"

  The bull-headed and horse-headed figures argued with each other, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.

  Meanwhile, both the old man and the masked man stood frozen in shock, their heads slowly turning toward the newcomers. Unconsciously, they pointed their weapons at the strange figures.

  "W-Who are you?"

  "Hmm? Humans?" The horse-headed figure gnced at them dismissively. "And insignificant ones at that, level 24 and 26?"

  With a casual wave of his hand, the horse-headed man rendered their weapons useless, the items falling apart instantly.

  If anyone had the ability to inspect the levels of these two beings, they would undoubtedly be struck with overwhelming fear.

  Horse Beastkin: Level 82.

  Bull Beastkin: Level 83.

  Suvn