“Dad, are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

  The voice rang out for the fifth time in less than ten minutes.

  A tired sigh followed. “Not yet, Tilly. We still have to march at least another three hundred kilometers before we reach our destination.”

  “Awww… that’s so boring.”

  Tilly puffed out her cheeks and crossed her arms, her legs dangling as she sat atop a supply crate near the wagon’s edge. “I thought we were going to see the green monsters and defeat the bad guys. Not… all this walking. If I knew it’d be like this, I would’ve stayed hidden in the wagon.”

  She said it with a little guilt in her eyes—but only a little.

  Tilly had turned eleven just last month, which meant that, according to the System, she was officially no longer restricted to the Heartland. That said, the governments of Earth had no intention of letting children wander into the battlefield. The younger generation was meant to stay behind, study, train, and prepare for a future that—hopefully—would still exist.

  Unfortunately for them, no rule had ever been strong enough to stop a curious child.

  Especially not one who had been trained her entire life to hide.

  According to Tilly herself, the process had been simple. She’d asked a “nice uncle” where Legion Twenty-Three was stationed, waited until a wagon heading that way appeared, and slipped inside without anyone noticing. By the time she arrived, her parents had just received marching orders. They’d had roughly five minutes to scold her before duty dragged them away.

  And so there she was.

  A small cotton-ball of a girl, utterly out of place amid armored soldiers and grim-faced officers, shuffling between tents, asking endless questions, and smiling as if this were some grand adventure.

  It would have been fine—if her questions weren’t so devastating.

  The previous night, the legion commander himself had come to their encampment after receiving reports of an underage girl wandering through the army. The reports had said the little girl originated from a special scouting unit directly under his command—a unit the EU generals considered elite but far too unruly to integrate into standard military operations.

  Which meant this headache had their fingerprints all over it.

  Inside a command tent thick with tension, Eloi Vieira sat across from a rugged old man with a gray beard and far too amused an expression.

  “Now,” Eloi said slowly, irritation dripping from every word, “you are going to explain to me why my officers are reporting a young girl running around my legion.”

  The old man—Karl—leaned back comfortably.

  “Relax,” Karl continued cheerfully. “What exactly are you planning to do about it? You can’t send her back. We didn’t even realize she’d escaped the Heartland until we received marching orders. By then, it was too late.”

  Eloi’s eye twitched.

  “If it makes you feel better,” Karl added, “you’re not the only one stressed. Her parents are terrified about their precious daughter.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  He paused and glanced toward the tent entrance.

  “Speaking of the devil.”

  A cloud of dust burst inside.

  “Grandpa! How are you?”

  Tilly skidded to a stop in front of Karl, hands on her knees, eyes bright with excitement.

  Then she tilted her head and looked at the unfamiliar man sitting across from her.

  “Grandpa, who’s this uncle?”

  Karl chuckled. “Tilly, this is our legion commander, Eloi. Commander Eloi, this is Tilly. She was bored, so she escaped the Heartland because she heard we were doing something fun.”

  That single sentence hit like a bomb.

  Eloi could only stare. “…How?”

  Both sides of the Heartland portal were guarded by an elite legion outside the normal three thousand—humanity’s final safeguard. They were called the Last Line of Defense. The Guardians of Humanity.

  No one was supposed to slip past them.

  Tilly frowned, deep in thought, her clear blue eyes staring into nothing.

  “Oh! You mean the serious uncles?”

  “Yes,” Eloi said weakly.

  “They looked really cool,” she said proudly. “But I just walked through. Why is that difficult?”

  Silence.

  Eloi slowly turned his head toward Karl.

  Karl looked back innocently. What?

  “It’s not like they were looking for someone sneaking out,” Karl said. “And in a crowd that massive? Relax. Besides—”

  He waved a hand dismissively.

  “Tilly is stronger than ninety percent of your legion.”

  The tent went very quiet.

  Karl stood up as if the conversation were over. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go over expectations for my granddaughter.”

  He turned to leave.

  Eloi slammed his hand on the table. “Wait.”

  Karl stopped.

  “Let’s skip past the insubordination,” Eloi said tightly, “and the fact that a ten—no, eleven-year-old girl walked past one of the most elite legions we have.”

  He leaned forward, eyes burning.

  “What do you mean she’s stronger than ninety percent of my army?”

  Karl sighed. “That wasn’t an insult. She reached 0.3 in her class.”

  Eloi froze.

  “…How?”

  Before Karl could answer, Tilly tilted her head again.

  “Why, uncle? Is that difficult?”

  The question struck like a knife.

  Behind Eloi, several members of his personal guard visibly stiffened.

  Reaching the 0.3 stage meant eligibility for promotion—sergeant rank at minimum, commanding a hundred soldiers.

  And here stood a child who surpassed most of them.

  “…I see,” Eloi said at last, rubbing his face. “There’s nothing we can do about this right now.”

  He stood. “I trust you’ll handle it. We’ll revisit this after the assignment.”

  He shot Karl a glare sharp enough to cut steel and gestured for his guards to follow him out.

  He had no intention of staying any longer.

  Not before that little girl asked another innocent question—and shattered what remained of his confidence.