"By the way, Tom," Lucas asked as they walked out toward the main office, "is it always this easy to get certified here?"


Thomas Tate—known formally as a Tier 2 Warrior and the officer in charge of registering Apprentices and Warriors—twitched. He shot Lucas a dirty look for using the nickname "Tom," which usually only veterans like Gordon got away with.


"We only process Apprentices and Tier 1 Warriors here," Thomas grumbled. "Anything higher requires a trip to the upper-district headquarters. And for the record, if you hadn't been a hero tonight, I wouldn't have bent the rules to certify you this early."


Thomas's annoyance faded into a look of genuine disbelief. "Are you really that strong, kid? Gordon said he wouldn't have made it back alive without you."


"Oh, that explains it," Lucas said, nodding sagely. "I was worried for a second. I thought you were just handing these out. I was about to ask if you could print me a Tier 9 license while you were at it."


Thomas rubbed his temples, looking like he was battling a migraine. He glanced pointedly at the heavy crossbow in Lucas's hand. "You know, that crossbow is a controlled weapon. Strictly speaking, I should arrest you for possessing it."


"I'm a licensed Martial Warrior now," Lucas countered, flashing his new ID with a grin. "Pretty sure that makes this legal."


He'd read the statutes. Did Thomas really think he could scare him? Not a chance.


Thomas's face fell. He'd really been hoping to watch the kid squirm.


"So, Tom," Lucas asked, dropping into a chair, "what happens with the Rift?"


"We had two Dimensional Rifts open tonight," Thomas said, shifting back to business mode. "Luckily, the Xenobeast count was low. They'll evacuate the civilians, set up a metal containment wall, and quarantine the zone."


"And the monster?" Lucas pressed. "The skin and bones are valuable, right?"


"Definitely. That was a Tier 3 Xenobeast. The meat is incredibly potent for body strengthening, and the bones are prime material for forging weapons." Thomas's voice held a trace of excitement. A Tier 3 beast was a nightmare for most fighters, especially in a backwater town like Lancaster. Taking one down was a massive deal.


"Since I helped kill it," Lucas said, seizing the opportunity, "I get a cut of the loot, right?"


Thomas kept his face completely straight. "No. All recovered materials must be handed over to the state."


Lucas's jaw dropped. He'd helped take down a Tier 3 boss, and he was getting nothing?


"Ha! Look at your face!" Thomas burst out laughing. "You look like someone told you Santa isn't real. You watch too many bad cop dramas."


Lucas scowled at him.


"Relax," Thomas said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Gordon landed the killing blow, so the corpse belongs to him. But since you saved his hide, I'm sure your share will be plenty fat."


"We done here?" a voice boomed from the doorway.


Gordon Wolfe walked in, looking battered but high-spirited.


"All done," Thomas confirmed.


"Good," Gordon laughed heartily, walking over to slap Lucas on the back. "The beast has been processed. Come on, kid—tonight, we barbecue!"


Lucas glanced at Gordon, feeling a flicker of surprise. The guy looked different. It was like the post-battle adrenaline had scrubbed away his usual gloom, leaving a much more cheerful version of the SWAT Captain in its place.


They walked out to the clearing where the celebration was already in full swing. Bonfires crackled, sending sparks into the night sky, and the area was swarming with military police. The smell of victory—or rather, the smell of giant monster steaks—filled the air as basins of washed, sliced beast meat were hauled toward the fire pits.


"Is everyone here?" Gordon scanned the crowd.


In this world, a SWAT Captain wasn't just a guy with a desk job and a badge. He was a powerhouse, usually the strongest fighter in the city, wielding serious authority. When Gordon spoke, every soldier and SWAT officer snapped to attention.


"Today, two Dimensional Rifts opened in our city," Gordon announced, his voice carrying over the crackling fires. "But they've been completely contained. Thank you, everyone. You worked hard."


"Yeahhh!" the crowd roared back in unison.


"We lost eight civilians and thirty-seven officers today." Gordon's voice dropped, his eyes reddening slightly.


A heavy silence fell over the group. The fallen officers ranged from rookies to veterans days away from retirement. Yet, when the call came, none of them had hesitated. If the Xenobeasts hadn't been contained—if that swarm had reached the general population—it would have been an apocalypse.


Lucas felt the somber mood pressing down on him. His own throat tightened. There was an old saying that fit perfectly: Peace isn't free; it just means someone else is carrying the burden for you.


Most people thought the Dimensional Rifts were just gateways to treasure, a shortcut to becoming a famous Martial Warrior. They didn't see the fine print. Being a Warrior wasn't just about glory. Power and duty were a package deal.


"I won't bore you with a long speech," Gordon shouted, shaking off the melancholy. "Tonight, we feast on Xenobeast meat! Eat!"


Lucas was still lost in thought when Gordon turned to him. The Xenobeast they were cooking was massive—bigger than a dairy cow—and loaded with nutrient-rich meat.


"Lucas," Gordon said, "you helped me take this thing down. You've got a say in how we distribute it. You okay with me sharing it with the squad?"


"No objection," Lucas said, shaking his head.


"Haha, excellent."


"Only..." Lucas hesitated. "Can I take some to go?"


Rumor had it that Xenobeast meat was a superfood. Lucas immediately thought of his parents. And Luna Yates.


Wolfe blinked, then laughed. "Of course. No problem at all."


Lucas grabbed a skewer, chewing thoughtfully. "By the way, Wolfe, are those bird-type Xenobeasts useful?"


"You mean the Bloodwings?" Wolfe nodded. "Sure. They aren't even Tier 1 beasts, but they're rare. Alchemists use them for medicine." He sighed, looking a bit wistful. "Now, if we'd managed to kill the Dark Gold Raptor King, that would have been a prize."


"Can you sell it?" Lucas asked.


"Heh." Thomas, standing nearby, overheard and held up three fingers. "It sells for this much."


Lucas's eye twitched.


"Three million," Thomas grinned, giving Lucas a look that said, You know nothing, kid.


"Three million?!" Lucas's eyes nearly popped out of his head.


"Doesn't that mean I'm rich?"


Three million. In his previous life, he couldn't have earned that much in a decade.


"You rich?" Thomas scoffed. "You're dreaming if you think you could..."


"Wait." Wolfe froze, his eyes widening as he looked at Lucas. "You didn't..."


"Look, is this the thing you're talking about?"