"Personally? I'm betting on the Champions Alliance."

"It's the only play where we keep our loot, keep our base, and maybe—just maybe—expand our territory later."

"Of course, that depends on us grinding enough reputation with them to prove we aren't a liability."

King Nyx didn't get to be the First Night King by being blind. He saw the endgame clearly.

"Brother," King Beta asked, frowning, "if you were so sure, why didn't you just say that in the Council Hall? Why the silence?"

Beta was an Arch Lord, but he still thought like a warrior, not a ruler. The theatrics baffled him.

"I think Uncle Malachai is better suited to explain that one."

Grand Marshal Malachai chuckled, shooting a knowing look at the First King.

"Beta, listen closely. The Council isn't there to control us. We use the Council to control the Tribe."

"The Council exists to give the illusion of fairness, of transparency, of democracy. It makes the commoners feel involved. It makes them feel safe."

Malachai leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"And when the people feel safe and heard, their devotion spikes. That translates into purer, more potent Faith Energy. You're an Arch Lord now, Beta. I don't need to tell you that Faith is the XP that keeps us leveled up."

Beta opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat.

He wanted to protest. He was young, hot-blooded, and genuinely cared about the Nightwing people. But he couldn't deny the mechanics of their world. His power, his stats, his very existence as an Arch Lord relied on the steady drip-feed of Faith from the populace.

"It's not a contradiction, kid," Malachai sighed, his tone softening. He knew the burden of leadership was heavy.

"Look at our history. When the Cult of Four brought the Demon Scourge, your brother made the call to move our entire base to this island. We dodged the wipe."

"While the Cult, Staghelm City, the Sea Race, and the Champions Alliance were stuck in a gridlock on the mainland, we used our flight advantage to snag some coastal territories. Easy grabs."

"But let's be real. We don't actually need that coastal land. We can drop it."

"What forced Nyx's hand wasn't land. It was the roster of the Champions Alliance. They have too many Demigods."

Malachai paused, letting the reality sink in.

"We fought the Demon Scourge to save the Tribe. Now, we submit to a higher power to save the Tribe. Different tactic, same goal: Survival. We want a future where the Nightwing race isn't just a memory."

Malachai was addressing Beta, but the words were for Nyx.

Nyx was the face of the franchise. Sometimes, the Leader couldn't explain the ugly math to the members. He needed a proxy—someone smart enough to do the dirty work and explain the hard truths. That was Malachai's role.

"We need the Faith Energy. Fact."

"We need our people to live good lives so they generate that energy. Fact."

"The Lord's decision maximizes our odds on both fronts."

The logic was bulletproof. Beta nodded slowly. If the Marshal could convince him—a stubborn, prideful Arch Lord—then the rest of the Tribe would fall in line easily.

If Leonidas or Orion had been flies on the wall, they would have tried to poach Malachai immediately. The old bat was a tier-one administrator with maxed-out Charisma and Intelligence.

"Beta, pack your gear. We leave at dawn."

"I have a feeling there's a heavyweight waiting for us over at the Champions Alliance."

"And if they're waiting, it means we have value. We have leverage."

To Nyx, bending the knee wasn't humiliation. It was a business transaction. If they played their cards right, they were buying a century of peace.

"Brother, we..." Beta started, then saw the unified resolve in the eyes of his brother and uncle. He slumped. "Alright. I'm in."

Valkorath Realm, Garland.

The city was drowning in fragrance.

Centered on the Magical Plants Garden, a wave of floral essence exploded outward, sweeping through the streets like a gentle tide.

It wasn't just a smell; it was a status effect.

Every plant in the city began to power-level, sprouting roots, shooting up stems, and bursting into a riot of pink blossoms instantly. The city transformed into a living sea of flowers.

The scent carried a buff. As it hit the residents of Garland City, their mental fatigue vanished. Minds cleared. Anxiety dissolved. A profound sense of peace washed over the population.

People stopped in the streets, closing their eyes, basking in a sensation that felt like a soul-deep massage.

Even Orion, standing in the garden, closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation.

The moment he did, a flower bud high in the canopy of the Miracle Divine Tree fired a beam of light directly at him.

It was like a sci-fi tractor beam. Orion's body didn't just glow; it seemed to digitize, shrinking rapidly as it rode the stream of light upward, vanishing straight into the giant flower bud.

In the same heartbeat, two figures flickered into existence inside the garden.

The Commander and the Deputy Commander.

When a power signature like Orion's suddenly vanishes from the radar, the top brass tends to notice.

"Status report?" Edward asked, scanning the area.

In front of the Commander, he always defaulted to the role of the student.

"Something very interesting," the Commander murmured. He was staring up at the Miracle Divine Tree, his eyes glowing with an analysis skill that peeled back the layers of reality.

"The Miracle Divine Tree absorbed a massive amount of vitality from the three Primordial Artifacts. Now, it's hitting capacity and triggering a feedback loop."

"Orion is the target of that feedback."

"If he handles the overload, the kid might just jump straight into the Demigod realm."

The Deputy Commander didn't look surprised. He knew the stats.

The Spring of Life, the Abyssal Springhead, and the World Fragments. These weren't just rare items; they were world-class engines of creation. They contained the fundamental code of reality—infinite vitality and massive amounts of World Faith.

When items of that tier revert to their source code, they release enough energy to rewrite the laws of physics.

"It makes sense," the Commander continued, his tone analytical. "The consciousness residing inside the Tree isn't strong enough to tank that kind of mana dump."

"They are small vessels. You can't pour the ocean into a cup."

The Deputy nodded. Orion had briefed them on the situation with Violet.

Before she reverted to a seed, Violet was barely a Hero-level unit, and a support class at that. And Caelus? High-tier bloodline or not, he was effectively a level 1 infant.

Asking them to absorb the unchecked power of the Spring of Life, Abyssal Springhead, and World Fragments was impossible. They had hit their stat caps instantly.

If it had been someone like the Virtue Knight Alveron—a Stage 5 Demigod soul—he probably would have vacuumed up the energy and leveled up three times.

"So," the Deputy Commander asked, confirming his theory, "their talent creates a bottleneck?"

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