After the last class of the day, Jack walked slowly down the familiar path toward home. Elisa, as usual, was surrounded by her friends, chatting animatedly. Jack preferred solitude over noisy company, especially today. His mind was swirling with thoughts, and the silence of his solitary walk was a welcome companion.
As he walked, a fleeting idea crossed his mind, half-jokingly. "Can I view my stats?" he mumbled, not expecting any response. To his surprise, a translucent screen materialized before his eyes, floating in the air.
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Jack stopped in his tracks, staring at the screen. "Woah, my stats are pretty basic," he muttered, taking in the minimalistic display. A faint sigh escaped his lips.
Curiosity piqued, he asked, "Can I see my next task?" The screen shifted, revealing a new interface.
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"Create my own faction?" Jack's brow furrowed in disbelief. "I was hoping to join one, not lead." The thought of leadership made his stomach twist. He was never the charismatic type, nor did he enjoy addressing crowds. Leading a group into battle seemed like a monumental challenge.
As he continued walking, his thoughts shifted to his sister. She had been in a coma for the past month, and her well-being was his top priority. The weight of this new responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders. How could he juggle the task of forming a fleet while ensuring his sister received the care she needed?
Suddenly, the system's voice chimed in.
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Jack's heart lifted slightly. If he could earn enough Nano Points, he might be able to cover his sister's medical expenses. But how would he recruit members for his fleet? The question gnawed at him as he continued down the street.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, can you spare a dollar? I haven't eaten since morning." An old beggar, frail and hunched, held out a trembling hand.
Jack's heart ached for the man. Without thinking, he pulled out two dollars and handed them over, barely registering the act as his mind remained preoccupied with his own troubles.
As he walked away, the system's voice echoed once more.
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Jack stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening in surprise. "What's 2x Rebate?" he asked aloud, his confusion evident.
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Jack blinked, stunned by the explanation. "What did I do to earn this reward?" His curiosity was burning now.
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Charity? Jack replayed the moment in his mind—the two dollars he had given to the beggar. Could it really be that simple? Eager to see the impact, he opened his stats again.
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"It's true," Jack whispered, a grin spreading across his face. His steps quickened as a newfound hope surged through him. The system had given him a tool, and with it, perhaps he could navigate the challenges ahead. For the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of optimism. With a lighter heart, he skipped the rest of the way home, determined to face whatever came next.
****
The dimly lit war room echoed with the heavy footfalls of soldiers assembling before Ashcroft. His gaze swept across the ranks of the third division, their youthful faces betraying both eagerness and inexperience. These were the lowest-ranked soldiers in their army, and their naivety was almost palpable.
Ashcroft's lips curled into a confident smirk. "The people of Earth have no idea of the magnitude of our attack," he began, his voice a blend of authority and disdain. "They remain oblivious, complacent in their ignorance. Our assault will be a complete surprise."
The soldiers stood motionless, absorbing his words, the gravity of their mission sinking in.
Ashcroft continued, his tone turning slightly derisive, "Even though you are the lowest rank, I believe we can overwhelm them. Our intel suggests the Earthlings are still relaxed, unprepared for the storm we are about to unleash."
The room remained silent, save for the occasional shuffle of boots. Then, Ashcroft's eyes narrowed as he spotted a figure in the distance. "Prince Fenric," he called, his voice dripping with condescension. "The king, your father, has expressly forbidden you from joining the army in the upcoming assault."
Fenric stepped forward, his thin frame barely filling his armor. "Why, sir?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with desperation. "I wish to fight for our kingdom."
The room erupted into laughter. The soldiers knew Fenric's reputation—weak, inept, and a disgrace to the royal lineage. The mockery cut deep, but Fenric stood his ground, determined not to let their jeers break him.
Ashcroft's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Your father believes you're too weak for this mission," he said, relishing the moment. "He doesn't want you tarnishing the honor of our army."
Fenric clenched his fists, remembering his mother's warning: if he didn't join the army, he would be executed, and Earth's kingdom would fall to ruin. "I insist on joining, sir," he said firmly.
Ashcroft's smirk widened. He leaned in slightly, his voice low but menacing. "If you truly insist, I'll speak to your father. But remember, boy, this isn't a game. War isn't for the weak."
A soldier from the back piped up, laughing, "Listen to your elders, Fenric. You're not a soldier. You're just here because of your royal blood."
The laughter echoed again, but Fenric remained stoic. He was the only royal still in the third division—a disgrace compared to his siblings. The princesses had already surpassed him, holding positions in the elite divisions, while Fenric languished among the lowest ranks.
Ashcroft, sensing an opportunity, decided to play along. "Very well, Fenric. I'll request your inclusion in the mission. Let's see if you can handle it."
"Thank you, sir," Fenric replied, his tone even, though a storm brewed within him.
Ashcroft turned to the rest of the soldiers, his voice booming. "Get your guns ready! We're heading to the shooting range for training."
The soldiers sprang into action, rushing toward the storeroom to grab their weapons. Fenric lingered for a moment, his mind drifting to memories of his grandmother. She had been his only supporter, teaching him the art of swordsmanship. On her deathbed, she had gifted him a sword—a relic she hadn't fully explained, but one that Fenric and his mother believed held magical properties.
As the soldiers readied themselves, Fenric's hand brushed the hilt of the sword at his side. His grandmother's words echoed in his mind, a reminder of the potential hidden within him. He might be mocked and underestimated, but Fenric knew his path was just beginning.
With renewed determination, he joined the others, ready to prove himself. The training ahead would be grueling, but Fenric was resolved. This was his chance to rise, to shed the label of weakness, and to embrace the warrior he was destined to become.