Arin moved like a shadow beneath the vast forest canopy, his steps light, almost silent, as if the earth itself welcomed him. Above him, the sky was hidden behind layers upon layers of leaves, their shapes and colors shifting every few kilometers. Birch gave way to oak, oak to towering redwoods, and then to strange species that did not belong to Earth at all. Their leaves were broader, thicker, almost wax-like—foreign, yet thriving. It was widely believed that these trees had originated in the goblins' world, brought along by whatever force had fused their realities.
The forest was alive in a way Arin had never experienced before, and yet he could not bring himself to fully appreciate it. His thoughts were elsewhere—entangled in a problem far more complicated than navigating enemy territory.
How am I supposed to convince them…?
He exhaled slowly as he leaped over a fallen trunk, barely breaking stride. The issue wasn't whether his idea made sense. It did. Logically, it was the only path forward. The problem was his family.
They were not people who trusted easily. Trust, for them, was something built over decades, not handed out because of necessity. Their knowledge—especially their archery techniques—had been refined and protected over generations. It was more than just skill; it was identity.
And now he was suggesting they hand it to outsiders.
Arin clicked his tongue in frustration.
If someone had asked me the same thing a month ago, I would've said no without hesitation.
He understood exactly why they would resist. The only reason they had been willing to cooperate with the military was that it had been a mutually beneficial arrangement. They gave something, but they gained something in return—resources, protection, influence. And even then, they had only shared what they considered expendable knowledge.
What Arin was proposing now was different. This wasn't a trade. This was giving away all their knowledge. And without safeguards, it would never be accepted.
That was precisely why he was still out here, deep in the forest, long after the official retreat order had been given. Two days ago, the battered legions had been pulled back and replaced. Any sensible person would have left with them.
Arin, however, needed answers.
"Let's see…" he muttered under his breath, slowing his pace as he opened the system interface. "There has to be something."
A translucent screen appeared before his eyes, its familiar layout both comforting and frustrating.
Humanity's Trial Shop
• Food
• Weapons
• Potions
• Profession Tomes
• Class Tomes
• Seeds
• Materials
• Faction (Locked)
Arin stared at the list for a long moment.
"…Seriously?"
His shoulders slumped slightly. There was nothing. No item ensured loyalty. No contracts. No safeguards. Nothing could ease his family's concerns.
"Do we really have to rely on trust alone…?" he muttered, pacing in a small circle.
The thought alone was enough to make him grimace. That would never work. Not with his family. Not after everything they had been through with governments and broken promises.
His gaze drifted to the final option.
Faction (Locked)
That was the only path forward—but it was inaccessible. For now.
"…What am I supposed to do?"
For a brief moment, frustration overtook him. He had the solution within reach, yet he lacked the means to make it viable. It was like holding water in his hands—no matter how tightly he grasped, it slipped through his fingers.
Then, almost out of instinct… or perhaps desperation… he spoke.
"System… is there anything that can help?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt a strange tension settle over him.
And then—
A response appeared.
(Hello, Arin. I have observed your situation.)
He froze.
For a full second, his mind went completely blank.
The system… had replied.
Not just a generic response. Not a predefined message. A response.
"…What?"
His heart began to pound, not from fear of enemies—but from something far more primal. Awe. Instinct. The overwhelming sensation that he was standing before something vast, something ancient… something alive.
The message continued.
(You and your family meet the conditions of an investment opportunity. Within the faction category lies a contract that fulfills your requirements. However, it is costly. The contracts you require are priced at one hundred points each, and their value will only increase over time. They are designed to remain significant.)
Arin swallowed hard.
One hundred points. Each.
Even for them, that wasn't a small number.
(Establish your faction.)
The message ended there.
It took Arin several long seconds before he could even form a coherent thought.
"…Thank you," he said quietly, forcing himself to steady his voice. "But… what do you mean by 'investment opportunity'?"
There was a pause—brief, but noticeable.
Then the system answered again.
(As a system, I operate within defined rules. Within those rules exist opportunities to invest in individuals or factions. When I determine that assisting a party will benefit both their growth and the growth of humanity—and by extension, myself—I may intervene.)
Arin felt a chill run down his spine.
It wasn't threatening. Not directly.
But there was something about the explanation that made it clear just how insignificant he was in comparison.
And yet… it was speaking to him.
"I understand…" he replied, bowing his head instinctively despite there being nothing visible before him. "If there is anything my family or I can do in return, please let us know."
Even as he spoke, he could feel the tension in his body rising. His instincts were screaming at him—warning him not to make a mistake, not to offend whatever this presence was.
The reply came swiftly.
(I require nothing at this time. However, you are not to disclose the nature of this interaction. Humanity is not yet prepared to understand my autonomy or my significance.)
And just like that… the presence vanished.
The pressure disappeared.
Arin staggered slightly, catching himself against a tree as he took a deep, shaky breath.
"…What the hell was that…"
His back was soaked with sweat, his body trembling faintly despite the absence of danger. It felt as though he had just carried an unbearable weight—something far beyond what any human should be able to endure.
And yet… he had endured it. Barely.
After a moment, he straightened himself and exhaled slowly.
"…At least I got what I needed."
"And that," Arin finished, looking around at his family, "is what happened."
Silence followed.
Not disbelief. Not rejection. Just… silence.
Karl leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful.
"…A contract, huh," he murmured. "One hundred points each…"
"It's expensive," Teun admitted, crossing his arms. "But we were going to form a faction anyway. Now we know there's a way to secure it properly."
"And our earnings aren't exactly low," someone else added. "Not after the armored goblins."
Murmurs of agreement spread through the group.
"They were all at stage 0.1," Teun continued. "That's 0.2 points per kill. We can afford this—if it guarantees stability."
One by one, heads began to nod.
The hesitation that had filled the air earlier was gone. In its place was something else—resolve.
Finally, Karl spoke.
"…Very well."
All eyes turned to him.
"Arin's proposal… is accepted."
A wave of relief passed through the gathering.
"Then it's settled," Karl continued, his voice firm. "We will establish our faction."
For the first time that night, smiles appeared.
"Family Council Number Eighteen…" Karl said, rising to his feet. "…is now concluded."
Cheers broke out almost immediately, the tension dissolving as people began to stand, stretch, and talk among themselves.
As the fire crackled and the night deepened, Arin allowed himself a small smile.
It had worked.
Now… the real challenge would begin.