“Hey, Dad… what’s that?”

  Johnny’s voice cut through the steady rhythm of running feet. Teun glanced sideways, following the direction his son was pointing toward.

  Rising from the plains ahead of them was a massive structure—so large it was impossible to miss once noticed. A giant wheel, taller than most buildings Arin had seen back in the Heartland, slowly turned against the sky. Thick spokes of reinforced wood and stone gleamed faintly with mana, while water cascaded down its sides, feeding into a complex network of channels carved into the earth.

  It was the fifth one they had encountered that day.

  The first four had blended into the terrain so naturally that most of the group had barely registered them at first. From a distance, they almost looked like hills or strange rock formations—until they began moving.

  This one, however, stood closer to the road, impossible to ignore.

  “I don’t know,” Teun admitted, breathing steadily despite the pace. “Let’s ask my brother. Maybe Dennis talked about it with his wife.”

  They were running.

  Not jogging.

  Not marching.

  Running—hard.

  They hadn’t managed to secure a lift with any caravan, which meant they were covering the distance the old-fashioned way. More than a thousand kilometers. Five days.

  On paper, it was doable.

  With their improved stats, their bodies could move faster and longer than any pre-Trial athlete. Muscles regenerated more efficiently. Lungs burned cleaner. Hearts pumped stronger.

  Reality, however, was less kind.

  Stamina didn’t work like a video game bar.

  You couldn’t simply keep running until it hit zero and then pop a potion.

  At a certain point, muscles began to ache. Tiny tears accumulated. Pain slowed movement, and once pain set in, stamina plummeted sharply. The system enhanced the body—but it didn’t replace it.

  Arin knew that better than anyone.

  Five days of nonstop battle had taught him that lesson brutally.

  He’d barely noticed his stamina draining during the siege. Adrenaline had carried him forward, arrow after arrow, hour after hour, day after day. As long as his mind stayed sharp and danger loomed, his body obeyed.

  The price had come later.

  When the adrenaline vanished, he’d been done.

  Not tired.

  Not exhausted.

  Broken.

  Days—maybe weeks—of recovery would have followed if resurrection hadn’t intervened.

  Teun raised his voice. “Hey, Dennis! Do you know what those giant wheels are for?”

  Dennis slowed slightly, glancing toward the structure before shaking his head. “No idea,” he replied loudly.

  By now, the entire group had slowed to a stop.

  They stood along the marble road—a road that hadn’t existed a few months ago. Smooth, white, mana-reinforced stone stretched across the plains, designed for durability and speed rather than beauty. It was a testament to how fast humanity was rebuilding… and how desperate the need had become.

  “Oh! I know!”

  Bertho’s voice carried unmistakable pride.

  Johny groaned. “Of course you do.”

  “Well?” Johny prompted. “Go on.”

  Bertho straightened slightly, clearly enjoying the attention. “They’re replacing the caravans.”

  “What do you mean, replacing them?” Arin asked, stepping closer. Tom and Bill flanked him, listening with renewed interest. For once, Bertho’s habit of being a know it all might actually be useful.

  “Well,” Bertho began, “we can’t use electricity outside the Heartland. Mana interference messes with circuits—same reason engines break down or straight-up explode once you leave the protected zones.”

  “That still sounds insane,” Arin muttered.

  “I agree,” Bertho said cheerfully. “Anyway, because of that, and because we’re short on horses and cattle, they had to come up with something else.”

  He gestured toward the wheel.

  “We can’t rely on rivers because they mostly run horizontal, and we need vertical transport. The sea’s too violent to sail supply ships across reliably. So they designed this.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Bertho spread his hands wide.

  “A massive pulley and track system powered by water wheels and manpower. Supplies get loaded onto reinforced carriages, which are then pulled along these routes. The wheels provide constant force, reducing the number of animals needed.”

  Johnny blinked. “That’s… actually kind of genius.”

  “It’s terrifying,” Arin added. “But impressive.”

  Karl didn’t look impressed.

  “That’s enough,” he said sharply. “We move. Now.”

  His gaze locked onto Johnny and Teun. “One more non-essential delay, and I’ll hand you both over to Lilly for training.”

  The reaction was immediate.

  Johnny paled.

  Teun stiffened.

  Even Arin winced.

  Lilly didn’t train people.

  She tortured them at least that was the consensus every one who had undergone her training had reached.

  They started running again, faster this time.

  The plains around them were changing rapidly. What had once been empty land was now dotted with infrastructure—roads, water channels, watch posts, logistics hubs. Humanity was building not just to survive, but to endure.

  Far away, in a private office carved into reinforced stone, Marshal Herman Merz leaned back in his chair.

  Across from him sat his granddaughter, Sofie.

  She had been resurrected earlier than Arin’s group—caught in the goblin assault early in the siege, surrounded before retreat was possible. The fact that she’d survived as long as she had still amazed him.

  And proud him.

  Despite a century of progress, the military was still ruled by strength. Biology mattered. Men still dominated the upper echelons.

  And yet Sofie had climbed anyway.

  “So,” Herman said, folding his hands. “What’s your opinion on cavalry?”

  Sofie blinked, surprised by the question, then smiled faintly. “They’re extremely useful.”

  She leaned forward slightly. “Evolved goblins struggle to coordinate when faced with a sudden wall of steel and flesh moving at speed. Cavalry charges disrupt formations, scatter lesser goblins, and force commanders to react.”

  She hesitated. “But… cavalry is basically finished, right? Everyone complains about the lack of horses.”

  Herman sighed.

  “You’re mostly right. We have roughly one hundred thousand horses suitable for cavalry.”

  “That’s more than I thought,” Sofie admitted.

  “They’re our breeding population,” Herman continued. “We can’t risk them.”

  He paused, then added quietly, “Still… based on your reports, the cavalry was used well. They bought time. A week, perhaps more. Goblins had to hide from patrols rather than advance.”

  Herman stared at the map on his desk, jaw tight. “I keep wondering if that was the right call.”

  Sofie studied him. “Grandpa… how’s the breeding program?”

  “Well,” Herman said. “Most mares will give birth in three months. But it’ll take at least five years before we can field a proper cavalry force again.”

  Five years.

  In a war where days decided survival.

  “At that point,” Herman said softly, “I hope the Trial is already over. But hope isn’t strategy.”

  Sofie nodded. “Why were the cavalry ordered to hold the line?”

  Herman’s shoulders sagged.

  “Politics.”

  He rubbed his temples. “Several continents couldn’t contribute cavalry. They argued they’d gain nothing by preserving it. Media pressure followed. Public sentiment turned ugly. Points mattered too much.”

  He exhaled slowly. “They made arguments I couldn’t refuse.”

  Sofie clenched her fists. “That’s awful.”

  “It’s reality,” Herman replied tiredly. “Running an army like this is… exhausting.”

  She straightened. “So what’s my job now?”

  Herman looked at her, eyes sharp despite his fatigue.

  That is not yet certain, but I have a job in mind, they should arrive in a few days, said Herman, being all mysterious.