Unlike Bases 8 and 9, the slums of the Dominion, known only for their poverty and crime, Base 7 was different. It was a major mining state.
Though beast cores were the Dominion's most valuable resource, there were still other treasures buried in the earth: coal, gold, chrome, diamonds, and more. Base 7 was rich with them all. Its proximity to the sea made it the perfect site for the Dominion's Naval stronghold, and the government had spared no expense fortifying it.
Massive energy towers rose like black spires across the coast, surrounded by automated turrets that tracked the waters with cold precision. Rumor had it that the sea beasts lurking out there were far worse than anything that walked on land, leviathans with hides tougher than steel and appetites that could swallow entire ships.
We, the labourers, were assigned to handle supplies and assist in maintaining the fleet before departure. Days were spent carrying crates, fueling engines, and hauling the Dominion's dreams of conquest aboard their great vessels.
And for the first time in my life, I saw the fabled warships of the Dominion Navy.
They weren't ships. They were floating fortresses, beasts of iron and mana that glowed with blue veins across their hulls. Each was powered by dozens of beast cores the size of a man's head, humming with lethal energy. Just standing near one made my skin prickle and my heart race.
There were forty battleships in total, each one a monster of steel and mana, armored to the teeth. Their hulls gleamed under the morning light, bristling with cannons, anti-beast turrets, and core reactors.
Each vessel could carry between sixteen hundred and twenty-seven hundred personnel. Rumor had it that this expedition involved over sixty-eight thousand people- soldiers, engineers, mages, labourers, and volunteers, all marching under the Dominion's banner. Each ship was said to be a city of its own, floating and self-sustaining, designed for conquest and survival across the uncharted seas.
As I walked along the docks, awestruck by the sheer magnitude of it all, my eyes caught sight of one ship in particular.
It stood out immediately. Smaller than the others. Older, too. Its hull bore the marks of repair and time - welded plates, patched mana conduits, and burn scars from a dozen battles. Yet, despite its age, there was something regal about it.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?"
I turned. An old man stood beside me - silver-haired, wearing thick glasses that gleamed in the light. One of his arms was mechanical, the metal fingers twitching slightly as if adjusting to a long-forgotten rhythm.
"She's the first breakthrough for humanity outside Eros," he said with a faint smile.
I stared back at the ship, realization dawning on me. "That's the…"
"Correct," the old man interrupted, his tone reverent. "The Bartholomew. The first ship to discover land beyond the Continent of Eros. The only one that made it back."
He adjusted his glasses and looked toward the horizon, where the sea stretched like an endless mirror.
"Every soul who sails from here owes something to her," he murmured. "She's more than a ship, boy. She's a ghost that refuses to die."
I didn't say anything. But as I looked at the Bartholomew's battered frame, something inside me stirred. It wasn't awe. It was something darker.
If this ship was humanity's first step toward conquest… then maybe it would also be where the Dominion's arrogance met its end.
"Honestly, it's such a great honour for me to see outside the walls of Eros before I die," the old man said, his voice carrying that weary sort of hope only old men had. Judging by his face and the stiffness in his movements, he was somewhere in his mid-sixties.
I could only imagine what it was like, living your entire life under the Dominion's boot, never seeing what lay beyond its walls.
But one thing caught my eye. He wasn't wearing a black armband like me. That meant he wasn't from Base 8 or 9. He was probably a real citizen. Someone above the dirt I came from.
I had to be careful with my words.
"Do you think there's really something beyond these walls, old man?" I asked.
He turned to look at me, his expression halfway between disbelief and pity. "The Red Islands are real, boy. I've seen the reports myself. This world is vast, Eros is just a fragment of it. The Islands are proof there's more land out there. Maybe even civilizations greater than our own."
The way he said it, it wasn't just faith. It was conviction. The kind that seeps from a man who's seen too much to keep doubting.
I wanted to believe him. Maybe there really were people beyond the walls, people who lived free from the Dominion's rule, without chains, black bands, or endless wars.
That conversation was the spark that lit something new inside me. For the first time, my hatred for the Dominion wasn't the only thing driving me. I wanted to see what lay beyond the horizon. To find out what the world really looked like without their lies.
"I'll see you around, young man," the old man said, turning to leave. I opened my mouth to ask his name, but he was already gone, lost in the sea of workers and soldiers.
The next week was hell for the rest of the labourers. Endless lifting, hauling, fixing, and obeying. The Dominion's officers screamed until their throats bled. Men fainted from exhaustion. Some died.
But not me.
Every bruise, every wound, every snapped muscle fiber made me stronger. My body adapted faster with each passing day.
[Vigor: 5.7% ]
[Strength: 20]
[Endurance: 20]
[Regeneration: 25]
[Stamina: 18]
I didn't mind the pain. Pain was my evolution. And I knew one thing for certain, whatever awaited us beyond the sea, whether on the Red Islands or in the Dominion's ranks, I would face them.
And this time, I wouldn't be the one bleeding.