When the door to the meeting room opened, Arin instinctively braced himself.

  He didn’t know what he had been expecting—some vast abyss, an arcane device humming with mana, or perhaps a terrifying glimpse of the battlefield beyond. Instead, what greeted him was… another wall. Plain stone, reinforced, unremarkable.

  For a brief moment, he felt foolish.

  Of course, he thought. I was overthinking it again.

  As usual.

  The tension he’d been holding onto drained from his shoulders, and he let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. If this was all there was, then maybe whatever Herman wanted to show them wasn’t as dramatic as he’d feared.

  But that illusion didn’t last long.

  Marshal Herman Merz stepped forward and motioned for them to follow. Without explanation, he led them out of the room and into a corridor beyond. The air changed almost immediately. It grew cooler, heavier, carrying the faint metallic scent of reinforced stone and packed dirt.

  As they walked, Arin noticed something odd.

  The corridor felt like it was descending, even though there were no visible stairs or ramps. The sensation was subtle, like standing in an elevator that moved too smoothly for the body to fully register. The walls grew thicker, the supports more frequent.

  After passing through several rooms—ten, maybe more—Arin began to notice a pattern.

  Two of the rooms were heavily guarded.

  And not just guarded in the usual sense.

  Each had thick metal doors instead of wood. The doors were so heavy they required multiple guards to open, and beyond them stood what looked like a permanently stationed unit—hundreds of soldiers, possibly more.

  What struck Arin as strange was how they were positioned.

  Most of the guards faced outward.

  “That’s… weird,” Arin muttered under his breath.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

  “We’re underground, right?” Bill whispered. “Why are they guarding it like something’s trying to get out?”

  Arin nodded silently. The architecture made it obvious—they were no longer above ground. The supports had changed from square pillars to rounded ones, reinforced and evenly spaced, designed to bear immense weight. This wasn’t just a basement or storage area.

  Whatever lay ahead was important.

  And dangerous.

  When they finally passed through the second heavily guarded door, Arin understood why.

  The corridor opened up into a vast hollow space, and beyond it—

  Silence fell over the group.

  Not the calm, peaceful kind. The kind that came when words failed entirely.

  They stood on the underside of the bridge.

  Far above them loomed the massive stone structure that connected the two cliffs, stretching kilometers across the raging river below. From above, the bridge was a marvel of engineering. From below, it was something else entirely.

  A network of massive tunnels ran along its underside—three meters tall, five meters wide, carved directly into the stone. The walls were rough but deliberate, etched with patterns that seemed too precise to be natural erosion.

  There was only one problem.

  “There’s… no floor,” Bill said faintly.

  He wasn’t exaggerating.

  The tunnel existed, but beneath it was nothing but open air. Far below, the river churned violently, crashing against the canyon walls. The distance was enough that falling would mean certain death long before hitting the water.

  The walls of the tunnel looked climbable—rough, uneven, full of natural handholds—but that didn’t make the idea any less insane.

  “This…” Bill swallowed hard. “This is utterly insane.”

  Several people nodded silently.

  Even if they managed to climb along the tunnel walls, even if they reached the other side—

  “How are we supposed to avoid the goblins once we’re there?” Bill asked, voicing what everyone was thinking.

  Herman Merz stepped forward, his expression calm but serious.

  “Yes,” he said plainly. “It is insane.”

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  He folded his hands behind his back.

  “But it’s also the only reliable way.”

  Murmurs rippled through the group.

  “We’ve dug the passage far into the cliff on the far side,” Herman continued. “It exits away from goblin patrol routes. Once you reach it, you should be able to leave unnoticed.”

  He paused, then raised a hand as several people opened their mouths to speak.

  “Questions later,” he said firmly. “First, the requirements.”

  The room grew still.

  “We need fifty people,” Herman said. “No more.”

  Arin felt a chill crawl up his spine.

  “The tunnels react violently to mana density,” Herman continued. “We tested it.”

  A pause.

  “When we sent sixty people inside… the mana destabilized. The pressure skinned them alive before they fell.”

  A sharp intake of breath echoed through the group.

  “So,” Herman said quietly, “I need fifty people who know they can make it.”

  Bertho raised his hand immediately, eyes practically shining.

  “Do we know what these tunnels are for?” he asked eagerly. “They must have a function, right?”

  Herman’s lips twitched, almost amused.

  “A good question,” he said. “We believe they are what allow the bridge to remain suspended. Despite appearances, the bridge shouldn’t be able to support itself across seven kilometers without visible anchors.”

  He sighed softly.

  “Unfortunately, we don’t know for certain. We can’t get reliable reports of the underside—throwing people off the bridge doesn’t exactly provide useful data.”

  A few people winced.

  “It’s a shame,” Herman added quietly. “The technology alone could change everything.”

  He straightened.

  “You have one day to prepare. Choose among yourselves. Get your gear in order.”

  With that, he turned and walked away, leaving them alone with the impossible decision.

  Karl cleared his throat.

  “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be blunt.”

  He looked at the older members of the group.

  “We’re not making that climb.”

  Teun opened his mouth to protest, but Karl cut him off with a glance.

  “And neither is Dennis’s generation,” Karl continued. “This isn’t about pride. It’s about reality.”

  His gaze shifted to Arin and the others.

  “The younger ones will have to lead.”

  The room was quiet.

  “Can you do that?” Karl asked.

  Arin met his eyes—and nodded.

  Without another word, the elders began filing out of the room. Teun hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but stopped when he realized what Karl was doing.

  They’re stepping back on purpose, Arin realized. So we can step forward.

  Once the door closed, Arin exhaled and turned to the group.

  “Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “We have more than fifty people here.”

  He glanced around.

  “Anyone under seventeen doesn’t count.”

  That alone narrowed the number significantly.

  “With that, we should have exactly fifty,” Arin said, looking to Bertho, who nodded after a quick mental count.

  Arin didn’t even consider the possibility that someone might refuse.

  They hadn’t been raised to fear this kind of thing.

  Not when Grandma Lilly existed.

  “As for planning,” Arin continued, “we don’t know what’s on the other side. So flexibility is key.”

  He pointed toward the tunnel.

  “Climbing won’t be the issue. The walls are solid.”

  He reached down, picked up a rock, and tossed it over the edge.

  They listened as it fell—seconds passing before it vanished into the roar of the river below.

  “So secure your gear,” Arin said calmly. “Tie everything down. Use chalk powder to improve grip.”

  He turned away.

  “We climb tomorow.”

  As he walked, Arin glanced back one last time.

  For just a moment, as torchlight shifted, he thought he saw something carved into the underside of the bridge—patterns forming shapes that almost resembled letters.

  Almost like a word.

  Then the light moved, and it was gone.

  Whatever this bridge was—

  It wasn’t built by accident.