"Three weeks, max—my ass."
Arin's thoughts were anything but calm as his fingers dug into the cold stone of the outer wall, his body pressed tightly against the fortress as he climbed. Midnight had settled in, but the full moon hung high above, casting a pale, unforgiving light across everything. It was far from ideal. Shadows were thinner, movement easier to spot, and every exposed surface felt like a risk. Still, Arin didn't slow. His movements remained precise, controlled, each shift of weight deliberate. Complaining didn't change reality—adapting to it did.
They're not alerted, he told himself, though he didn't relax. From what he knew, most of the guards stationed here were people who had already died twice—reset, demotivated, and largely just going through the motions. That didn't make them harmless, just unreliable. And unreliable people were often the most dangerous kind. "No excuses," he reminded himself silently. "Stay sharp."
He paused just beneath the ledge, blending into the shadow of a massive watchtower. Above him sat a heavy ballista, its massive bolt gleaming faintly in the moonlight, looking far more threatening than the people meant to operate it. Arin stilled his breathing and listened carefully. No footsteps. No voices. Nothing but the quiet crackle of distant torches and the wind brushing against stone. Slowly, he pulled himself up and over the edge in one smooth motion, landing silently on the walkway.
Empty.
Torches lined the walls, flames dancing in the breeze, but there wasn't a single guard in sight. Arin's eyes narrowed as he scanned again, half expecting someone to appear out of sheer stubbornness. No one did. "You've got to be kidding me…" he muttered under his breath. The outer defenses of one of humanity's most critical strongholds, and no one was even watching.
If the goblins weren't obsessed with stealing our luck, he thought grimly, we'd already be dead. Even with the difficulty of crossing the two-kilometer bridge leading here, a proper assault should have tested this place far more than it apparently had. And if this was the state of the outer wall, then the rest of their defenses were hanging by a thread.
His thoughts drifted briefly to the second defensive line—the forest beyond the fortress. In theory, it was a strong position, forcing enemies uphill through dense terrain. In practice, large portions had already been cut down. Resources had taken priority over strategy. Natural wood was necessary for progression, and lab-grown materials simply didn't work unless you were highly skilled. Arin knew that firsthand. The only reason his bow functioned properly was that he had compensated for the wood with a high-rarity bow string, which the material did not deserve. It was a compromise—like everything else lately.
He shook the thought away and moved on. The outer wall wasn't his concern.
The inner wall came next, and the difference was immediate. As Arin climbed again, he began to hear it—voices, footsteps, the faint rhythm of patrols moving along their routes. Unlike before, there were actual guards here. Not many, but enough to give the illusion of security. Arin adjusted his timing, slipping between movements, hugging blind spots, and using every available shadow.
Still, even here, it felt… thin.
Two guards per kilometer at best.
Arin almost scoffed. Against someone like me? That's nothing.
As he reached the top and began lowering himself down the opposite side, voices drifted closer.
"…I swear I saw something move," one guard said, his tone uncertain.
Arin froze instantly, his body flattening against the stone.
"Relax," the other replied with a laugh. "You're just paranoid. Who would even be here? No one's climbing these walls. The gates are wide open."
"I'm serious—"
"It's the torches. Wind's messing with the shadows," the second interrupted, clapping his companion on the back. "Come on."
There was a pause.
"…Yeah. Probably."
Their footsteps faded.
Arin exhaled slowly, feeling the faint dampness on his back. That had been closer than he liked. "Great," he thought. "Almost got caught by amateurs." If anyone in the family found out, he'd never hear the end of it. The thought alone was enough to irritate him more than the near miss.
"Focus," he told himself. "The real part starts now."
He dropped the rest of the way down and turned toward the center of the fortress. The portal dominated the area, glowing with an intensity that erased nearly all shadows within a wide radius. It was beautiful in a way—bright, powerful—but for someone like Arin, it was a nightmare. No cover. No concealment.
Walking in directly wasn't an option.
No one entered alone.
His eyes scanned the area until they landed on a passing carriage heading toward the portal. His expression shifted slightly. "…That works."
Moving quickly but carefully, he slipped beneath it, gripping the underside as it rolled forward. The wood creaked faintly above him, but the steady motion masked any minor sound he made. Moments later, the carriage passed through the portal.
The change was immediate.
Silence gave way to noise. Voices, movement, machinery—the unmistakable rhythm of a functioning city. Arin's eyes narrowed as he clung to the carriage. So this is the heartland.
It was nothing like the wilderness he had spent the past ten days crossing. Gone were the forests and open terrain. Here, everything was structured, controlled, alive with activity. And most importantly, technology worked. Lights, systems, automated processes—things that were useless near the frontlines functioned perfectly here.
That's new… he thought, filing it away.
The carriage rolled forward into a large square surrounded by reinforced structures. Arin caught glimpses of upgraded defenses—improvements made after earlier failures. Tilly's little incident, no doubt. Eloi's report must have forced their hand.
The entire area was now enclosed within a massive zone, surrounded by an electric fence. Entry points were controlled by automated gates that functioned like airlocks and required biometric identification. Even the supply intake had been redesigned. Carriages no longer simply entered—they were processed.
The one Arin clung to slid into a docking structure, where the rear section was enclosed while the front remained outside. The moment it stopped, machines took over.
No humans.
Only robots.
Arin waited a moment, then dropped silently to the ground, rolling into the shadows between stacked supplies. The space around him was enormous—a warehouse stretching farther than he could immediately process. Robots moved constantly, lifting, sorting, and transporting materials with mechanical precision.
He watched one unit detach the entire base of the carriage with ease, lifting it cleanly away before another replaced it with a fully loaded one.
Three minutes.
That was all it took.
"…That's ridiculous," Arin muttered.
The carriage was already moving again, replaced almost instantly by another. His gaze shifted, scanning the warehouse. The same process repeated everywhere—rows upon rows of identical operations unfolding simultaneously.
Hundreds.
No—thousands.
This wasn't just efficient.
It was overwhelming.
"Humanity's gotten serious," he thought quietly.
He didn't linger. A nearby ladder caught his attention, and he climbed it quickly, transitioning onto a steel support beam above. From there, he moved along the upper structure, his eyes scanning for an exit.
Skylights.
There.
A faint smile touched his lips as he made his way toward them, the noise of machines continuing endlessly below.
Even here, in the heart of humanity's operations…
He remained unseen.
Unnoticed.