The morning air atop the balcony was thin and tasted of impending rain. Mirabella stood at the precipice, the wind tugging at her hair, while Carl remained a few paces to the side. His eyes were fixed on the town square below, where three figures stood like statues carved from obsidian and gold. The silence down there was unnatural, a physical weight that made the hair on his arms stand like needles.
"I thought Hayatobi would be the one," Carl said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, trying to reclaim his composure. "For the Dragon Empire. Isn't this... his moment?"
Mirabella didn't turn. She watched a eagle circle the square, sensing the same predatory shift in the atmosphere. "Hayatobi is someone insufficient, Carl. He doesn't step into the light for formalities. He's currently stabilizing a situation or getting ready for what happens next. He only moves when the world-axis shifts—and today, it's tilting."
She glanced at him, noting the white-knuckled grip Carl had on the stone railing. Over the last month, she had watched the "Newbie" polish away his rough edges. He was no longer the man who tripped over his own scabbard; he had become a diligent warrior, tempered by the brutal efficiency she demanded. More importantly, he was the only person in this purgatory who looked at her without a hidden agenda.
"Why the divide?" Carl asked, his gaze returning to the representatives. "Is it just ego? Or is there a gain to picking a side?"
"It's the fundamental friction of power," Mirabella replied, her tone shifting into that of a cold, brilliant tactician. "The Sword Empire represents resources. They are the titans of industry. They own the high-tier forges, the monopoly on skill-scroll mass production, and treasures. If you want to be a 'Titan'—a Knight, an Assassin, or a Warrior with gear that defies physics—you swear fealty to them. They produce the finest soldiers ever seen."
She paused, gesturing toward the Dragon Empire's envoy.
"But the Sword Empire has a setback. They can't bring the full potential of a mage, priests, healers or rune masters. The Dragon Empire, however, understands spirit energy. They possess the secrets of all Bloodlines... They don't give you a better sword; they turn your marrow into fire. An assassin under their flag might wear rags, but their internal energy—their intellect—is terrifying. Between these two empires; It's the choice between the best equipment, or the best version of yourself."
Carl looked at his hands, then back at her. "I don't care about the gear or the bloodlines. I've survived because I followed your lead. I'll go where you go."
A rare flicker of genuine warmth touched Mirabella's chest. In a world of 'Players' who optimized their friendships like stats, Carl's loyalty was a grounded thing. She let out a short, surprised chuckle.
"Careful, Carl. Loyalty is the heaviest stat to carry. It doesn't give you a buff; it just makes the falls hurt more." Her eyes suddenly danced with a mischievous, predatory light.
"Speaking of burdens... from this moment on, I am your Junior Sister."
Carl blinked, his brain momentarily stalling. "I'm sorry... my what?"
"I'm too high-profile," she said, her voice dropping to a low, authoritative hum. "If I show my true hand now, the Empires will either try to shackle me as a 'National Asset' or hunt me as a threat. I'm suppressing my visible status to Level 15. You, at Level 29, are now the 'Senior Brother.' You are the muscle, the vanguard, the talented protector. I'm just your gifted, quiet apprentice."
"You want me... to protect you?" Carl stammered, the absurdity of the request hitting him. This was the woman who had cleared dungeons while he was still learning to parry.
"Make sure you look the part, Senior Brother," she teased, popping a sour candy into her mouth. "A single slip-up and our 'hidden' status goes up in smoke."
"I haven't met anyone who loves sweets—or deception—more than you," Carl muttered. Yet, he straightened his shoulders. The joke was light, but the weight of the role settled on him. He wasn't a tag-along anymore; he was her shield.
Below, the square curdled into a vacuum of sound. Duke Marion, a man who usually carried himself with the arrogance of a local god, now looked small—a beggar at the feet of titans.
"Lord Cisco," Marion stammered, bowing toward the Sword Empire envoy. "The barrier... the people are restless. The resources of the Lower Region are spent."
Lord Cisco, whose white beard hung like a frozen waterfall over his shimmering golden robes, didn't look at the Duke. He looked at the sky. "The world is not waiting, Marion. It is hungry."
At Cisco's silent command, twenty elite guards surged forward, their armor clanking in a terrifying rhythm as they cleared a wide radius. The three representatives moved in a synchronized dance, forming a triangle.
The air grew metallic. They bit their thumbs in unison. They unrolled scrolls of ancient, yellowed parchment, staining the silk with blood that smoked as it touched the paper.
"By the mandate of the Old Code! By the blood of the Descendants! By the authority of the System!" Their voices didn't just carry; they vibrated in the marrow of Carl's bones.
"We unseal the regions Lock!!"
Their eyes turned a terrifying, hollow white, glowing with the light of a thousand burning servers.
"He said 'Regions,'" Carl whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I thought their will be a new world."
"What are you saying, Carl?" Mirabella asked, her eyes fixed on the firmament.
"Takes it as Earth, there are seven continents... The lower server is like only one Continent. Once the barrier unsealed, the other continents will appear making four. Meaning all the monsters, and creatures in these three concealed continents can finally enter the initial one, and the one will be able to travel to the other three. It's like removing a dam." Mirabella explained, and Carl slowly nodded his head in understanding.
BOOM.
The sky didn't just crack; it shattered like a glass dome struck by a hammer.
Red lightning webbed across the blue, tearing jagged holes into a purple-black void. A wave of Spirit Energy—thick, cold, and intoxicating—slammed into the world. It felt like breathing pure oxygen for the first time; it was exhilarating and agonizing all at once.
Carl gasped, falling to one knee as the sheer pressure of the world's expansion hit him. But Mirabella stood tall. Her smirk widened, her hand resting almost lovingly on the reeling. She wasn't watching a disaster; she was watching a door open, a door to more treasures.
"Finally," she whispered, her voice lost in the thunder of a world being reborn. "The server has upgraded. Now, the real game begins."