Fifteen days later, the world held its breath.

  Every shop had whispered rumors, every street corner buzzed with speculation, and every government found itself backed into a corner by an increasingly suspicious public. At first, the upcoming UN meeting was supposed to be private—but when citizens realized the “shop” and its strange rewards were being kept from them, the pressure became too great.

  No protests had erupted yet, but the tension was a lit powder fuse.

  So the governments relented.

  The entire UN meeting would be televised.

  Billions of people gathered in front of screens, waiting for the broadcast to begin.

  The UN Meeting Goes Live

  “Good morning, good afternoon, and good night to all viewers around the world,” the host announced as cameras panned over the massive assembly hall. “Today, we convene to discuss global preparations and the division of responsibility in the upcoming war.”

  “The first speaker,” he continued, “is the representative of the European Union: Cleo Assante.”

  A poised woman with silver-rimmed glasses stepped forward.

  “Thank you, honorable delegates,” Cleo began. “It is a privilege to open this historic session.”

  Her voice carried with firm conviction.

  “The EU proposes the formation of a Global General Council—a unified command of generals from every nation. This council will direct all offensive operations and coordinate defensive responses as we establish the necessary fortifications.”

  After translations rippled through the chamber, most nations nodded in agreement.

  “But,” Cleo continued, “when it comes to defending our portal—the gateway which, if captured, ends humanity—this responsibility must fall to the world’s most elite units and strongest nations.”

  The room exploded in murmurs.

  Major powers like the USA, China, Russia, and India nodded gravely. Smaller nations looked far less comfortable. They wanted participation—both for honor and for the rewards. Richer countries, however, hesitated; one weak link could cost humanity its future.

  Despite global improvements in equality—food abundance, cheap living costs—military standards still varied wildly.

  Three hours of heated debate followed.

  Eventually, they reached a fragile compromise:

  The top 10 militaries would station elite units deep within the fortress protecting the portal.

  All other countries would defend an outer perimeter wall built around that fortress.

  Every nation that participated would earn a share of prestige, rewards, and influence.

  A “moderately happy” agreement, as the host diplomatically phrased it.

  The Religion Problem

  Then came the real complication.

  The topic of companies, cults, and billionaires was easy—most would fall under national regulations. But the moment world religions were mentioned, the room stiffened.

  Christianity had already declared a holy crusade against the goblins. Islam, Buddhism, and several smaller global religions had raised armies of their own.

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  Countries desperately wanted control over these enormous groups of believers… but religions were not nations. They could not be taxed, commanded, or absorbed.

  In the end, the UN decided:

  Major religions would be treated as special sovereign entities,

  Modeld after Christianity, which technically already had land—the Vatican.

  Any religion wishing to contribute forces had one month to declare their intent.

  The UN would evaluate whether they qualified or whether their actions could be suppressed by one or more countries.

  And so the months rolled on.

  An uneasy peace settled over the world.

  Until the first reports came in—

  People had begun reaching Level 0.3.

  And with that… came Professions.

  Grandpa, Grandpa—I Got a Profession!

  “Grandpa! Grandpa, I got a profession!”

  Arin barreled through the wooden door of the forest house, nearly tripping over his excitement. His father, older brother, and grandparents looked up from their afternoon tea.

  “Oh?” his grandmother asked with a warm smile. “What did you get, dear?”

  “Bowyer!”

  “That is wonderful, Arin,” she said proudly.

  His father leaned forward. “How did you unlock it?”

  “It’s actually pretty simple,” Arin said, already beaming. “If you perform an action connected to a profession—and create something truly useful—you can unlock it. I think Erik unlocked his ages ago, but he’s been too busy crafting to mention it.”

  Erik, somewhere near the forges outside, sneezed.

  “But that’s not the important part.” Arin’s eyes sparkled. “I finally figured out why items not made by human hands can’t harm humans or other creatures!”

  All conversation ceased.

  “Go on,” his grandfather Karl said. “Explain.”

  Arin inhaled. “Leveling revealed it. When humans craft something, our soul interacts with the item. It leaves traces—residual soul marks. These traces resist mana-based attacks.”

  The adults exchanged startled looks.

  “That’s why mass-produced weapons work but not well,” Arin continued. “When a person holds them, they temporarily pick up a ‘soul imprint,’ but it fades quickly and causes extreme wear.”

  He pointed out the window toward the military crates.

  “The weapons the world is using right now? If left untouched, they’ll crumble in three weeks.”

  “That…” his father whispered, “is unbelievably important.”

  Karl nodded. “How many skills did you unlock? Or did you forget to check again?”

  Arin froze, a sheepish, caught-red-handed smile creeping onto his face.

  Karl sighed.

  Hyper-focused again… just like when he trains the younger ones.

  Better to let him stay among family—he never handled strangers well.

  “I’ll check now, Grandpa,” Arin said.

  His eyes glazed over as he opened his status.

  The room fell silent, waiting for whatever revelation would come next.