First Legion Headquarters, Commander's Office—
Behind an aged obsidian desk carved with ancient runes sat Commander-General Veyran, leader of the Astral Dominion's First Legion. His stern eyes—deep as extinguished suns—studied a report from the Arcane Development Bureau. The air was thick and heavy, buzzing with restrained astral pressure.
Before him stood Director Maroch, the Bureau's eccentric chief researcher. His face was painted in sharp geometric patterns—the traditional markings of the Arcane Sect—yet the smile curling on his lips was far from ceremonial. His golden eyes shimmered with unsettling amusement, though his voice carried a hint of gravity.
Veyran's deep voice broke the silence.
"Is the situation truly this severe, Maroch?"
Maroch bowed slightly, grin widening.
"Indeed. Due to reduced manpower in the Outer Rings, Aberration incursions are accelerating. If the concentration of corrupted astral energy in the Void Expanse surpasses our own…" His voice dipped with a disturbingly delighted undertone.
"…the barrier between realms may distort—or collapse entirely."
A cold hush followed—like the moment before a cosmic storm.
Veyran's hand tightened slightly atop the report.
"I understand. There is no need to notify the other Legions yet."
Maroch's smile sharpened.
"As you command, Commander-General."
Elsewhere in the First Legion Headquarters—
Arin Solara, lounged in his chair, boots propped on his desk. Laziness covered him like a blanket, but his eyes flicked toward the hall where Maroch passed, noting the scientist's departure with mild curiosity.
Standing before Arin was the grizzled veteran Third Officer Ganshiro, stiff as an old war statue.
Arin smiled innocently.
"Ganshiro, my dear Third Officer… that little bill from last cycle… I didn't get caught charging 'field expenses' for… ahem… essential social engagements, right?"
Ganshiro's beard trembled with restrained fury.
"Arin. Thirty million astral rings. In one moon cycle."
His voice thundered. "Explain how you spent an entire Vice-Commander's salary."
Astral Rings equaled modern currency in value.
A Vice-Commander's yearly pay? Several million.
Thirty million?
That was a noble's war chest.
And Arin?
He blew it all on food, drink, illusions, banquets—and then billed it to the First Legion.
Anyone else would've been executed. Immediately.
Arin lifted both hands in mock innocence.
"I'm just as shocked as you are! Those hostesses must be made from stardust and silk—daylight robbery! Half of those charges weren't even mine, I swear!"
Then—
With the most shameless grin:
"Besides, I'm merely a Seventh Rank officer—poor as a monk. Meanwhile you, Ganshiro… decades of service… surely you've saved quite a fortune?"
Ganshiro felt something rupture in his soul.
His fingers twitched toward his Astral Arm.
Then he forced himself to stop.
Another minute in this conversation and he'd die of heart failure.
He sighed deeply.
"…Fine. This time only. But no more stunts, Arin. Remember your duty."
Arin placed a hand to his heart.
"Duty, of course! Look at Captain Rokan or Captain Hirako—dedicated, loyal!"
A beat.
"…And look where that got them."
The room froze.
Ganshiro's jaw tightened.
Those captains—loyal to the end—discarded after the Corruption Incident.
He said nothing.
Arin, victorious, strolled out of the office humming.
He walked onto the training grounds and shouted—
"Brothers! Afternoon tea's on me—courtesy of your beloved Seventh Rank Arin!"
A cheer erupted.
"LONG LIVE LORD ARIN!"
"THE BEST OFFICER IN THE LEGION!"
Inside the office, Ganshiro clutched his chest.
This must be the heart attack the diviner warned him about.
Arin stretched, satisfied.
"Ahh. Today's a wonderful day."
Suddenly—
[Ding! Daily Quest: Make a New Ally]
[Fine weather, mild astral winds. Perfect for some PY trading. Befriend someone new!]
[Reward: +2 Random Attribute Points]
Arin smirked.
"Make a new friend? Easy."
He knew exactly where to go—
The Fourth Legion, the entire healing corps.
Kind, gentle, mostly women.
Ideal.
But he still scanned the courtyard first—
No sign of Captain Unara Reitsu, the terrifying "old hen."
Good.
He stepped into the healing ward—
And immediately heard shouting.
---
"Why aren't my wounds healed yet!? Fourth Legion cowards—trying to belittle the mighty Eleventh Legion!?"
Arin narrowed his eyes.
Inside the treatment chamber—
A burly, mustached warrior—Arak Makizo, 20th Rank of the Eleventh Legion—was barking at three flustered healers.
The three young women looked terrified.
Arin recognized him instantly.
Arak—comic-relief brute.
But this wasn't a story.
This was real.
And bullies weren't funny.
Arin stepped forward, blocking Arak's path.
His smile was cool, sharp.
"Oi. Eleventh Legion soldier… do you know who I am?"
Arak scoffed—
Until he saw Arin's sleeve.
The First Legion's Seventh Rank insignia gleamed like a death omen.
Arak froze.
"L-Lord Arin Solara!?"
He straightened instantly.
"My injuries are healed! Perfectly! No need to trouble the ladies—!"
Arin pressed a hand on his shoulder.
Arak collapsed under the sudden crushing astral weight.
Arin's smile turned gentle—dangerously gentle.
"No, no… You're gravely injured. You need… proper treatment."
CRACK!
Arak choked, trembling.
"Y-Yes! Gravely! Treat me—now!"
Arin looked at the stunned healers and smiled warmly.
"Well? Don't just stand there—give him excellent care."
The nurses lit up instantly.
"Lord Arin… thank you so much!"
"You're amazing!"
"Lord Arin—ignore those toxic women. Marry me instead!"
As they swarmed him—half grateful, half flirtatious—Arak whimpered in pain behind them.
Arin winked lazily.
Another quest complete.