The Southern Council Headquarters stood beneath a gray afternoon sky.
Massive stone walls surrounded the newly established administrative district while banners carrying the crest of the Southern Council fluttered heavily beneath cold southern winds. Workers moved endlessly through the enormous courtyard transporting construction materials, monster resources, supply crates, and official documents between different sectors of the rapidly expanding headquarters.
The South was changing.
Fast.
What was once merely an unstable alliance between nobles had slowly started resembling something greater.
Something organized.
And at the center of it all—
The Southern Council Hall stood like a rising symbol of unity within the lawless territories.
Inside the council chamber—
Discussion had already grown heated.
Several nobles sat around the enormous blackwood table beneath golden lanternlight while maps of the southern wilderness covered nearly every available surface.
Arguments echoed across the chamber.
"They should've returned by now."
"We sent forty-seven people into unknown wilderness!"
"Silence. Panic changes nothing."
One older noble quietly rubbed his forehead while another council member nervously reviewed expedition supply reports for the third time that day.
Even among nobles—
Anxiety had slowly begun spreading during the past weeks.
Because the expedition represented too much.
Money.
Influence.
Knowledge.
Prestige.
And perhaps most importantly—
Hope.
The Southern Council needed this expedition to succeed.
Not merely for resources.
But for legitimacy.
If the wilderness exploration succeeded—
The South would finally stop being viewed merely as barbaric lawless territory by the rest of the Aurelia Empire.
Yet deep down—
Most nobles still expected disaster.
The wilderness had consumed countless expeditions before.
Then suddenly—
The heavy doors of the council chamber burst open.
A guard entered quickly.
Breathing unevenly.
"They returned!"
Silence instantly swallowed the room.
Every noble rose from their seats almost simultaneously.
"How many?"
The guard hesitated slightly.
"…Ten."
The atmosphere froze.
Several nobles immediately stiffened.
Others darkened visibly.
"…Only ten?"
"Damn it…"
"I knew this expedition was reckless—"
But before panic could fully spread—
The guard quickly added—
"No casualties confirmed!"
The chamber fell silent again.
Confused this time.
"What?"
The guard swallowed slightly before continuing.
"The remaining explorers are still inside the wilderness."
Several nobles blinked.
"…Then why did only ten return?"
No one understood immediately.
The council chamber quickly descended into overlapping questions while nobles exchanged uncertain looks.
Then finally—
One servant entered carrying sealed documents and communication reports recovered from the expedition.
And at the center of the escort—
Darren Holt stepped into the council chamber.
Covered in dust.
Travel-worn.
Exhausted.
Alive.
Behind him—
The remaining nine explorers entered carrying sealed mana containers, ancient scroll cases, crystal storage units, and monster-resource crates.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Because even before opening anything—
The nobles already sensed it.
Value.
Ancient mana fluctuations leaked faintly from the recovered artifacts while the sheer amount of preserved material alone stunned everyone present.
One council scholar immediately widened his eyes seeing the crystal-sealed medical records.
"…Impossible…"
Meanwhile—
Darren calmly removed his traveling cloak before speaking.
"The expedition succeeded."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Then suddenly—
The council chamber exploded into noise.
"What did you find?!"
"How dangerous was the wilderness?!"
"Why only ten returned?!"
"Did you discover ruins?!"
"Are there dragons?!"
The overlapping questions continued endlessly until Duke Altair suddenly slammed one hand against the table.
"Enough."
The chamber immediately quieted.
The duke's sharp gaze moved toward Darren.
"Explain everything."
Darren slowly exhaled before answering.
"The expedition discovered ancient ruins belonging to a forgotten civilization."
Several nobles visibly froze.
"Ancient medicinal knowledge."
"Artifacts."
"Monster resources."
"Historical records."
The older scout's voice remained steady despite exhaustion.
"And no deaths."
This time—
The silence that followed felt entirely different.
Because now—
The nobles truly understood something extraordinary had happened.
Even Duchess Seraphine leaned slightly forward within her seat, her silver-white gown reflecting softly beneath the lanternlight while sharp violet eyes remained fixed upon Darren.
"No casualties…"
She quietly repeated.
In wilderness exploration—
That bordered absurdity.
Then finally—
Duke Altair asked the question everyone still focused on.
"Why only ten returned?"
Darren immediately answered.
"It was Heral's strategy."
The chamber grew still again.
Several nobles exchanged glances instantly.
Of course.
Again.
That mysterious alchemist appeared behind another impossible decision.
Darren calmly continued.
"The expedition gathered too many valuable resources to transport safely in one movement."
He gestured toward the sealed containers surrounding the chamber.
"So Heral proposed rotational withdrawal cycles."
Several nobles frowned slightly.
Listening carefully.
"Ten explorers return with resource batches."
"The remaining team continues deeper exploration."
"Once additional resources accumulate…"
A faint pause followed.
"…another batch returns."
The council members slowly began understanding the logic.
Darren continued calmly.
"This prevents full expedition collapse if transportation routes become compromised."
Several military-minded nobles visibly narrowed their eyes thoughtfully.
Because strategically—
It made sense.
Smaller transportation groups moved faster.
Attracted less attention.
Required fewer supplies.
And if one route failed—
The entire expedition wouldn't collapse simultaneously.
One older noble quietly muttered beneath his breath—
"…Efficient."
Another immediately added—
"Also reduces internal instability."
Several council members looked toward him.
The noble calmly explained.
"If exhausted or fearful explorers can return gradually…"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"…discipline remains stable inside the main expedition force."
Silence followed briefly afterward.
Because now—
Everyone realized something deeper.
This strategy was not merely logistical.
Psychological.
Duchess Seraphine slowly leaned back into her chair.
Her violet eyes reflected faint amusement now.
"That man…"
A faint smile touched her lips.
"…really understands people frighteningly well."
Several nobles quietly nodded despite themselves.
Then another council member suddenly frowned.
"…Wait."
The older noble looked toward Darren carefully.
"If only ten returned…"
A slight pause followed.
"…who decided which ten?"
The chamber became quieter again.
Darren's expression shifted slightly afterward.
More thoughtful.
"Heral refused to choose personally."
Several nobles blinked.
"He told us…"
The older scout's voice lowered slightly.
"…that forcing people to retreat would humiliate them."
The council chamber fell silent again.
"So instead…"
Darren quietly exhaled.
"…he convinced people to choose survival honestly themselves."
No one spoke for several moments afterward.
Because among southern nobles—
Such thinking felt unusual.
Most leaders glorified sacrifice.
Fearlessness.
Blind loyalty.
Yet Heral…
The mysterious alchemist viewed survival itself as intelligence.
Duke Altair slowly folded his hands together while deep thought surfaced within his eyes.
"That explains the lack of casualties…"
Meanwhile—
Duchess Seraphine remained unusually quiet now.
Her violet eyes lingered upon the expedition reports calmly while faint amusement mixed with growing fascination deep within her expression.
Because the more she heard about Heral—
The less he resembled an ordinary man.