In the very center of the camp—an ocean of canvas tents, stacked crates, and supply wagons—stood a single structure that dwarfed all the rest.

  A massive green tent rose like a small hill among the orderly rows. It looked less like a military installation and more like something meant for festivals or grand banquets. If people were willing to stand shoulder to shoulder, at least a thousand could fit inside without much trouble. That alone made its purpose obvious.

  This was the legion commander’s tent.

  It was where orders were given, arguments erupted, and sleepless nights were endured.

  Inside, Karl stood with his arms crossed, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Beside him was Arin, who had very clearly been dragged here rather than invited. He stood slightly behind his grandfather, doing his best to look inconspicuous while still listening closely.

  Across from them sat Legion Commander Eloi Viera.

  The man looked exhausted.

  Dark circles clung stubbornly beneath his eyes, and the fingers tapping against the table betrayed a frustration he could no longer fully contain. For the past month, problems had piled up faster than solutions. Only now, with the dust beginning to settle, had the true scale of the disaster become apparent.

  Communications were the first failure.

  Within the heartland, modern technology functioned almost perfectly. Screens, data terminals, even luxuries like climate control—all of it worked as if the world had never ended. But out here, on the battlefield side of the portal, it was a different story.

  Anything even remotely advanced refused to cooperate.

  Energy didn’t flow properly. Mana interfered with circuitry. Components overheated, shorted out, or simply died. Radios were useless. Satellites might as well not exist. Even the most hardened engineers could only shrug helplessly.

  And with communication gone, logistics collapsed soon after.

  Eloi was reasonably certain that nearly twenty-five percent of his legion was missing.

  Not dead—at least, he hoped not—but misplaced. Scattered somewhere along the walls, trenches, and half-finished defensive structures that stretched for hundreds of kilometers. The only reason the number wasn’t higher was because half of his legion consisted of trained military personnel. Professionals. They could organize, regroup, and guide the motivated civilians who followed them.

  Even then, concripts kept turning up in the heartland.

  Lost. Confused. Complaining bitterly about how “things worked better back home.”

  Eloi resisted the urge to scream every time it happened.

  At least he wasn’t the worst off.

  He had heard rumors—legion commanders who hadn’t found any of their soldiers yet. Entire units swallowed by the endless terrain. Compared to that, being only a quarter blind felt almost merciful.

  He had been indulging in that small comfort when his staff commander had entered and announced the arrival of scouts.

  Not just scouts.

  The only non-military scouting group in hiss entire legion.

  That fact alone irritated him.

  They had been forced on him by higher command—“specialized assets,” they called them. Eloi called it nonsense. Still, orders were orders. And with no other scouting reports returning, he couldn’t deny that their presence might be useful.

  After all, a second wave of scouts had already been sent to search for the first.

  And none of them had come back.

  Five minutes later, Eloi leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly.

  “We’re going to need to go over this again,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Slowly.”

  He looked up, fixing Karl with a sharp stare.

  “First of all—the distances you’re reporting, the terrain, the complete absence of animals… and then this.” He tapped the table where Karl’s hand-drawn map lay spread out. “You claim you weren’t even halfway across the battlefield?”

  Before Eloi’s tone could sharpen further, Arin stepped forward.

  “Before you get mad at my grandpa, sir,” he said quickly, “he made it clear it was speculation.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Eloi paused, eyes shifting to the boy.

  Arin swallowed, then continued, pointing at the map.

  “But if you look at the layout—the forest here, the river here—they feel deliberate. Natural obstacles meant to regulate the battlefield. Control movement. Control flow.”

  He traced the massive river line with his finger.

  “If we cross that river, it’s probably where large-scale battles are supposed to happen. The other terrain—forests, cliffs—they’re fallback zones. Easier to defend. And the bridge…” His finger tapped the marked location. “If the river wasn’t meant to be a barrier, it wouldn’t exist. Or at least not something that massive.”

  The tent fell quiet.

  Eloi studied the map again, slower this time.

  “…I’ll bring this theory to the marshals,” he said at last. “Thank you.”

  He straightened.

  “Second question. Have you encountered any other scout groups?”

  Karl and Arin exchanged a glance.

  “No,” Karl said. “Why is that important?”

  “Because you’re the first scouts to return,” Eloi replied bluntly. “From anyone.”

  That earned him two surprised expressions.

  Arin frowned. “We didn’t see anyone else… but honestly, sir, I wouldn’t be surprised if they couldn’t find their way back.”

  Eloi’s eyes narrowed.

  “Explain.”

  “Once you go far enough into the grasslands,” Arin said, “the sun starts behaving… wrong. Same with the stars. Navigation by celestial bodies stops working. Compasses spin. Landmarks repeat. If you get lost out there without proper navigation skills, you’re not coming back.”

  “And yet,” Eloi said slowly, “you did.”

  Karl tapped his chest lightly. “Class advantage.”

  That answer earned him a long, thoughtful look.

  “…I see.”

  Eloi flipped through the report again.

  “And this part,” he said. “About you climbing the wall.”

  Arin immediately looked away, toeing the ground like a guilty child.

  “We couldn’t find a gate,” he muttered. “And no one was there, so… it seemed easier.”

  Eloi stared at him.

  “…We’ll skip the disciplinary discussion,” he said at last, voice tight. “You did just get back. And the gates are far apart—one at each cardinal direction of a five-hundred-kilometer wall.”

  He paused.

  “Where did you cross?”

  “Pakistan West, kilometer twenty-three point five, sir.”

  The silence that followed was heavy.

  “…You walked for an hour before climbing, didn’t you?” Eloi said.

  Arin opened his mouth.

  “Don’t answer,” Eloi cut in, raising a hand.

  He stood.

  “I’ll report this to the Military Grand Council,” he said, already tired at the thought of it. “Security issues, structural gaps, your observations. Even if the goblins aren’t expected soon, complacency will kill us faster than the enemy.”

  He waved them off.

  “You’re dismissed.”

  As Arin and Karl stepped out of the tent, they heard Eloi’s voice erupt behind them.

  “I hate dealing with religions!”

  Arin flinched. “Grandpa… is he going to be okay?”

  Karl chuckled softly. “He’ll survive. You remember how the religious institutes were back when they demanded forest rights.”

  “…Yeah.”

  And it was no wonder the commander was stressed.

  The year was 2100. Religions were no longer as overwhelmingly massive as they had been decades ago—but what remained was sharper. More extreme. More devout.

  With fewer followers came greater fanaticism.

  Positions of power filled with those who believed absolutely.

  In Pakistan alone, nearly seventy-five million people no longer identified as Pakistani—but as Muslim first and foremost. Officially, they belonged to the Pakistani faction. Unofficially, the Muslim faction wanted them claimed outright.

  And with the System now officialy adding the large religions to the pseudo-factions…

  It was only going to get worse.

  Logistics, loyalty, identity—everything was already cracking.

  And the trial had barely begun.