It took Legion Twenty-Three a full three days to reach the outskirts of the disputed border between the European Union and Russia. Under normal circumstances, such a journey would have taken far longer, but the breathing technique had dramatically increased every soldier's physical abilities. Every member of the legion had already reached at least Stage 0.3 of their racial evolution, nearly doubling their original physical capabilities. Even so, continuously running for three days without proper rest had pushed every single one of them to their absolute limit.
By the time they finally halted, exhaustion was written across every face. Soldiers collapsed onto the grass the moment they were allowed to stop, too tired to care about appearances or military discipline. Their bodies trembled from overexertion despite the remarkable improvements they had gained through cultivation. Even Eloi, who normally demanded perfection from his troops, understood that forcing them to continue would only lead to unnecessary deaths.
The accomplishment itself was nothing short of extraordinary. During those three days, the legion had covered a staggering distance of 1,287 kilometers while carrying their personal equipment, tents, weapons, and armor. Although the weight of their equipment had put much less stress on their enhanced bodies. The strain of maintaining such an incredible pace remained overwhelming. Eloi couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of pride as he looked over his exhausted soldiers.
He knew exactly how much they had sacrificed to maintain this speed. Every kilometer had demanded determination, discipline, and absolute trust in one another. Not a single soldier had abandoned the march despite the pain they undoubtedly felt. That level of commitment was precisely why Legion Twenty-Three had earned its fearsome reputation.
"Selvijs," Eloi called while observing a nearby soldier who had collapsed flat on his back, desperately trying to catch his breath. "Tell me what's happening on the front line. We have to decide whether we can afford to rest, because if we keep moving in this condition, we're going to lose people before we even reach the battlefield." His voice remained calm, but the concern behind his words was impossible to hide.
"I know," Selvijs answered with a grim expression as he finished reading the latest report. The document had been purchased directly through the System's marketplace, a communication method the military disliked because of the potential security risks involved. Unfortunately, once units operated deep in the field, no faster or more reliable alternative currently existed. As much as the generals hated relying on it, necessity often outweighed preference.
Eloi immediately noticed the troubled look on his friend's face. "Why is it so bad?" he asked quietly. Deep down, he already feared he knew the answer. The mere expression on Selvijs's face told him the situation had deteriorated far beyond what anyone had anticipated.
"It's simple," Selvijs replied, lowering the report slightly. "The first Secret Realm was completely emptied of corrupted creatures within only five hours. We only discovered what had happened during the second hour, which left the border commander almost no time to react. By then, thousands of monsters had already begun spreading across the surrounding area."
He continued reading through the report while explaining the unfolding disaster. "The commander immediately mobilized every available unit and established several defensive lines. His primary objective has been to stop the corrupted creatures before they can break through into populated regions. At the same time, he has redirected as many reinforcements as possible toward the untouched Secret Realms behind the front line in an attempt to eliminate them before they can release even more monsters."
Selvijs let out a slow breath before continuing. "The problem is that he can only spare so many troops. If he commits too many soldiers to clearing the remaining Secret Realms, the defensive line weakens and risks collapsing. If he reinforces the defensive line instead, the untouched Secret Realms will eventually release even larger hordes. No matter which choice he makes, he's sacrificing something."
"The front has only been fighting for two days," Selvijs continued, "but things are already looking grim." He handed the report to Eloi, allowing him to read the casualty figures for himself. "According to the latest preliminary estimates, nearly one hundred thousand casualties have already been recorded. Roughly thirty percent are confirmed dead, while the remaining seventy percent have suffered injuries severe enough to remove them from combat."
For several seconds, Eloi simply stared at the numbers in silence. The casualty reports were far worse than he had expected, even after preparing himself for bad news. Losing that many soldiers in only two days meant the battle had reached a level of intensity few modern armies had ever experienced. Every additional hour would only increase the toll.
"So we can't afford to remain here for an entire day," Selvijs concluded. "Even if everyone understands why we need the rest, people will still question the decision afterward. They'll ask whether we could have arrived just a little sooner or saved just a few more lives. That's simply how these things work."
Eloi slowly lowered the report, his jaw tightening as he fought to suppress his anger and frustration. He understood that Selvijs wasn't criticizing him. The reality was simply cruel, and commanders were always judged with the benefit of hindsight. Every decision would eventually be dissected by politicians, historians, and the families of those who never returned.
"Right," Eloi finally said after taking a deep breath. There was no point dwelling on things that couldn't be changed. What mattered now was making the best possible decision with the information available. Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the temporary camp.
Calling it a camp was almost generous. There were no prepared fortifications or permanent structures, only nearly a million exhausted soldiers scattered across an enormous stretch of open grassland. Some had already fallen asleep where they sat, while others quietly stretched aching muscles or refilled their water supplies. The entire legion looked more like a group of marathon runners than an elite military formation.
Eloi climbed onto a nearby transport crate so everyone could see him. His officers immediately began passing word through the camp, and within minutes thousands of tired eyes turned toward their commander. Even those too exhausted to stand forced themselves upright. Despite their fatigue, not a single soldier ignored his call.
"I've just received the latest situation report from the front!" Eloi shouted, making sure his voice carried across the entire camp. A hush immediately settled over the surrounding soldiers. Everyone understood that if the commander was personally addressing them, the news could only be important.
"The situation is worse than expected," he continued without trying to soften the truth. "The defensive line has already suffered enormous casualties, and our fellow soldiers have been fighting continuously for two days. Reinforcements are desperately needed, but charging forward in our current condition would only add our names to the casualty list before we even reach the battlefield."
He allowed those words to sink in before continuing. "Because of that, we're making a compromise. We will rest—but only for five hours. During those five hours, every single one of you will eat, drink, sleep, and recover as much as your body allows. Once those five hours are over, Legion Twenty-Three moves immediately toward the front to relieve our brothers and sisters."
A faint grin finally appeared on Eloi's face as he looked across the exhausted legion. "So in conclusion," he shouted, raising his voice one final time, "we have exactly five hours to rest. After that, we march straight into hell... and make some money."
''That final sentence spread through the camp faster than the rest of the speech combined. Within minutes, soldiers began laughing despite their exhaustion, and the atmosphere became noticeably lighter. They all understood that the joke was merely Eloi's way of keeping morale high before what would almost certainly become one of the bloodiest battles of their lives. No one complained about the five-hour rest period after hearing what awaited them.
Instead, countless soldiers immediately opened the System shop. Fresh meat, vegetables, bread, fruit, and every other kind of food quickly appeared throughout the temporary camp. If the casualty reports were even remotely accurate, everyone knew they were marching toward a battle where death was a very real possibility. In that situation, denying themselves one final proper meal simply seemed foolish.
Many soldiers quietly prepared elaborate meals despite the limited time available. Others shared expensive ingredients with friends who couldn't quite afford them, deciding that money had little value if they failed to survive the coming battle. Laughter mixed with nervous conversation as entire squads gathered around portable cooking equipment. It almost resembled a celebration, even though everyone understood it could easily become their last peaceful meal together.
Watching the camp settle into controlled activity, Eloi finally allowed himself to relax slightly. His attention shifted back toward Selvijs, who was still carefully reading through the newest reports arriving from the front. Every few minutes another update appeared through the System marketplace, painting an increasingly complete picture of the ongoing battle. Unfortunately, none of the new information seemed particularly encouraging.
"I have to give the border commander credit," Eloi said after a long moment of silence. "Without those defensive lines, the entire region would probably have collapsed already." He crossed his arms while studying the tactical map spread across the portable command table. "How many troops are currently deployed along the front?"
Selvijs quickly scanned the latest situation report before answering. "Approximately one million soldiers are now operating throughout the border region," he replied. "Practically every available military unit stationed near the Russian border with Ukraine has already been committed to the fighting. At this point, there are very few reserves left anywhere nearby."
Eloi slowly nodded as he considered the implications. "That doesn't surprise me," he admitted. "If Russia actually intended to launch a conventional invasion, now would probably be the perfect opportunity." His gaze remained fixed upon the map for several seconds before he quietly shook his head. "But they won't."
"They won't?" Selvijs asked curiously.
"No," Eloi answered with complete certainty. "The entire world is watching this situation unfold. Every government, every intelligence agency, and every major military power is focused on this border right now. If Russia crossed the frontier with regular troops today, there would be absolutely no doubt about who started the conflict."
He couldn't help wishing he had a cigarette to calm his nerves. Smoking had been outlawed decades earlier, beginning in 2060, and Eloi himself had never even touched one during his lifetime. Still, somehow the old image of a weary commander smoking while contemplating a battlefield felt strangely appropriate. He found himself smiling at the irony before returning his attention to the reports.
The truth was that events had already attracted worldwide attention. Every major news organization continuously broadcast live coverage of the developing crisis, while governments scrambled to gather as much intelligence as possible. Public pressure for stricter international regulations regarding the Secret Realms increased by the hour. Even nations that had previously ignored the issue now realized just how dangerous those mysterious locations truly were.
The satellite imagery alone was enough to horrify anyone who saw it. Large sections of the contested borderlands had turned an unnatural purplish-black as corruption spread across the landscape. Forests, rivers, and open fields alike appeared twisted into something fundamentally wrong, almost as though the land itself had begun rotting from within. Even people with no knowledge of mana instinctively recognized that the corrupted terrain should not exist.
Predictably, the European Union wasted little time assigning responsibility. Officials publicly blamed Russia for deliberately allowing the Secret Realm to spiral out of control, and few people within Europe argued against that conclusion. Behind closed doors, discussions had already begun regarding the possibility of formally declaring war if sufficient evidence continued to emerge. Although no final decision had been made, preparations were already quietly underway.
Those conversations were driven largely by the preliminary military reports. In only two days, the casualty figures had reached levels that many politicians had previously believed impossible during peacetime. Even worse, the defensive line had already begun showing several alarming weak points where repeated attacks threatened to overwhelm exhausted defenders. Every new report seemed to contain another warning that the situation was steadily deteriorating.
Unfortunately, meaningful reinforcements remained extremely limited. The overwhelming majority of nearby military units had already been committed, leaving Legion Twenty-Three as the only substantial force expected to arrive within the next week. Everyone understood that the legion possessed an outstanding combat record, but they also knew the price its soldiers had paid simply to reach the battlefield. Running nearly 1,290 kilometers in only three days would have exhausted even the strongest troops.
Military analysts found the feat almost unbelievable. Back in 2022, the greatest distance ever covered by a human runner within twenty-four hours had been approximately 320 kilometers, achieved only by a world-class endurance athlete after years of specialized training. Legion Twenty-Three had maintained an extraordinary pace while carrying military equipment, repeating the effort for three consecutive days. Even with the benefits provided by cultivation, no one expected them to retain their full combat effectiveness after such an ordeal.
Because of that, confidence in the border's immediate future remained painfully low. Most analysts believed the defensive line would probably survive long enough to receive Legion Twenty-Three's assistance, but few expected victory to come cheaply. Even under the most optimistic projections, the coming battle was likely to end as a Pyrrhic victory, one won at such a terrible cost that it would scarcely feel like a victory at all. For everyone watching the crisis unfold, the only remaining question was how much blood would have to be spilled before the border finally held.