June 18, 1617 Central Calendar

  The details of the ambitious Operation WHEELHOUSE, which marked the Holy Milishial Empire's first-ever intervention in the mysterious Southern World, were promptly transmitted to the seven leaders of the Order of the Ancients. Using footage from the units engaged in the skirmish at a remote Annonrial airbase in the southern Illemese Continent, along with other intelligence, they observed their LEGION-outfitted false flag operations mobile suits (as they perceived them) carry out the mission with success, leaving a burning military installation behind as they vanished mid-dogfight with the intercepting Annonrial air force.

  In this teleconference, they watched as the "Righteous Salvation Army's" technology was utilized to ensure the mission's success without a single casualty on either side, an unthinkable feat in war. Naturally, beneath their expressionless masks, each of them wore a look of stunned reverence, as if in disbelief that it was their side that just did this.

  "Zero casualties, not even among the enemy. To think that I would see such a thing in a military operation. Mission success and no bloodshed are almost guaranteed to be mutually exclusive."

  Magister Tephras shook his head slightly as he spoke. Even if his voice was modulated, it still carried hints of a measured tone of quiet astonishment. The others let out a murmur of agreement that rippled through the teleconference session.

  "This is either madness or brilliance," Magister Enepsigos remarked.

  "It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide," said Magister Eblis in reply.

  In truth, the White Lotus Leader, the mastermind behind this operation, was promised "prompt and utter destruction" by the First Horseman of the Apocalypse should even one enemy life was lost during the operation, forcing the man without means to combat the entity to just fight with one hand tied behind his back. Fortunately, the circumstances provided a convenient justification, and now, after witnessing the Holy Milishial Empire's technological prowess achieve what seemed impossible, the "Annonrial defectors" hold nothing but respect for their new allies. Their loyalty has only deepened, having seen magic used in its truest, most awe-inspiring form—though it was in the shape of a weird show of power.

  To put it simply, the operation's rule of minimizing casualties was tactically bullshit, but politically an absolute victory to win over the allies' trust, at least for the Emperor. What the Emperor didn't anticipate was that it would succeed so hard with absolutely no losses on either side (the Holy Empire used drones, so it was a given, but the enemies were flesh and blood sapient creatures).

  Despite the handicap, it earned Meteos Roguerider victorious points if only Legiel wasn't so smug about it, having patting himself in the back for ensuring his Little Brother maintained a "moral high ground."

  On his seat at the round table, the Grand Magister remained silent for a moment, then his holographic projection turned slightly toward the shadows behind his seat. There, two figures without masks stood—guests, observers from a faction whose presence here was as calculated as the operation itself.

  "And you?" the Grand Magister inquired pointedly. "We 'kept casualties to a minimum,' just as you requested. Are you satisfied with this outcome?"

  One of the guests, a Winged Man named Stendhal, clenched his fists as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He bowed his head deeply and spoke with a voice trembling with emotion.

  "Thank you, Magnificent Grand Magister... Thank you for sparing our fellow Nephilim. Even if they serve the Messiah now, they are still our people. This mercy... we will not forget it."

  Inwardly cringing at the over-the-top flattery, Magister Mastema rested his cheek on his fist with an air of smug amusement.

  "Your requirement is rather constraining, I must say. But I suppose it serves as an excellent demonstration of just how far our Holy Empire's true technological prowess has advanced. One might even call it overkill, even as we fought with a hand tied behind our backs."

  "Then... what you're going to do with the captured personnel?"

  "They will be relocated to somewhere safe and far away. As for their eventual fate... well, that depends on their cooperation. If they can be reasoned with, perhaps they'll earn their freedom eventually in the new world order. If not... let's just say the Holy Empire has no shortage of uses for those guys, but we'll make sure they will not end up dead out of respect for you, our collaborators."

  Stendhal's wings twitched slightly at Mastema's words, but he remained silent. As defectors who sought asylum in the Holy Milishial Empire, there was only so much they could request without making it too absurd to fulfill.

  But behind the veneer of deference to the Grand Magister and all the charade that entails, these White Lotus allies had already made their own arrangements. To help with the Holy Empire's future psychological warfare against Annonrial, they will regularly divert the delivery of the captured personnel to Amon so that they may see the Temple of Heaven. They would just say to the Emperor, with a convincing excuse, that most of these average joes folded after being confronted with relics that irrefutably reveal the Ravernal Empire's true nature: that of psychopathic insanity.

  The other guest, a Winged Woman named Carina, gently folded her hands in front of her.

  "The common people of Annonrial are not our enemies," she said quietly. "They are merely deceived by the Messiah into marching to their own destruction. We, the so-called Heretics, are not terrorists who revel in chaos. We fight for our ideals, but we do not slaughter indiscriminately."

  "For your faction, yes. But overall that's easier said than done, you don't say?"

  Magister Eblis let out a thoughtful hum.

  "Let us not forget that your people have been conditioned for generations to see humanity as little more than garbage it might as well be their nature. That kind of indoctrination does not simply vanish because a few dissenters wish it so."

  His gaze shifted between Stendhal and Carina, studying their reactions. In this narrative, their Heretic faction, whose numbers were almost nonexistent to begin with, dared to speak of coexistence even as they struggled just to escape Annonrial. Yet how could they hope to reform an entire society raised to believe their dominance was divinely ordained? The challenge was even greater when true science itself confirmed that a Winged Man—or Nephilim, as they were called in Annonrial—was biologically a superior being to the Five Peoples.

  "Magister Eblis, that's rich coming from the leader of a faction who just won a battle with an idealistic leaning," Magister Sorath pointed out. Beside her, Magister Enepsigos, who was known among the seven leaders as Sorath's most fervent supporter, let out a chuckle.

  "Magister Sorath, I fail to see what exactly you are trying to say."

  "........."

  At that moment, Magister Mastema spoke up.

  "Perhaps we should 'show' them the reality that the Ancient Sorcerous Empire they worship so fervently views them as nothing more than expendable tools. A demonstration of that truth might loosen their convictions, hehe."

  "...Sure, that seems plausible as long as we execute it properly. Do you want to cause widespread chaos by acting too recklessly? No, right?" Magister Eblis shrugged, pointing with his thumb at the guests who lightly flinched imagining the scenario. "Ah, my apologies for being so blunt. I suppose I should temper my skepticism, but still, let us not forget that this operation succeeded largely due to the element of surprise. The enemy was unprepared for our capabilities, but I'm sure they will adapt, making our next operations harder."

  "Then what will our next move be?" The Grand Magister cut through the talk.

  "We should wait and gauge Annonrial's reaction while advancing our more subtle infiltration attempts. A strike like this will force them to reassess their defenses, but it will also sow confusion especially since there's an unexpected place where they have to pay attention."

  "I'd imagine the regime will try to cover it up," Magister Mastema chimed in.

  "Naturally," Sorath acknowledged. "However, it's still true that they were attacked under their noses. They will move to rectify this, even if they will never admit it."

  Despite a hint of personal experience with mistakes radiating from Sorath as she spoke, the Magister was right. The Annonrial Empire had been hit where they least expected it, at a time when nearly their entire military and intelligence assets were focused on the 'looming threat' of war with humanity to the north. A remote airbase in southern Illemese was nowhere near those locations, thus making it a place they likely considered secure.

  The Magister of the Eyes advised restraint for the time being. If the Holy Empire pressed too hard now, Annonrial would quickly regroup and fortify its defenses. Instead, by avoiding major military ops while engaging in psychological warfare, they could let paranoia and uncertainty fester within the Empire. This might push the Messiah's regime to spread its resources thin, trying to secure every possible weak point only to create new vulnerabilities. In the meantime, the Order's agents could expand their influence, gathering even more intelligence.

  Magister Dumah who had been silent until now turned to the guests.

  "Before we conclude, there is another matter to address. During the operation, the LEGION intercepted a strange television broadcast with an entity calling itself 'Kyriel' in it. Do either of you have any knowledge of this thing?"

  Stendhal and Carina shook their heads in response.

  "We've never heard of anything by that name," Stendhal admitted. "But since it spoke of subjugating the Nephilim... it may be a test subject that broke out of containment located nearby."

  "I see. That explains why it harbors such hostility."

  "But if it's loose in the Southern World, it could disrupt our operations. An uncontrolled variable with unknown capabilities is the last thing we need," Magister Mastema frowned.

  "Let's divert a unit to investigate. If it's a rogue asset, better we find it before Annonrial does," Magister Enepsigos chimed in. "And while we're at it, we should try to secure research facilities we encounter in the future."

  Magister Tephras tilted his head slightly, contemplating the idea. Considering the wealth of their resources, it would be strange not to do that, which he was sure that his comrades would agree.

  "And if we do find more of these... can we not attempt to reason with them? If they are victims of Annonrial's experiments, they may harbor resentment toward their torturers. An alliance of convenience could be possible."

  "They may be the enemy of our enemy, but that does not make them our friend. I wouldn't stake my hope on it," Sorath commented.

  "What a shame."

  With that, the teleconference reached its conclusion. The seven leaders of the Order had weighed their options, debated their next moves, and now, a policy had been set.

  First, they would refrain from overt military actions for the time being, allowing the shock of Operation WHEELHOUSE to unsettle the Annonrial Empire's leadership. Let them scramble to reinforce their defenses, wasting resources on phantom threats while the Order's agents deepened their infiltration.

  Second, psychological warfare would intensify. The captured personnel would be "processed." The goal? To erode faith in Zarathostra of the Messiah from within.

  And third, they would investigate the mysterious "Kyriel" and be on the lookout for other rogue entities, assessing whether they could be turned into assets or if they needed to be eliminated before Annonrial could exploit them.

  As the teleconference ended, the holograms of the seven leaders flickered out one by one as they returned to their respective mundane lives.

  ?????

  Once she confirmed the teleconference had concluded and the connection was cut, Magister Enepsigos removed her mask and robes, unveiling the appearance of a beautiful blue-haired maid underneath. With a gentle smile, she turned to her hidden companion, who had secretly listened in on the Order of the Ancients' meeting without being detected.

  "Young Master, it's done."

  Meteos let out a sigh as he stood up and stretched.

  "Thank you, Miss Giles. That was enlightening as usual."

  "My pleasure," the maid, Rachel Giles, chuckled.

  Under normal circumstances, Meteos Roguerider would never have been able to eavesdrop on a meeting of the secretive covenant that helped shape the Holy Milishial Empire into the prosperous and stable superpower it was today—not without being a Magister himself. But this reincarnator was selfish, determined, and in this timeline, utterly unbound by convention. So, he broke the rules without hesitation, seizing the information he wanted simply because he possessed the power to do so.

  The six Magisters who saw the Temple of Heaven relayed every crucial detail of the Order's plans behind the Grand Magister's back without a second thought. To them, sharing this information with the White Lotus Leader was not only natural but necessary, a means to better serve the Grand Magister and the Holy Empire itself. As a result, the Order's workings became more effective much to the Grand Magister's pleasure while subtly serving Meteos' interests. Everyone wins.

  Tilting her head curiously, Rachel asked Meteos, "May I ask you a question, Young Master?"

  "Sure, why not."

  "So, we are going to lay low for a while. I'd reckoned you would be far more aggressive in this campaign."

  After all, Zarathostra of the Messiah was the enemy standing between humanity and the final enemy. Yet Meteos seemed content to let the Order's psychological warfare take the lead for now.

  "The airbase attack was more a flashy spectacle to draw Annonrial's attention while our infiltration units slipped deeper into their territory. Psychological warfare only works if the enemy is looking the wrong way."

  "But we already have small drones in play, don't we? Surely they're aiding in intelligence gathering?"

  "They are," Meteos admitted, "but even they're not perfect. Sensitive enough mana detectors can pick them up, and if Zarathostra of the Messiah notices that these drones keep coming from outside of his territory, he'll start making assumptions we'd rather he didn't."

  A frown flickered across the silver-haired young man's face.

  "I don't want to underestimate him. As much as a zealot he is, he's not an idiot. If he suspects that someone is probing his defenses systematically, he'll tighten security in ways we'd be hard-pressed to predict, even if he doesn't know who the perpetrator is. And that's a risk I'm not willing to take."

  In short, it was a choice rooted in Meteos' old habit of assuming the worst about hypothetical enemies—though thankfully not so severely that it froze him into paralysis. Still, he'd rather face the letdown of the enemy's lackluster strength in real life than the remorse of being caught unprepared.

  During the Ravens' attack on the airbase, the Heretic Fleet smuggled in Spires carried by the infiltration units while the nearby Annonrial mana detectors were down. These Spires will be used to generate production facilities that churn out drones mimicking Ancient Sorcerous Empire tech, making it look like they were remnants of the old world activating on their own. That way, even if Annonrial detects them, they'll assume it's just another malfunctioning relic, not an outside intrusion. Hopefully, this will keep the enemy confused for a bit longer.

  "I see. I don't mean to contest your decision after the fact, Young Master," Rachel nodded.

  "Oh no, do I finally look like the kind of person who's unwilling to hear differing opinions?"

  At his dry remark, Rachel giggled, covering her mouth with a hand.

  "Well, since we're laying low for a while, I might as well take the chance to 'lay low' myself," Meteos shrugged.

  "I will wake you up at dinner, then. Is there anything in particular you'd like to feast on?"

  Meteos waved a hand dismissively.

  "I'll leave it to you."

  Rachel tapped her chin thoughtfully before brightening. She already pictured something in mind to replenish the energy of someone who had just returned from brain-intensive work like Meteos.

  ?????

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  Even under the scorching sun at high noon during the hottest summer months, Ace Roguerider continued to drag his Tector Gear-clad body to the next milestone in his training: walking a distance of 200 meters wearing that armor.

  Yes, walking a distance of a mere 200 meters.

  Usually, it would hardly be considered a challenge—it might take a few minutes at most, a trivial task completed without thought. But wearing the Tector Gear, being the cursed armor that it was, he might as well walk on the surface of the sun itself. He was punished by merely taking a step. The more Ace exerted his strength, the tighter the armor constricted, its plates pressing inward like the coils of a serpent. In the past several months ago, even the simplest motions such as clenching his fist had been agony.

  And amidst such hardship, Legiel appeared, flaunting his freedom of movement next to him.

  "Thou shalt not kill," he quoted airily and mockingly, completely unprompted. "I was planning to drown Meteos Roguerider in an ocean of suffering if even one enemy's life was lost during his current campaign, but it seems that he worked under pressure well. Zero casualties are his major victory and it actually earns him the defecting Winged People's respect, however stupid it may sound."

  "...It is indeed stupid. But what can I say. Reality is stranger than fiction, isn't it?"

  Amidst his ragged breath, Ace responded by barking a bitter laugh. After all, Legiel—who refused to acknowledge real people he screwed over as something more than one-dimensional caricatures—deserved to have his grand vision thwarted. And that denial was Ace's greatest satisfaction.

  "I wouldn't be so quick to rejoice if I were you," Legiel chided.

  The further Meteos Roguerider goes in undermining the enemy of all races, the harsher the consequences will be if he slips up—even slightly. Yet there's no point in turning back, for there was no other way but forward.

  "We'll see what the future holds. Until then, you and Little Brother should savor the triumphs of your stupidity while you still can."

  And like a master praising a dog for a trick it barely managed to perform, Legiel reached out and gave a pat on the shoulder. Before Ace could even muster the energy to shrug him off, the Horseman yanked him closer and whispered in his ear.

  "But I'll tell you this: what a man is willing to risk, or not to risk. That's a measure of his soul..."

  With those words, Legiel vanished, leaving behind only the faintest ripple of displaced air.

  As he was about to continue, his protesting muscles made Ace grit his teeth, feeling his body reaching its limit. The armor responded in kind. The plates loosened abruptly, and the bindings unraveled as the armor disintegrated into dark, dissipating motes. Without its cruel support, Ace collapsed onto the barren earth, his body drenched from head to toe in sweat.

  He'd only made it 169 meters.

  With his sense of time blurring into nothingness, Ace had no idea how much time had passed as he lay there, lost in the haze of exhaustion. The next thing he heard was a voice calling his name.

  Forcing himself to lift his head, he saw Meteos standing over him, hand extended. Rei stood silently behind. The slanting sun cast shadows, framing their silhouette in a halo of fading gold.

  …………

  Under the shade of a gnarled old tree, the three rested, the leaves offering a respite from the relentless sun. Meteos handed Ace a canteen of chilled potion, the recipe of which was provided by Carina of the Nephilim said to restore stamina and soothe overworked muscles. Ace gulped it down greedily, the cool liquid a balm against his parched throat.

  Nearby, Rei knelt beside him, administering healing magic that seeped into his body, easing the tremors and dulling the lingering ace of the Tector Gear's cruelty. Reaching for the paper bag Meteos had brought, Ace rummaged through its contents before his fingers brushed against a small, tightly wrapped packet. He pulled it out, eyeing it curiously.

  Meteos glanced over. "That's for you."

  Unwrapping it, Ace found a small vial filled with a dark, viscous liquid. The label bore the insignia of a certain company and a string of finely printed instructions.

  "A supplement?" He turned the vial in his hand, watching the liquid slosh thickly inside.

  "That's a new nutrient concentrate, good for recovery. It is bitter, though."

  Apparently, it was released just recently, but they were too busy with their own work to notice it until now. Humming in amusement as he uncorked the vial, Ace sniffed it and immediately recoiled, confirming it firsthand.

  "Ugh! ...No, don't worry about it. If bitterness and pain beget hope, I shall devour them all."

  Ace exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension bled away. For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind through the leaves before he spoke again, voice low.

  "...So, you're going to go easy on the southern campaign for the time being?"

  "Yes."

  "Ah," Ace closed his eyes and heaved another sigh. "...I'm sorry I can't be there with you."

  "You shouldn't waste energy worrying about that," Meteos calmly retorted. "Just focus on getting stronger. That's how you help me."

  Ace clenched his jaw but didn't argue.

  "...Thank you for all of this," he muttered. The potion and healing magic had done their work—his muscles still ached, but the sharpest pains had dulled, and his breathing had steadied.

  Meteos watched him for a moment, then suddenly spoke.

  "...Ace," he called out. "The Kain Divine Kingdom's Priest-King... Lapis, was it?" He paused, as if searching his memory for the name.

  "...Where does this come from?"

  "I think I might've dreamed about him."

  "Is that so?"

  "It was faint," Meteos muttered. "Just a silhouette, floating in some kind of colorful mist. I couldn't see that person's face. But when I woke up, the first thing I remembered was that name."

  Ace was silent for a long moment, his fingers tightening around the empty canteen. He had mentioned Lapis to Meteos back when this world was restarted. But other than a cursory discourse, Meteos had never shown any particular interest in this individual before, what with being dimensions apart while a much more pressing matter stood before him.

  "I see. Such are dreams, but I am not a Kami of the Dreams. Sorry, my knowledge is limited."

  Even so, Kagaseo with his barebone knowledge used dreams as a medium for making contact with the man he reincarnated before... all this happened.

  "...What's he like?"

  "The people of Yggdra possess a factor that allows them, one at a time, to become a conduit of the Deities as the Priest-King of Kain. This manifests as the faint magical signature detected in Gra Valkans when they were transported to this world. However, due to Noluthe's meddling in Yggdra's history, this divine link was cut off for all other nations, leaving only the people of Kain with the ability to speak to their deities. And as a consequence of Noluthe's actions, Gra Valkas, the strongest of the breakaway states, despises this, saying that it denies humanity of free will."

  Ace let out a distasteful laugh.

  "Of course, being the Serpent that he is, if Noluthe tells you that snow is white, he's lying. The idea that he cares about freedom is pure deception, just like how he deceived many Men and Women of the Beginning before with that forked tongue of his."

  "........."

  The Civilization Annihilation Game operates by forcing their morality onto mortals to rationalize their destruction. While concepts like "order" and "freedom" are neither inherently good nor evil, the Game chooses one of the feuding ideals as its ally, demonizing the other, and then twisting its chosen side into another form of evil. By pitting two perceived evils against each other, it creates the illusion that humanity deserves only contempt and genocide.

  "Lapis is... an ordinary man with his own dreams and desires, but one whom the weight of the world was placed on his shoulders. But because of the Game's longtime interference in Yggdra's history, his life and rise to power were anything but the peaceful and plentiful journey they should have been. Instead, he was fraught by illness and had to keep his nation afloat in a losing war that should never have occurred in the first place."

  "........."

  By design, the Civilization Annihilation Game forcibly engineers scenarios meant to bring out the worst in people, to 'prove' their inherent evil. The rise of nations that broke off from the Divine Kingdom in ancient times such as the Gra Valkas Empire was one such scenario. A militaristic, expansionist power that shouldn't have existed in that world. All to justify what came after.

  Meteos' gaze turned pensive.

  "But there are those who fight the Game over there too, right?"

  "...I still abandoned them midway, leaving them to figure out on their own."

  Meteos noticed the way the weakened deity's grip tightened, the way his jaw clenched just slightly—subtle signs of the self-loathing that had festered in him. Telling him to have faith in Yggdra's struggle would be hollow. What good were platitudes when Ace had been forced to abandon them, when he carried the weight of his choices like chains around his neck?

  So instead, Meteos exhaled quietly and said, "...My apologies. That wasn't fair to ask."

  "...Don't mention it."

  "Say, if the Gra Valkas Empire disappears from Yggdra the same way it did in my past life... what happens to Kain? To the rest of the world?"

  "It's hard to say. Gra Valkas is a tumor that forced Yggdra into desperation. Remove it, and the pressure eases... but the scars remain."

  Rei, who had been silent until now, tilted her head slightly. "Young Master, would they try to unite the world in its absence?"

  "If for whatever reason Kain attempts to do that, they won't have an easy time. Not after a war that lasted for so long. By then, the other nations will have solidified their identities enough to resist submission, and Kain lacks the strength to suppress them all. At best, they'll end up with an uneasy and fragile peace. Multiple countries, too battered to keep fighting but too suspicious to work together anytime soon. Surviving on that blackened husk of a world would be a compromise they have to live with."

  "A Cold War, huh."

  "...And that is assuming there's even a Yggdra left after Gra Valkas' disappearance," Ace muttered darkly and turned to Meteos with a pointed glance. "...Why do you think Japan never went back to Earth after fulfilling its supposed role?"

  'Key to defeating Ravernal, my foot,' Ace thought. It was all aberration to force a 'Heroic Savior' yet one constantly whipped into desperation that they 'will' resort to wickedness. And after that, they'll point at them and yell: "See!? I was right the entire time!"

  "...Indeed, whatever the true cause may have been, the Game is certainly capable of such actions."

  "It's better that we never get to see such things."

  June 21, 1617 Central Calendar

  Runepolis, Holy Milishial Empire

  Until now, High Charity had been instrumental in manufacturing cutting-edge military hardware, transforming the Holy Milishial Empire from a paper tiger that would have its nose bloodied by a peer opponent into a monster capable of theoretically dominating the world, much like the Ravernal Empire before them. The primary bottleneck was the steep learning curve, comparable to handing a caveman a radio and expecting him to decipher its purpose alone—a challenge no different from their past struggles with the ancient relics. However, the present-day Holy Empire at least had guides to streamline the training process, making it far more efficient.

  But sooner or later, someone adversely affected by a certain system will raise a question: if High Charity's power is so overwhelming, why hasn't it been unleashed to kill capitalism?

  The answer was that the shock would be too great for the present-day Holy Empire's society to handle. So rather than taking a great leap forward only to regret it when everything comes crashing down, the Emperor decreed a series of cautious, incremental steps to slowly prepare the nation for the idea of a 'post-scarcity society.' Before anything else, tons of research would have to be done, leading policymakers to reluctantly accept that the Holy Empire won't be able to utilize High Charity's full potential anytime soon.

  The Ministry of Economy's headquarters, known as the Old Admiralty Building, was a red-brick edifice trimmed in white stone erected some distance from the Great Sumter River. Its arched windows and ornate gables spoke of an era when the Holy Empire was still forging its industrial might, though now, within its walls, far more revolutionary changes were being orchestrated.

  Inside one of its many conference rooms, Minister Edith Somerville sat at the head of a polished mahogany table, flanked by her subordinates. But while waiting for the meeting to begin, Edith's attention kept drifting to the holographic projection seated directly across from her. There stood a slightly older-looking woman whose presence was both an open secret and a carefully guarded enigma.

  Alicia Harvard, chairwoman of the Gosweeves Labor Union, appeared as she always did in public. To the bureaucrats in the capital, she was merely a regional labor representative. But then the White Lotus Leader came and revealed everything.

  Beneath that unassuming fa?ade was Magister Dumah the Custodian, leader of the Vein of the Order, an economy-oriented apparatus of an ancient organization that had never truly ceased functioning. For centuries, the Vein went by many names, but its purpose was always the same: to govern the flow of wealth, securing the prosperity and endurance of the deep-rooted tree it sustained.

  And so, after all attendees quieted down after reading the distributed material, Edith prefaced the meeting.

  "Ladies and gentlemen. As you are all aware, His Majesty has issued a directive authorizing a comprehensive study into the long-term implications of the Hollow Planet's discovery and High Charity's applications for future policies. This meeting is a preliminary session under that mandate. Officially, it never happened. Keep that in mind."

  She paused, her eyes flickering briefly to Alicia—officially doubly not present in this meeting.

  "Our task is to construct viable economic pathways that allow the Holy Empire to steadily transition—in the shortest timeframe possible—toward a post-scarcity paradigm without destabilizing our existing institutions, markets, or social fabric. That means preparing the foundation now for a society that will, one day, no longer depend on scarcity to determine value. At the same time, High Charity's classified status means that the public must not know about this plan until the time is ripe."

  The distributed materials outlined the staggering potential of High Charity, such as unlimited resources, instant manufacturing, and the surefire obsolescence of traditional labor and capital structures. The challenge was not in harnessing its power, but in doing so without carelessly unraveling the very fabric of their economy. Time-pressed until the arrival of the Ancient Sorcerous Empire, the Holy Empire didn't have the luxury of allowing things to develop more 'naturally.'

  "This time, let's just focus on the Holy Milishial Empire and ignore the existence of other countries. First of all, the transition must be seamless. If we flood the markets with infinite resources overnight, entire industries will collapse. We need to control the flow first, such as introducing Hollow Planet materials as 'breakthrough yields' from newly discovered deposits. To that end, we need to prepare cover operations to justify the sudden abundance."

  Alicia nodded.

  "Indeed. But more importantly, you must also consider labor displacement. If conventional raw material extraction becomes obsolete, entire mining and refining sectors will shrink. You can't afford mass unemployment as a side effect of progress."

  One of the officials interjected, "Would retraining programs suffice? Redirect workers into maintenance roles for Cauldron operations or High Charity's infrastructure?"

  However, the man sitting across from that official immediately let out a condescending scoff that caught the official's attention.

  "...What is it?"

  "Haven't you read page 223? High Charity's automation is capable of self-repairing. What use is manual labor over there?"

  "Still, surely there will be new occupations that spring up in the wake of this..."

  Alicia shook her head. "In any case, that won't be enough. We need a broader solution that doesn't just shift labor but redefines it."

  "The Vein has experience managing economic transitions. Magister, what do you propose?" Edith asked as she turned her gaze.

  Alicia's lips curled into a faint smile. Despite their differing statuses, the Minister wasn't afraid to consult her openly.

  "Well, labor displacement is inevitable, but the key is to avoid it being destructive. The Vein has managed transitions before, though never on this scale. What about redefining value before scarcity disappears entirely? If High Charity can handle material production, then people should focus on what it cannot do."

  "Then, is redirecting them somewhere else the only way we have...?"

  The meeting continued, but they quickly found it more difficult than they had initially anticipated. Every proposed solution seemed to unravel another layer of complexity. Redirecting labor toward creative or service-based industries sounded ideal in theory, but the sheer scale of the workforce dependent on mining and manufacturing industries High Charity was supplanting alone made the transition daunting.

  Another official hesitantly raised a point. "Perhaps we could implement a support system as a transitional measure? If scarcity ceases to be an issue, we could sustain it indefinitely."

  Edith crossed her arms.

  "Hmm, even then, it still doesn't solve the problem of purpose. If people no longer need to work, what do they do? Idle populations lead to unrest, no matter how comfortable they are materially."

  To put it differently, the shift to a post-scarcity society might falter not due to technological constraints, but because of humanity's psychological resistance to change. Given the widespread skepticism among the officials present—who generally doubted people's ability to adapt their mindset so quickly, however ironic coming from them who had seen the Temple of Heaven—they argued that individuals require purpose, not just material security.

  "I see that we will need a cultural shift alongside the economic one," Edith paused in realization and sighed. "And so, our research brings us to a field outside our Ministry's job description..."

  At that, Alicia smirked.

  "Now you're starting to think like a Magister."

  Edith shot her a wry look but didn't deny the compliment. The meeting stretched on, ideas were argued over, rejected, and replaced with fresh proposals. While none were flawless, the rough outline of a plan was gradually forming, though progress was sluggish. Unlike their colleagues in the Military Affairs Ministry and MOASEC, who were reveling in creativity now that they were no longer throttled by budgetary constraints, they couldn't explore the shift to a post-scarcity society without delving into areas beyond just economics.

  At one point, yet another official made a radical proposition.

  "If I may, we've been circling the issue of labor displacement without any viable outlet. What if we channel that workforce into external development projects?"

  A few eyebrows rose around the table, but the official pressed on.

  "Specifically, the uninhabited expanses of Vestal and Grameus Continents. Both are untamed regions unclaimed by any recognized political entity, right? With High Charity's logistical capabilities, we could mobilize the displaced labor force into colonizing and developing these lands."

  "It's not a bad thought," Edith commented. "If High Charity renders traditional resource extraction within the country obsolete, then redirecting labor toward frontier development that deliberately uses old methods could absorb the displaced workforce. We could establish new settlements, infrastructure, and even experimental agricultural zones without encroaching on existing sovereign territories."

  Alicia's expression turned pensive. "You mean to expand outward? It's bold. Perhaps too bold."

  "Indeed. It won't go unnoticed by the Annonrial Empire. And even if we somehow avoid Annonrial interference, we'd still need to secure those regions first. The matters with people won't happen overnight."

  Alicia leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled as she considered the proposal.

  "Let's entertain this idea for a moment," she began. "Suppose we establish colonies in Vestal and Grameus, deliberately keeping them on conventional resource extraction and production methods while the mainland enjoys the fruits of High Charity's capabilities. What happens then?"

  "...Disparity?" an official answered hesitantly.

  "Precisely. If the colonies remain bound by scarcity while the mainland transcends it, we will create a two-tiered society. One where citizens at home live in abundance, and those abroad toil under the old system. That would make no sense."

  "Indeed, that would be ridiculous."

  "That's stupid, yeah."

  The others murmured in agreement.

  Edith nodded slowly. "Not to mention, if these hypothetical colonies are still using conventional methods, their output would be redundant. Why mine ore in Vestal when High Charity can materialize it endlessly in seconds? The only purpose the colonies would serve is a labor sink to shunt people so they wouldn't disrupt the mainland's transition. That's not a solution; it's a shoddy delaying tactic."

  "You also assume that there will be only one facility like High Charity," Alice chuckled. "It's not."

  The room fell silent. The proposal, which had initially seemed like a way to absorb displaced workers, now revealed itself as an incredibly flawed stopgap since High Charity was just that perfect. The core issue remained: High Charity didn't just displace labor—it rendered entire economic models obsolete. Redirecting workers to colonies wouldn't change that.

  Edith exhaled sharply. "So we're back to square one. High Charity eliminates scarcity, but our society isn't ready to let go of the structures built around it. At best, we can use High Charity to help maintain distribution of resources in the event of a shortage."

  They couldn't just pretend scarcity still exists in some regions while abolishing it in others, not without creating new problems. Perhaps they really need to stop thinking in terms of preserving the old economy at all, which meant a cultural shift was the only way to enable this.

  "...Will people's mentality change in the next decade? That's the question."

  By the time the lengthy session adjourned, nothing had been finalized, and even then they still had yet to explore other aspects. The Holy Empire was selfish, as it wanted to gain the maximum benefit without having to suffer sacrifices.

  Edith had impressed Alicia not just with her intellect, but with her willingness to engage with ideas beyond her job description. Even so, the Minister inwardly complained that of course someone from the Ministry of Ancient Sorcerous Empire Countermeasures was creating chores for the others.

  Such a scene occurred across the Holy Milishial Empire's ministries. In a strange turnaround of events, the Military Affairs Ministry and MOASEC, which typically unable to provide clear timelines for their projects, were now able to confidently announce completion dates. Meanwhile, other ministries remained uncertain whether transitioning to a post-scarcity society would even be achievable within this century. At the next scheduled council, Emperor Milishial VIII listened to the briefing of their progress—and difficulties—with outward calm, masking his inner disappointment.

  After centuries of selfishness, Lucius of the Morning Star wanted to do at least some good for all of mankind, but it seemed to be easier said than done.