The offices of the High Guild Alliance didn't look like the headquarters of a paramilitary organization. They looked like a bank.
Located on the Upper Plate—the floating city ring that hovered two kilometers above the smog of the slums—the Administration Sector was a world of white marble, polished glass, and silence. Here, the air was scrubbed of pollutants and scented with synthetic jasmine. The sunlight was filtered through UV-shields to be warm but never harsh.
In Conference Room B, the mood was celebratory.
"Deployment complete," a junior analyst announced, tapping his holographic tablet. "All 10,000 pods have cleared the Earth Gate. Transit confirmed."
A ripple of polite applause went around the long, obsidian table.
Men and women in expensive, tailored suits nodded to each other. They weren't Hunters. They didn't carry swords or wear armor. They held something far more dangerous: Styluses.
Director Kael, the Head of Logistics for the Asian Sector, stood at the head of the table. He was a man in his fifties, with silver hair and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He raised a glass of sparkling water.
"Excellent work, team," Kael said, his voice smooth and cultured. "The Council will be pleased. We hit the recruitment quota with six hours to spare. Project New Horizon is officially a success."
"The media response is overwhelmingly positive," a PR representative added, projecting a news feed into the air. "Approval ratings for the High Guild are up 12%. The 'Pioneer' narrative is resonating with the lower sectors. They see it as hope."
"Hope is a wonderful product," Kael said, taking a sip of his water. "Low production cost, high retail value."
The room chuckled. It was a dry, knowing sound.
"Now," Kael said, setting his glass down. The smile vanished. "Clear the room. Senior Staff only for the Allocation Review."
The junior analysts and PR reps filed out quickly. The heavy soundproof doors slid shut and locked with a magnetic thud. The windows tinted black, blocking out the view of the pristine city.
Only four people remained.
Kael.
Two senior strategists.
And Officer Vance, the man who had manned the console at the hangar.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The warmth evaporated.
Kael tapped the table. The holographic map of the "New Horizon" colonies—the lush green worlds of the Trinity System—flickered and disappeared.
In its place, a new map appeared.
It was complex, ugly, and filled with red warning markers.
"Let's look at the real numbers," Kael said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Report."
Vance stepped forward. He looked tired. He hadn't slept since the launch.
"Sir. Total deployment: 10,000 units," Vance read from his datapad. "Allocation breakdown is as follows."
"Planet-Prima (Safe Zone): 4,000 units. Mostly C-Rank potential and skilled engineers."
"Planet-Secunda (Development Zone): 3,000 units. D-Rank and laborers."
"Planet-Tertia (Frontier Zone): 2,000 units. Security personnel and E-Rank fodder."
"That leaves 1,000 units," Kael noted, looking at the spreadsheet floating in the air.
"Yes, sir," Vance hesitated for a fraction of a second. "The remaining 1,000 units were designated for... Special Allocation."
"The Tribute," one of the strategists corrected. She was a woman with sharp glasses and cold eyes. "Let's call it what it is."
"The Tribute," Vance corrected himself. "1,000 units were rerouted to non-standard coordinates. High-risk zones. Unstable planetary fragments. System blind-spots."
"And the breakdown?" Kael asked.
"90% F-Rank or Unawakened," Vance reported. "Orphans. Debtors. Socially isolated individuals with minimal family connections. We prioritized candidates from Sector-4 and Sector-9. People who won't be missed."
Kael nodded, scrolling through the list of names. To him, they weren't people. They were assets. Depreciating assets that had been liquidated for a profit.
"And the System response?" Kael asked. "Did the Global System accept the tribute?"
"Yes, sir," the strategist answered. "The moment the 1,000 units entered the Hazard Zones, the Global Mana Pressure on Earth stabilized. The S-Rank Gate in the Pacific has gone dormant. The trade is complete."
This was the secret that kept the Upper Plates floating.
The Global System wasn't just a game interface. It was a cosmic ecosystem. It demanded balance.
Earth was an "Over-Ranked" planet. It had too many humans and not enough mana. To prevent the System from triggering an apocalypse to "cull" the population, the Guilds had made a deal.
They exported the excess.
They fed the hungry universe with their weakest children, and in return, the universe let Earth live for another year.
It was human trafficking on a galactic scale. And they called it "Colonization."
"Good," Kael murmured. He stopped scrolling. His finger hovered over a specific entry.
[ CANDIDATE 4921: ARYAN ]
[ ALLOCATION: PLANET-404 ]
[ STATUS: ARRIVAL CONFIRMED ]
"Planet-404," Kael mused. "That's an anomaly world. We haven't sent a batch there in three years. Why this one?"
Vance cleared his throat. "It was a last-minute adjustment, sir. We were short on the 'Lost World' quota. This candidate... fit the profile perfectly. Nineteen. Laborer. Sole guardian of a terminally ill sister. He needed money fast. He was compliant."
"Compliant," Kael repeated. "Did he struggle?"
"Briefly," Vance said. "He noticed the destination code change. But I applied... leverage. The sister's medical coverage."
"Ah. The classic lever." Kael zoomed in on Aryan's file. He saw the photo—a tired, dirty kid with defiant eyes.
"And the sister? Did the payment go through?"
"Yes, sir. 50,000 credits. Released immediately."
"Generous," the strategist remarked. "For a corpse."
"It's the price of silence," Kael said. "If the families don't get paid, they ask questions. If they get rich, they grieve quietly. Guilt is a very effective silencer."
He swiped Aryan's file away. It vanished into the "Archived/Deceased" folder.
"Planet-404 is a meat grinder," Kael noted casually, as if discussing the weather. "Survival rate for F-Ranks is less than 0.01%. He's likely dead already. Or will be by nightfall."
"Better him than us," the strategist said, closing her folder. "If the Pacific Gate opened, we'd lose millions. Sacrificing a thousand nobodies to save millions of somebodies... that's just math."
"It is," Kael agreed. "It is the burden of leadership."
He stood up and walked to the window. The tint faded, revealing the breathtaking view of the Upper Plate. Gleaming towers, flying cars, parks with real trees. A paradise built on a foundation of bones.
"What about the 'Farm' reports?" Kael asked, looking out at his city. "Are the Safe Zones on the Tribute Worlds operational?"
"Yes, sir," Vance replied. "The Managers on Planet-2 and Planet-7 report high yields. The survivors are... processing well. They are gathering cores. They are leveling up. When they reach the cap, we will harvest them as usual."
"Good."
The "Farms."
That was the second layer of the Lie.
Even if the "Tributes" survived, they didn't become free. They were herded into Safe Zones run by Guild proxies. They were forced to hunt, to gather resources, to grow strong.
And when they became strong enough... they were harvested. Their gear, their cores, their accumulated wealth—it was all funneled back to Earth.
They were cattle. First sent to graze, then sent to slaughter.
"Sir," Vance spoke up. There was a slight hesitation in his voice.
"What is it, Vance?"
"This batch... specifically the Sector-4 group. They were... tougher than usual. That kid, 4921. He didn't have fear in his eyes when he left. He had anger."
Kael turned around, amused.
"Anger?" He chuckled. "Anger is good, Vance. Anger keeps them warm before they die. Do not mistake the twitching of a dying insect for resistance."
He walked back to the table and pressed a button.
The holographic map turned off. The red dots vanished. The room returned to its pristine, white silence.
"The ledger is balanced," Kael declared. "The debt is paid. Earth is safe for another cycle."
He looked at his team.
"Go home. Rest. You've saved the world today."
The staff nodded and began to pack up. They looked satisfied. They felt righteous.
They didn't see themselves as murderers. They saw themselves as accountants balancing a difficult budget.
Vance lingered for a moment. He looked at his datapad, where the ghost of Aryan's file still hovered.
[ PLANET-404: SIGNAL LOST ]
He turned off the pad.
"Just math," Vance whispered to himself, repeating the strategist's words like a mantra. "It's just math."
He walked out of the room.
LATER THAT NIGHT - THE ARCHIVES
Deep in the server room of the Guild Spire, the Master AI processed the day's data.
Millions of terabytes of information flowed through the optical cables.
[ PROCESSING ALLOCATION BATCH #892 ]
[ TOTAL UNITS: 10,000 ]
[ CONFIRMED DECEASED (PROJECTED): 982 ]
[ CONFIRMED SURVIVORS (PROJECTED): 18 ]
The AI scanned the files. It categorized them. It optimized the "Farm" protocols for the survivors.
But when it reached File #4921, the AI paused.
[ ANALYZING SUBJECT: ARYAN ]
[ LOCATION: PLANET-404 ]
[ STATUS: UNKNOWN ]
Unlike the other Tribute Worlds, Planet-404 did not send back clear telemetry. The signal was garbled. The System connection was unstable.
The AI ran a simulation.
[ SIMULATION 1: DEATH BY ENVIRONMENT - 99.8% PROBABILITY ]
[ SIMULATION 2: DEATH BY BEAST - 99.9% PROBABILITY ]
[ SIMULATION 3: SURVIVAL - ERROR ]
The AI flagged the file.
According to its logic, Aryan was statistically dead. The probability of survival was so low it was a rounding error.
So, the AI did what it was programmed to do. It optimized storage space.
[ ACTION: MARK AS 'INACTIVE' ]
[ FILE 4921 MOVED TO 'COLD STORAGE' ]
[ MONITORING: CEASED ]
The system turned its eye away from Planet-404.
It stopped watching.
It assumed the problem was solved.
It didn't know that by stopping the monitoring, it had just created the one thing the Guild feared most:
An invisible variable.
A variable that could grow in the dark.
A variable that could learn.
A variable that could remember.
In the silent, humming server room, a single green light on the server rack flickered off.
Aryan was officially forgotten by the Earth.
And that was the greatest mistake they ever made.