When the doors to the council chamber closed, the atmosphere changed instantly.

  The faint echoes of footsteps faded down the corridor, and with them went the pretense of restraint. The vast hall—once merely formal—now felt oppressive, as if invisible weights had been placed upon every shoulder present.

  Silence settled heavily.

  It was the kind of silence that made people aware of their own breathing.

  Then, one by one, the marshals of the five strongest nations let their presence spill into the room.

  It was not mana.

  There was no mystical pressure, no arcane force pressing down on the air. This was something far older and far more primal—the aura of authority forged through decades of command, stained by blood, tempered by impossible decisions, and sharpened by the knowledge that millions lived or died by a single order.

  It was the presence of people who had stood at the top of the world for so long that hesitation itself had learned to fear them.

  Several generals from smaller nations swallowed hard. Others shifted in their seats, suddenly aware that they were prey in a room full of predators.

  Xian Mu, chairman of the council, was the first to speak.

  “I am disappointed.”

  His voice was calm.

  That made it worse.

  “What,” he continued slowly, eyes sweeping across the chamber, “did you truly believe would happen?”

  No one answered.

  “Did you think we would simply sit behind stone walls and wait?” Xian asked. “That we would patiently train our troops, grow comfortable in this new world, and pretend that time is a luxury we possess?”

  His lips curled into something that was not quite a smile.

  “As if we will be given that much time.”

  Shame rippled across several faces. A few generals looked away. Others clenched their jaws, unwilling to meet his gaze.

  Slobozhanin, Marshal of Russia, leaned forward, his thick fingers interlocked.

  “Xian is right,” he said, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “If that bridge is anything to go by, then there will be more of those paths. Weak points. Openings designed to discourage defenders.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “And it would not surprise me if the longer we choose to hide, the more of them appear.”

  A few uncomfortable murmurs followed.

  Marshal Herman let out a short breath, his expression thoughtful.

  “And let’s not forget the rewards,” he added. “We don’t know the judging criteria of this… trial. But I would be shocked if delay did not count against us.”

  He tapped a finger against the table.

  “History has shown this time and time again. The first to act gains momentum. The snowball effect is very real.”

  Herman allowed himself a faint smile.

  “Just look at Europe. We ignited the Industrial Revolution first, and centuries later we still stand among the most powerful forces on Earth.”

  The comparison was not popular.

  Several representatives bristled—but none spoke. Because as much as they disliked hearing it, they knew it was true.

  By now, anyone paying attention could see it.

  The top five nations had already reached an understanding.

  An unspoken agreement.

  And the others?

  They were never meant to be part of it.

  Of course, announcing such a divide openly would have been suicidal. Nuclear weapons were gone. The old deterrents had vanished overnight. If the rest of the world united against them now, the balance could still tip.

  So the five waited.

  They searched for the right moment.

  And this mission—this revelation—had handed it to them.

  “Don’t forget where we are,” said John, the marshal of the United States, his voice confident, bordering on arrogant. “This is a trial ground.”

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  He spread his hands.

  “And every trial I know has a time limit.”

  A few heads snapped up.

  “The only reason we didn’t send more troops last time,” John continued, “was because most weren’t ready—and our logistics were a mess.”

  He leaned back just as Arun, India’s marshal, smoothly took over.

  “And that problem,” Arun said, raising a hand to silence a few uneasy generals, “has been solved.”

  The room stilled.

  “We have designed new transport carriages,” Arun explained. “Ones pulled by humans.”

  A wave of confusion swept through the chamber.

  “It sounds absurd,” Arun admitted. “But think about it. Why are we relying on animals? Horses take years to raise. Cattle even longer.”

  He tapped the table lightly.

  “Our bodies are enhanced now. A trained soldier can perform the work of a horse—if not more.”

  The reaction was… mixed.

  Two weeks ago, an ecstatic messenger had delivered the designs to headquarters. When the marshals saw them for the first time, they had been left speechless.

  The designs solved their greatest logistical weakness.

  And at the same time, they horrified them.

  The contraptions were ugly. Functional to the point of cruelty. And yet undeniably effective.

  Before, the lack of logistics had forced them into passivity. Sitting back had not been cowardice—it had been necessity.

  But now?

  Now that excuse was gone.

  And that realization left many generals deeply uncomfortable.

  Because the truth was simple.

  They liked waiting.

  Not because it was safe—but because it was convenient.

  With oversight weakened, civilian governments distant, and nuclear deterrence gone, military leaders found themselves freer than ever. Meetings replaced accountability. Power accumulated quietly.

  Why rush into danger when patience offered control?

  But the marshals of the top five nations saw it differently.

  They always had.

  Their history had bred paranoia into their bones. Plans within plans. Contingencies stacked atop contingencies.

  And when they looked at the goblins…

  They did not see mindless beasts.

  They saw patterns.

  They saw adaptation.

  They saw intelligence.

  Which terrified them.

  Because that meant there was a strategist on the other side.

  A real one.

  And that meant sitting still was suicide.

  So why not tell the others?

  Why not warn every nation, every religion?

  The reasons were many.

  First—trust.

  Cults had already begun to emerge. Gods worshipped. Trails praised. Fanatics preaching surrender and salvation. Even among established religions, doubt had begun to creep in.

  Second—temptation.

  What general could say with certainty that they would refuse an offer of power? To rule Earth as a proxy? To open a gate in exchange for dominion?

  The five marshals trusted each other only because their ambitions stretched far beyond a single planet.

  Why settle for Earth when the universe itself was within reach?

  That was why they stayed silent.

  That was why they moved alone.

  Xian Mu folded his hands.

  “With logistics resolved,” he said, “we have one month.”

  The room held its breath.

  “One month to prepare,” Xian continued. “Then we go back on the offensive.”

  His gaze swept across the chamber, sharp and unwavering.

  “I refuse to sit here and wait to be besieged.”

  Silence followed.

  Then—

  “Any questions?”

  No one spoke.

  Because the game had already changed.

  And everyone in that room knew it.