Herman had actually been surprised by how long it had taken humanity to approach the first Stage breakthrough. Considering the sheer number of talented soldiers serving in the military, he had expected someone to cross that boundary years earlier. Quite a few of their soldiers possessed special physiques that dramatically increased both their cultivation speed and the quality of the mana they refined. By every logical prediction, someone should already have become the first Stage One human.
Over the past several years, numerous reports had landed on Herman's desk from commanders across Europe. Several of them described exceptional soldiers who had already reached the peak of their Class cultivation and claimed they were capable of breaking through whenever they wished. At first glance, those reports seemed encouraging because they demonstrated that humanity's overall strength was steadily increasing. However, every one of those soldiers had ultimately chosen to postpone their breakthrough.
To an outsider, that decision might have appeared cowardly or overly cautious. In reality, Herman considered it one of the wisest choices they could have made. Breaking through immediately simply for the honor of being first would have sacrificed long-term growth for short-term prestige. Glory lasted only a moment, but cultivation affected the rest of a person's life.
The military's research divisions had gradually uncovered an important principle regarding the System. A person's Class was only one pillar supporting their overall development. Their Race and Profession progressed independently, and all three influenced one another in ways that scientists were only beginning to understand. Ignoring one aspect inevitably weakened the other two.
Among researchers, a simple comparison had become increasingly popular. The Class represented the body, strengthening muscles, bones, and physical capabilities. The Profession represented the soul, refining techniques, understanding, and craftsmanship. Meanwhile, the Race represented the foundation upon which both body and soul were built, determining how efficiently an individual could refine mana and interact with the world's natural laws.
None of those paths could truly be neglected.
The latest scientific studies had only reinforced that conclusion. Herman quietly reread one of the reports lying on his desk before nodding to himself. According to months of experimentation, people whose Race and Profession reached higher levels discovered that they could refine significantly larger quantities of mana without experiencing the overwhelming pressure that normally accompanied an approaching breakthrough.
In other words, the cultivation ceiling itself appeared to rise.
Instead of feeling as though they had reached the limit of Stage Zero, those individuals found themselves capable of storing and refining increasingly greater amounts of mana while remaining perfectly stable. The body simply adapted as the Race and Profession developed. That extra foundation promised a much stronger breakthrough once the individual finally advanced.
It was precisely the result Herman had hoped to see.
He still did not pretend to understand the System completely. None of humanity truly did. They had all been thrown into a completely unfamiliar world governed by strange rules that no scientist or philosopher had anticipated. Every discovery merely answered one question while revealing three new mysteries beneath it.
Even so, humanity was making steady progress.
Compared to the chaos immediately following the appearance of mana, their current understanding was remarkable. Researchers from every major nation exchanged information almost daily, comparing experiments and correcting one another's mistakes. Although no one possessed the complete picture, enough fragments had been assembled to establish reliable training methods.
Considering how little time had actually passed, Herman regarded that achievement as nothing short of extraordinary.
He carefully placed the report back onto the stack before allowing himself a faint smile.
"We're still fumbling in the dark," he murmured quietly.
"But at least we've learned where the walls are."
Several hundred kilometers away, Karl could not help shaking his head with amusement as he walked home from the latest Elder Council meeting.
"That boy certainly knows how to make noise whenever he thinks he's been wronged," Karl muttered with a chuckle.
The meeting had revolved almost entirely around Arin's formal complaint regarding the Verdant Honey Bee products. According to family law, every complaint submitted through the proper channels had to be discussed seriously, regardless of who submitted it. Unfortunately for the elders, this particular complaint placed nearly every person in the room in an awkward position.
The truth was that every elder already knew about the Verdant Honey, the Verdant Beeswax, and the remarkable bowstrings produced from it. None of them had been ignorant of the situation. In fact, most had quietly agreed that Bennie deserved a larger share of those resources because he had been responsible for establishing the trade connection that brought the bees to the family in the first place.
Without Bennie's merchant contacts, the Verdant Honey Bees would never have reached Sonnenberg territory.
For that reason alone, everyone considered it perfectly reasonable that he receive the first portion of every harvest. Nobody questioned that arrangement, and Bennie himself had never tried to hide his claim among the elders. The disagreement only concerned what happened after those obligations had been fulfilled.
During the first two years, the answer had been relatively simple.
Nearly all of the honey had been reserved for the family's oldest great-grandfathers. Their advanced age made every improvement to their health invaluable, and even the modest restorative effects of Verdant Honey could help extend both their lives and their ability to advise the family. None of the younger generation had objected once that explanation became known.
The beeswax, however, proved far more controversial.
By the third year, production had increased dramatically. Eight thriving hives now produced considerably more wax than Bennie alone could realistically consume while crafting bowstrings. Even after fulfilling his personal needs, a substantial surplus remained available.
The elders had quietly decided not to announce that fact.
Instead, they viewed it as an opportunity to test the younger generation. Information regarding the growing surplus was intentionally kept vague whenever questions arose. They wanted to see who actively monitored the family's expanding resources instead of waiting for opportunities to be handed to them.
To their surprise, Arin solved the puzzle far sooner than expected.
During the first two years, several family members had made casual inquiries about the bees, but nobody pursued the matter very aggressively after receiving incomplete answers. Arin, on the other hand, noticed that the timeline no longer matched the production estimates. The moment Tom casually mentioned the remarkable properties of Verdant Beeswax, Arin immediately realized something did not add up.
The council had not hidden the existence of the Verdant Honey Bees out of greed alone. From their perspective, the colony had simply been too valuable and too fragile to expose before it reached a stable population. The first queen had produced only a modest amount of wax each season, barely enough for a handful of experimental bowstrings, while nearly every drop of honey had been reserved for the family's two eldest advisers. Even so, they all understood that the moment Arin had officially raised the issue before the elders, continuing to hide the growing surplus was no longer possible.
After the meeting's records became public, the younger generation quickly pieced everything together. The vague reports that had been released during the previous years suddenly made perfect sense once everyone knew what they were actually looking for. Rather than feeling angry at the elders, many of the younger craftsmen cursed themselves for failing to notice the carefully hidden clues that had been sitting in plain sight. It became a lesson that information inside the family was rarely given freely and that those who paid attention would always gain an advantage over those who merely waited for announcements.
The elders quietly admitted that Arin had passed the test better than anyone expected. He had not stumbled across the truth through luck, nor had someone whispered the answer into his ear. Although Karl was not really certain of that last one, even so, the courage to bring it up so loudly was something they encouraged. As that level of awareness was precisely the habit the elders wanted every future leader to develop, even if none of them appreciated having their little scheme exposed so quickly.
Naturally, none of them intended to admit that in public. Instead, the blame was pushed almost entirely onto Bennie, who had been the one physically collecting and storing the beeswax over the years. Bennie protested that he had only been following the council's wishes, but no one seemed particularly interested in defending him during the meeting. Since his merchant connections had secured the original queen bee in the first place, everyone accepted that he would receive a larger share of the early production, making him the easiest person to point fingers at.
The council briefly considered smoothing things over by privately compensating Arin. A few exclusive bowstrings and an apology would probably have been enough under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, Arin had already complained loudly enough that the entire family knew something important had happened. If they suddenly rewarded him behind closed doors, everyone would immediately suspect favoritism, creating an even larger problem than the one they were already facing.
Besides, everyone in the room knew Arin's personality well enough to predict his response. If he believed someone had deliberately hidden something that could strengthen the family, he would keep digging until every detail came into the light. He was not driven by personal pride so much as by an almost stubborn belief that useful knowledge belonged where talented craftsmen could actually use it. Trying to silence him would only guarantee that he became even more determined to uncover the complete story.
In the end, the council reached the only reasonable compromise available. Bennie would retain a guaranteed portion of every year's production as payment for establishing the relationship that had brought the Verdant Honey Bees to the family. The remaining beeswax, however, would now enter the normal exchange system so that every qualified bowyer and craftsman could request supplies through the family workshops. Nobody was completely satisfied with the arrangement, but everyone accepted that it was the fairest solution available.
Once the decision became official, discussion immediately shifted toward a much larger issue. If a single uncommon bee species could produce materials capable of noticeably improving enchanted bowstrings, then countless other valuable creatures and plants were probably hiding throughout Europe's expanding wilderness. Waiting for merchants to stumble across such discoveries by accident was simply too slow. The family needed a reliable way to encourage explorers to actively search for those hidden treasures before rival organizations found them first.
That realization justified the enormous bounty the Sonnenberg family had already placed through the European Adventure Guild. Ten thousand silver coins for any uncommon-rarity bee species sounded outrageous to outsiders, yet every elder present considered it a bargain. Healthy forests depended on healthy pollinators, and magical pollinators could dramatically increase the quality of medicinal herbs, enchanted timber, and countless other resources. Investing heavily now would generate returns for generations to come.
The original queen bee had proven exactly that point. During only a few short years, the colony had multiplied into several thriving hives that steadily produced increasing amounts of both Verdant Honey and Verdant Beeswax. Every new queen effectively represented another workshop's worth of future production, making the family's initial investment appear wiser with every passing season. Even the elders who disliked spending large sums admitted that the purchase had exceeded every expectation.
The merchant who had sold the original queen had unknowingly changed his own future as well. In return for introducing the family to such a remarkable species, he had secured an exceptionally favorable business arrangement. Nearly all of the Sonnenberg family's bows were sold through his growing chain of stores, while only a small number remained available at the family's own workshop. The agreement benefited everyone involved, allowing the family to focus on production while the merchant expanded throughout Europe.
His business flourished almost immediately. Customers quickly learned that his shops consistently stocked commend-rarity bows in quantities that few competitors could even dream of matching. Hunters, adventurers, military officers, and wealthy collectors all traveled considerable distances simply because they knew there was a realistic chance of purchasing equipment that would normally disappear through private commissions. Word of mouth spread faster than any advertisement ever could.
The true reason behind that success lay in the nature of professions themselves. Raising a combat class demanded discipline and combat experience, but increasing a crafting profession required enormous amounts of time, mana, and expensive raw materials. Every failed attempt consumed valuable resources without producing anything worth selling. Countless aspiring blacksmiths, bowyers, and armorers exhausted their savings long before they reached the level necessary to create commend-rarity equipment consistently.
Because of that harsh reality, high-quality crafted equipment remained surprisingly scarce throughout the world. Most craftsmen still specialized in inferior rarity items simply because they could not afford the repeated failures required to master higher rarities. Whenever someone finally succeeded in producing superior equipment, demand almost instantly exceeded supply. The Sonnenberg workshops stood out precisely because they possessed enough experience, skilled artisans, and stable resources to maintain regular production.
The family itself never viewed that advantage as something permanent. Every elder understood that other workshops would eventually catch up as humanity adapted to the System and accumulated more experience. Their goal was therefore to expand while their lead remained significant, investing their profits into rare resources, talented craftsmen, and magical materials that competitors could not easily acquire. In many ways, the Verdant Honey Bees represented exactly the sort of long-term investment they hoped to repeat.
Nor were the Sonnenbergs alone in placing lucrative requests through the Adventure Guild. Noble houses, military organizations, universities, alchemists, and merchant consortiums all competed to obtain rare plants, magical beasts, and unusual minerals that ordinary markets could not supply. Whenever an adventurer discovered something extraordinary, news of the find spread rapidly across the continent as interested buyers competed to secure exclusive rights before anyone else could intervene.
Those requests transformed the profession of adventurer almost overnight. Rather than risking their lives searching for random treasures and then struggling to negotiate fair prices afterward, explorers could now accept contracts guaranteeing generous rewards before they even departed. If they fulfilled the request, payment was immediate, while the purchasing organization assumed responsibility for transporting and protecting the valuable discovery. It removed much of the uncertainty that had previously discouraged ambitious expeditions.
For many adventurers, those contracts represented the safest road toward wealth. A successful expedition could earn enough silver to fund months of training, purchase better equipment, or even establish an independent workshop of their own. The risks remained considerable, but at least the rewards were predictable. As a result, Europe's wilderness saw a steady increase in organized exploration parties, each hoping that the next remarkable discovery would secure their fortunes.
Among the countless requests posted across the guild's notice boards, the bounty for uncommon bee species consistently attracted attention. Some adventurers laughed at the idea of risking their lives for insects, only to discover later that magical bee colonies often lived in forests filled with equally valuable herbs, trees, and wildlife. Others accepted the contracts purely because they seemed easier than hunting dangerous beasts, only to realize that protecting an active hive without destroying it demanded remarkable patience and skill.