On Miracle Nation's side, even Noah Drake let out a long breath.
He and his teammate had clearly witnessed the Crimson Sandstalkers' passage.
The devastation those creatures caused was terrifying. Even from far away, you could see that towering wall of sand climbing into the sky—like a sand-colored tornado tearing across the desert.
Just watching it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
And those were only F- creatures.
If there were higher tiers—F, F+, even B-rank, A-rank, or beyond—
what would those look like?
Would they even still count as "animals"?
Or were they closer to monsters… or gods?
Noah Drake swallowed hard.
But part of that fear was misplaced.
Yes, the Crimson Sandstalkers were F- lifeforms.
But the "apocalyptic" impact everyone saw wasn't because a single sandstalker was individually world-ending—
it was because of their pack nature, and the environment they lived in.
The Will of Blue Star had already said it:
A lone Crimson Sandstalker wasn't that terrifying.
In theory, if a normal person stayed calm, they might even kill one.
But a swarm of them—
and in desert terrain—
wasn't a simple "1 + 1 = 2."
When thousands gathered, their collective destructive force could rival E-rank, even brush against D-rank levels.
That was the real horror of this species.
In sand, in numbers—
they became a disaster that even many Divine Domain lifeforms would avoid.
While Noah Drake's chat was still digesting that, news broke across the feeds:
Indus Nation's competitors had died to the Crimson Sandstalkers.
Miracle Nation's viewers immediately started arguing.
"Didn't Dragon Nation encounter them first? How did Indus Nation end up dead?"
"No clue. The monsters ran into Dragon Nation and—somehow—turned around and fled."
"Then they ran straight into Indus Nation's two unlucky guys. They couldn't escape. GG."
"So Indus Nation is… finished, then."
And that wasn't exaggeration.
Back in the real world, Indus Nation fell into panic almost instantly.
The moment both competitors died, the country itself began to change.
Violently.
The earth shook.
Already-poor land cracked and dried, turning to desert as if life had been sucked out of it.
Rivers shrank overnight. Wells failed. Reservoirs dropped like someone had pulled a plug.
Iron, oil—everything of value—
even forests, animals, birds—
a massive portion of it flashed into white light and vanished, as if erased.
The people wailed.
They begged.
They tried to cling to whatever scraps of survival they could.
But the Will of Blue Star wasn't something you negotiated with.
It was merciless.
No matter how loud the pleading became, the extraction continued—cold, efficient, and final.
And then, a message echoed into every human mind on the planet:
[Detected: Both Indus Nation competitors have died within the Divine Domain.]
[Indus Nation's resources will be reduced by 50%. Extraction in progress.]
Silence.
Then—
terror.
Outside of Indus Nation, plenty of people had still been half in denial—treating the Forbidden Zone like a show.
That ended here.
"Indus Nation's resources really disappeared…"
"So it's true—if competitors die, the nation's resources get taken!"
"My god… what happens to Indus Nation's civilians now?"
After witnessing Indus Nation's collapse, the entire world sobered up.
The laughter died.
The spectators became believers.
Because now everyone understood one thing:
The Will of Blue Star wasn't playing.
It was serious.
Governments worldwide understood it too.
But understanding didn't mean they could help.
No country was stable enough to rescue another when the knife might turn on them next.
Everyone was one bad stream away from becoming the next Indus Nation.
In Dragon Nation's highest-level conference room, a middle-aged man at the head of the table sat in silence.
Then he spoke, voice low but controlled, to a figure behind him whose upper body was half-swallowed by shadow.
"Victor Hale. The resource analysis for Dragon Nation—do we have a result?"
"Yes," Victor Hale replied. "We do. As expected, with current consumption… the remaining resources can support normal life for roughly fifty-nine days."
A pause.
Then he added carefully:
"If we start rationing immediately, we can extend that by about thirty more days…"
The man closed his eyes briefly, as if weighing a blade in his palm.
Then he opened them again—sharp as a hawk.
"No."
Victor Hale hesitated. "Sir…"
"We cannot initiate rationing right now," the man said, firm. "Not publicly. It will only deepen the population's panic."
"But even without rationing," Victor Hale pressed, "Indus Nation's fate has already triggered fear. Prices at home are climbing fast. And importing from abroad is no longer viable…"
"That is precisely why we cannot lose our composure."
The man cut him off.
Silence stretched, heavy as stone.
Then he sighed—one rare crack in his composure.
"You're not wrong. The profiteers need to be warned. A national crisis is here, and they're still thinking about squeezing the public for profit…"
Victor Hale didn't speak.
The man's voice softened just a little.
"Victor Hale."
He looked toward the live feeds.
"Have faith in our competitors. They will carve a path forward for Dragon Nation."
Victor Hale's eyes lowered.
Then he stepped forward, offering a document.
"As always, nothing escapes your judgment, sir. These are the files on our two competitors. Please review them."
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