Derek waited until the squad's attention drifted back to the tactical board, their conversation tapering into low murmurs. Evelyn was muttering something about how the streets near Westbridge were unnaturally quiet—good cover for a flank, or maybe a trap. He let them talk.
"System, how many Mana Stones to boost them all up a notch? No half-measures. I want them sharp."
The familiar sensation curled through his head—not words, not sound, but meaning pressed into the space behind his eyes.
[Seventeen mid-tier combatants. Three borderline elites. You'll need 850 units total. C-grade equivalent.]
"Fine. Withdraw and convert. Drop them here—quietly."
[Done.]
There was no flash. No dramatic rift tearing open the air. Just a low shimmer across the centre table, like heat dancing off summer asphalt. Then they were there—small glowing stones, faintly pulsing, warm to the eye but cool to the touch.
Eighty of them. Enough for the first round.
Evelyn noticed first.
