Yes, global shipping lanes will become much easier to use, and hopefully trade will recover just as quickly," said Serapione as he continued watching another newly built vessel sail into the Mediterranean. "Europe is also in an incredibly dominant position to shape international trade for at least the next twenty years." His years of studying Europe's historical influence had convinced him that the continent possessed all the foundations necessary to regain its former prominence. The current situation only strengthened that belief.
"There are only a handful of countries capable of competing with us in trade and influence," Serapione continued while crossing his arms thoughtfully. "China, Russia, and perhaps India are the only serious contenders." His voice carried a hint of frustration as he spoke the names. "The problem is that none of us truly know what those nations have preserved inside their own historical libraries."
Lauriano raised an eyebrow at his student's conclusion. "Wait a moment," he said thoughtfully. "Why didn't you include the United States in that list? Even if they suffered through a civil war, the country's industrial base should still be incredibly powerful." From his perspective, the United States remained one of the greatest economic powers in modern history. It seemed strange that Serapione dismissed them so quickly.
"You are right that their industrial foundation is still there, Master," Serapione replied calmly. "However, this new world rewards history as much as it rewards industry." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Europe, China, Russia, and India possess thousands of years of preserved craftsmanship, engineering, metallurgy, and cultural traditions that can now be translated directly into practical technology."
"The United States simply doesn't have that same historical depth," Serapione explained. "Of course, they built wooden ships and developed many impressive industries during their rise to power, but those achievements were never considered priceless cultural treasures." Most of their greatest accomplishments belonged to the industrial era rather than ancient history. Because of that, very little of their heritage was preserved in the way Europe's great houses had protected their libraries.
"They certainly accumulated tremendous amounts of knowledge during their golden age," he continued. "But very little of that knowledge consisted of irreplaceable masterpieces handed down through generations." Ancient Japanese katana, master-crafted Roman engineering manuals, medieval guild records, and centuries-old naval blueprints were preserved because people recognized their cultural value long before Gaia ever appeared. Modern manufacturing manuals simply never received that same level of protection.
"So yes," Serapione concluded with a slight sneer, "the United States will still manufacture many useful products. However, I don't believe they can compete with nations that suddenly regained thousands of years of carefully preserved craftsmanship." His confidence came not from patriotism but from historical observation. The current age rewarded those who had protected their heritage rather than discarded it.
Lauriano remained silent for several seconds before asking another question. "Even so, I noticed something in your tone," he observed. "You don't sound completely certain that the United States won't become a major player again." He knew these geopolitical discussions reached far beyond his own specialty. Roman maritime history was his passion, while the broader political landscape had always interested his apprentice far more.
Serapione nodded slowly. "Because they still have one possible path to regain their position," he admitted. "It would require every major industrial leader, every financial institution, and the Wall Street elite to sit down together and accept one uncomfortable truth." His expression grew serious. "They must recognize that competing directly against thousands of years of historical craftsmanship is a losing battle."
"Instead," Serapione continued, "they should focus entirely on rebuilding the modern technological age as quickly as possible." If anyone still possessed the industrial expertise to revive advanced manufacturing, it was the United States. Their universities, corporations, and engineering traditions remained among the strongest in the world. However, rebuilding modern industry required one critical resource.
"They would need enormous quantities of mana-dense metals," Serapione explained. "Here in Europe, we've only recently begun mining our first deposits of mana-rich iron." He folded his arms while considering the implications. "The Americans don't currently possess those resources in sufficient quantities, which means they would have to purchase them."
"And there is only one realistic place to obtain enough of those materials," he continued. "Gaia's shops." The amount of money required would be astronomical. Entire national budgets might disappear simply trying to secure enough refined metal to restart high-tech manufacturing.
"Of course," Serapione admitted, "this entire strategy rests upon a single hypothesis." Scientists believed that mana-dense metals might protect the small amount of cultural energy contained within modern technology. If that theory proved correct, advanced electronics could eventually become practical outside mana veins once again. If it proved false, however, trillions of dollars would have been wasted.
"The best part," Serapione said with a faint smile, "is that they don't really have a choice." If the United States wished to regain its former technological leadership, it had to gamble on that hypothesis regardless of the risks. Standing still guaranteed defeat. Taking the risk at least offered hope.
Lauriano's expression suddenly darkened. "Wait..." he said quietly. "You don't think the reason so many countries aren't ordering ships yet is because the United States is demanding repayment of outstanding debts?" The possibility sent a chill down his spine. International finance had always been complicated, but in the current world it had become even more fragile.
Serapione looked around the harbor before answering. "I think you may have figured it out, Teacher." His voice dropped noticeably lower than before. "Perhaps we should return to the shipyard before continuing this discussion." Some conversations were simply too dangerous to hold in public.
His eyes carefully scanned the surrounding area. Fortunately, the harbor remained relatively quiet, and only one member of House Vassevilliers' security detail appeared close enough to overhear them. Even then, the guard merely acknowledged them with a respectful nod before returning to his duties. That alone allowed Serapione to relax slightly.
The bodyguard, however, had already received different instructions from his superiors. House Vassevilliers had invested enormous sums bringing both historians out of retirement and assembling one of the finest historical research teams in Europe. Their insights into politics, economics, and history were considered invaluable. As a result, discreet security followed them almost everywhere they went, not only to protect them but also to report any important conclusions they reached.
Far to the east, in a large office building located on the outskirts of Kiev, an entirely different conversation was taking place. The atmosphere there contrasted sharply with the excitement surrounding Rome's shipyards. Instead of celebration, only boredom filled the room. A young man stretched lazily across an expensive couch before letting out a dramatic sigh.
"Selvijs... I'm bored," Eloi complained while staring at the ceiling. He had already finished his meditation for the day and found himself with nothing meaningful left to occupy his time. For someone accustomed to constant action, inactivity felt almost unbearable. His voice echoed through the spacious office.
"Of course you are," Selvijs replied without even looking up from the documents spread across his desk. "Honestly, I expected nothing less." Years of working alongside Eloi had taught him that keeping the legion commander occupied was almost a full-time job. Whenever there wasn't a battle to fight, Eloi somehow found new ways to complain.
The irony amused Selvijs more than he cared to admit. The man lying dramatically across the couch happened to command one of the most powerful military formations in the European Union. On paper, only the commanders stationed at military headquarters outranked him. Everyone else, including the Sonnenbergs and several other elite factions, ultimately fell under his operational authority whenever the legions mobilized.
The Twenty-Third Legion had retained its complete organizational structure after Gaia's arrival. Alongside seven other standing legions, it formed the backbone of Europe's permanent military force. Every remaining legion had been reorganized into independent divisions and companies scattered throughout the continent, only to be reassembled during times of crisis. That arrangement allowed Europe to maintain flexibility without sacrificing command structure.
Despite that prestigious position, Eloi behaved nothing like the image most people imagined when they heard the words "legion commander." He lounged across furniture, complained constantly, and rarely displayed the formal discipline expected of someone holding such enormous authority. Anyone unfamiliar with him would probably mistake him for an ordinary officer with too much free time.
"But you don't understand," Eloi protested while sitting upright. "I'm bored, and the troops are even more bored than I am." He walked over to the large window overlooking the training grounds outside. Pulling the curtains aside, he revealed hundreds of soldiers drilling across a massive parade square.
Normally, the training grounds would have radiated energy and determination. Today, however, the soldiers moved through their exercises with noticeably less enthusiasm than usual. Their discipline remained flawless, but the passion behind every movement had diminished. For veterans renowned throughout Europe for their professionalism, that lack of spirit was almost unsettling.
The reason for their frustration was simple. Unlike many other units, the Twenty-Third Legion had received no opportunity to participate in developing the newly discovered secret realm. While countless soldiers elsewhere gained valuable experience exploring dangerous territories and gathering resources, Eloi's legion had remained behind to guard strategic positions. They understood the necessity of the assignment, but understanding did little to ease their disappointment.
Even so, no outsider should mistake their apparent laziness for genuine weakness. During the first Trial, the Twenty-Third Legion had developed a unique legionary culture centered on absolute trust between commanders and soldiers. Their discipline no longer relied upon fear or rigid formalities. Instead, it rested upon mutual respect earned through a year of battles and training.
To an outside observer, the officers often appeared surprisingly casual with their subordinates. Jokes were common, formalities were minimal, and even Eloi rarely behaved like a stereotypical general. Yet beneath that relaxed exterior existed unwavering loyalty and absolute confidence in the chain of command. The moment Eloi gave an order, every soldier obeyed without hesitation.
That unquestioning trust was precisely why the Twenty-Third Legion remained one of the European Union's strongest military formations. Their discipline was not enforced through fear but forged through shared hardship and countless victories. Eloi may have looked like a bored young man complaining on a couch, but every soldier outside would willingly follow him into the gates of hell itself. That level of respect could never be manufactured—it had to be earned.