"True. I can't wait to deal with the religions," Rian said with a weary sigh as he leaned back in his chair. He could already imagine the countless problems that would arise the moment such an entity revealed itself to humanity. Some people would undoubtedly proclaim that their god had finally manifested before the world, while others would insist that the being was nothing more than a demon sent to deceive mankind. Worst of all, ambitious individuals would inevitably exploit the confusion to strengthen their own influence, either by spreading fear or by declaring the newcomer to be humanity's long-awaited savior.
"Exactly," Herman replied with an equally tired sigh. "So be grateful that China will probably have to deal with that mess before the rest of us." He slowly stood from his chair and stretched his shoulders before making his way toward the exit. "Still, I suppose I should inform the other leaders about my theory. Whether I'm right or wrong, they deserve to know what I suspect."
Rian simply nodded as Herman left the room without another word. Interestingly, Herman never once considered informing the man who technically outranked him in matters concerning the armed forces. Officially, that responsibility belonged to the Minister of Defence, but in reality almost nobody within the military regarded him as a legitimate authority anymore. His title remained impressive on paper, yet his reputation had long since collapsed.
The minister had become little more than a joke throughout the armed forces. Even newly promoted sergeants often enjoyed considerably more respect from ordinary soldiers than the man who supposedly commanded the military from the political level. During the nation's greatest crisis, he had remained safely within the country's heartland while others risked their lives at the front. That single decision had permanently destroyed whatever credibility he had once possessed.
Naturally, rumors spread rapidly through every military base. Soldiers openly mocked the minister whenever his name appeared in conversation, and many officers privately questioned whether he deserved to remain in office at all. The ridicule became so widespread that it eventually developed into an unwritten part of military culture. Ironically, the civilian cabinet remained almost completely unaware of just how damaged the minister's reputation had become.
That ignorance wasn't accidental. The generals had absolutely no interest in informing the cabinet about the situation because, from their perspective, the current arrangement worked perfectly. They understood that replacing the minister with someone ambitious might create far more problems than leaving the current one where he was. Sometimes an incompetent superior was easier to work with than an energetic one determined to leave his mark.
An internal memorandum eventually circulated among the officer corps. On the surface, it appeared to be nothing more than a routine reminder about maintaining professional conduct. However, anyone capable of reading between the lines immediately understood its true message. Officers were free to joke about the minister all they wanted, provided those jokes never spread beyond the military itself, as publicly embarrassing a cabinet minister would only create unnecessary political complications.
The reason behind that unusual policy was surprisingly straightforward. The current minister was both lazy and corrupt, qualities that most generals normally would have despised. In this particular situation, however, those flaws made him remarkably predictable. As long as nobody threatened his position or exposed his past, he was more than willing to leave the military alone and avoid interfering with its internal affairs.
That arrangement had begun shortly after Herman was appointed Marshal. One of his very first priorities had been eliminating the corruption that had infected the armed forces for decades. His investigations uncovered countless illegal dealings, fraudulent contracts, and networks of officials who had enriched themselves at the expense of national security. While following those trails, Herman eventually discovered that many of the individuals involved maintained direct connections to the current Minister of Defence.
The evidence painted a clear picture. The minister had either knowingly ignored the corruption or had benefited from it himself through political allies and personal associates. Either possibility made him vulnerable. Rather than exposing the scandal immediately and creating a political crisis in the middle of a military rebuilding effort, Herman chose a different approach that better served the country's immediate needs.
Using the information gathered during the investigations, the senior military leadership quietly ensured the minister understood exactly how much they knew. No formal threats were ever made, nor did they need to be. The evidence alone was enough to convince him that interfering with the military would only invite his own downfall. Faced with that reality, the minister wisely decided to keep his distance.
As a result, an unusual balance emerged between the civilian government and the armed forces. The minister retained his title, prestige, and salary, allowing the cabinet to believe everything remained perfectly normal. Meanwhile, the military was granted the freedom it needed to continue rebuilding itself without constant political interference. Neither side openly acknowledged the arrangement, but both quietly benefited from maintaining it.
From Herman's perspective, it was by far the preferable outcome. The last thing he wanted was for an ambitious politician to replace the current minister and immediately begin proposing sweeping reforms without understanding the realities faced by the armed forces. Military organizations required stability above all else, especially while adapting to the appearance of Secret Realms and the countless changes they had forced upon the world. Constant political experimentation would only slow that process.
For that reason, everyone involved silently accepted the situation as it was. The generals had the operational freedom they desired, while the minister retained enough authority to satisfy his own ambitions without disrupting military affairs. It was hardly an ideal system, but it proved remarkably effective under the circumstances. Until something forced the balance to change, neither side had any intention of disturbing it.
"I do have to give them credit. The people at the top are no idiots," Gaia thought to herself as she switched to another channel after overhearing Herman's conversation. His line of reasoning had impressed her more than she had expected, especially considering how little information humanity actually possessed. Even without knowing the complete truth, he had managed to arrive surprisingly close to several of her own conclusions. That alone convinced her that humanity still had individuals capable of seeing the bigger picture.
Her attention shifted back to Earth itself. Unlike during long periods of peace, when she simply allowed automated programs to oversee the planet for centuries at a time, Gaia was now personally supervising its redevelopment. There was simply too much happening every single day for her to entrust the process entirely to automation. Every hour brought new discoveries, political changes, technological developments, and unexpected reactions from humanity.
"Now then... what should Russia's punishment be?" Gaia wondered as her awareness spread across the entire country in an instant. She observed every city, every military installation, and every individual connected to the recent operation. Her senses carefully examined each living being one by one, searching for the unmistakable traces left behind by corruption. In her mind, the incident should have been the work of corrupted creatures manipulating humanity from the shadows.
To her surprise, she found absolutely nothing. Not a single person showed any obvious signs of corruption, although that result didn't completely surprise her. The knowledge implanted into her upon her creation explained that corrupted humans were exceptionally difficult to identify. Unless she carefully focused on an individual, even she could overlook the subtle signs hidden within them.
Naturally, she didn't possess enough time to perform such a detailed examination on every human being alive. There were billions of people scattered across her surface, each living their own lives simultaneously. It was entirely possible that corrupted humans already existed somewhere without her knowledge. The possibility bothered her far more than she cared to admit.
Even so, after thoroughly tracing the entire chain of command responsible for the operation, Gaia reached a firm conclusion. Every commander, every officer, and every individual connected to the decision had acted entirely of their own free will. She even examined their personal relationships and communications for outside influence. Yet nowhere did she find evidence that corrupted creatures had manipulated the decision.
That conclusion left her genuinely confused. Why would humans willingly endanger the very planet they depended upon for survival? The corruption released by the Secret Realms poisoned the land so thoroughly that recovery required at least a thousand years, even under ideal circumstances. From Gaia's perspective, such an action offered absolutely no meaningful benefit.
What she failed to understand was that humanity had repeatedly made similar mistakes throughout its own history. Most of those disasters had never been intentional acts of planetary destruction. Instead, they were usually the result of short-term thinking, accidents, or decisions whose consequences were only understood decades later. Humanity had always possessed a remarkable talent for solving immediate problems while unknowingly creating much larger ones for the future.
The damaged exclusion zone surrounding Chernobyl served as one such example. More recently, the war in Ukraine had left behind enormous destruction that would require decades of rebuilding before large portions of the affected regions could truly recover. Even further back in history, vast sections of former battlefields in France remained too dangerous for normal habitation after the First World War because unexploded munitions and contaminated soil still lingered beneath the surface. Time and time again, humanity had accepted long-term damage in pursuit of short-term objectives.
Gaia struggled to understand that mindset because her own perspective differed fundamentally from humanity's. She viewed time on a planetary scale rather than a human one. Even something as catastrophic as runaway climate change, capable of ending modern human civilization, would leave only a brief scar upon the lifespan of an entire planet. After a million years, almost every trace of such an event would naturally disappear.
From Gaia's perspective, civilizations rose and fell in the blink of an eye. Continents shifted, oceans advanced and retreated, mountains slowly eroded into plains, and entirely new ecosystems emerged without any outside assistance. Human history, impressive though it appeared to its participants, occupied only a tiny fraction of her existence. As a result, she often struggled to appreciate why humans focused so heavily on immediate gains instead of thinking centuries ahead.
Even so, she believed she understood Russia's intentions. They had merely wanted to test Europe's response by exploiting the Secret Realms as disposable weapons. Their leaders likely viewed the corrupted creatures as convenient tools rather than an existential threat to the planet itself. In Gaia's opinion, they had completely failed to comprehend the true nature of the corruption they had unleashed.
"Regardless, it doesn't matter," Gaia finally concluded. She dismissed the debate entirely, deciding that the motivation behind the act no longer mattered nearly as much as preventing others from repeating it. Allowing such behavior to continue would only encourage more governments to experiment with the Secret Realms. That was a risk she had absolutely no intention of accepting.
"No matter their reasoning, this line of thinking must be stopped before it spreads," she thought firmly. She already feared that some humans might have become corrupted without her knowledge, making every additional incident increasingly dangerous. If governments began treating the Secret Realms as ordinary military assets, eventually someone would lose control completely. At that point, the damage could become irreversible.
"For that reason, the punishment must be severe," Gaia decided. It wasn't driven by anger or revenge but by deterrence. Humanity needed to understand that abusing the Secret Realms would carry consequences so overwhelming that no nation would willingly attempt it again. Fear, while unpleasant, often proved more effective than mercy when protecting an entire world.
She also understood another uncomfortable truth about humanity. There would always be individuals willing to destroy society simply because they wished to watch it burn. Some sought revenge, others desired power, while a few simply enjoyed causing suffering. Those people represented another reason why every Secret Realm had to be brought under control as quickly as possible.
That necessity also explained why Gaia hadn't yet removed most of the raw materials available through the System's shop. Although doing so would encourage humanity to rely entirely upon its own industries, it would also cripple countless ongoing reconstruction efforts. Many of the remarkable achievements accomplished by adventurers, governments, and civilian organizations alike simply wouldn't have been possible without those readily available resources. Humanity still depended on them far more than most people realized.
Food production illustrated the problem perfectly. Ordinary crops required time to absorb mana from their surroundings as they matured, and that mana ultimately determined their nutritional quality. The same principle applied to animals raised for food. Because civilization was rebuilding so rapidly, neither plants nor livestock had enough time to naturally develop the mana concentrations required to sustain humanity's growing population.
That limitation also explained why modern cultivators consumed such enormous quantities of food. The mana absorbed through meditation wasn't used solely for strengthening the body. Large portions of it were consumed while digesting food and converting ordinary calories into forms the body could efficiently utilize during cultivation. The process wasted both mana and energy, making cultivation significantly less efficient than it would eventually become.
If Gaia removed the raw materials from the System shop too early, humanity's expansion would come to an abrupt halt. Cities would become overcrowded as people lost the ability to build, explore, and establish new settlements beyond their walls. Instead of advancing, civilization would stagnate while waiting for natural production to catch up with demand. Such an outcome would only delay humanity's overall development.
For now, keeping the raw materials available remained the wiser choice. She understood that doing so reduced incentives to invest heavily in long-term industrial infrastructure, but the benefits still outweighed the drawbacks. Humanity simply wasn't ready to stand entirely on its own yet. Until that day arrived, Gaia would continue quietly supporting their growth while ensuring they never endangered the planet she had sworn to protect.