In space, the concept of time was an illusion. Hours blurred together too easily, which was why clocks were placed throughout the ship, in every corner, acting as persistent reminders of order amidst the chaos of the cosmos. Tyrin awoke to the sight of one of these clocks, its silent hands marking the time he had lost. He found himself standing, though he couldn't recall getting out of the bed—or whatever it was he had been lying on before. The infirmary was empty, an unusual sight considering that most who entered rarely left alive.

"Good morning, Savior-nim!" a cheerful voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Good morning... I think. Where am I?" he asked, his voice still hoarse.

"Uh... in my room, of course! Don't you remember? You're going to make me sad," Cassandra teased.

"Cassandra, stop it," another voice cut in, calmer and more measured. "Sorry about her, Tyrin. My sister doesn't always know how to talk. You're in the infirmary. I brought you some water."

"Thanks," Tyrin replied, taking the glass and sipping it. His throat welcomed the relief.

"All jokes aside," Cassandra continued, her tone more serious now, "I'm glad you're awake. We're the last ones from our 'team.' Thank you for helping us get off that planet."

"And nice arm," she added with a smirk. "I hear you're the first to receive something like that so quickly."

"Don't celebrate just yet," Tyrin said, placing the glass on a nearby table. "We haven't even reached the planet where we're supposed to stay. We still need to stay sharp."

"Uh... I don't think we mentioned this," Cassandra said with a sly smile. "We arrived yesterday."

"Your 'beauty sleep' lasted almost a week," Damian added. "You should thank her for taking care of you during that time."

"What?!" Tyrin's eyes widened in disbelief.

"That's right," Cassandra confirmed. "That's how long it took for the fluid to fully take effect in your body. So, they put you into hibernation."

"Hibernation? What do you mean?"

"Look at your arm," Damian said, pointing at Tyrin's regenerated limb. "It was rebuilt using Astra-grade technology, the highest level available."

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means the Baron sees something in you," Cassandra explained, crossing her arms. "And that could be a good thing."

"Could it? I'm not so sure being on his radar is a good thing," Tyrin replied.

"I'd have to agree with you," Damian said. "But with one arm missing, you'd have been useless for where we're going. So, like it or not, it was a blessing that he gave you this."

"I see..." Tyrin murmured, his mind deep in thought.

Cassandra offered a bittersweet smile. "Well, setting aside all the bad things, there's only the good left, right? You woke up just in time to join us for the last dinner on the ship. We've had a week to meet everyone in the Baron's conglomerate. Now I can show you who will be our new teammates."

Tyrin nodded, though his mind still reeled from everything that had happened. Wherever they were heading, he knew the real challenge was yet to come.

T hat night the dining hall was luxurious, adorned with gold and crystal ornaments. The guests seemed prepared for a grand celebration, dressed in extravagant outfits and flashing bright smiles. The sight made Tyrin uncomfortable. How could they act so carefree after the hell they had endured?

More troubling was the thought that lingered in his mind:

"Were we the only ones to suffer losses and hardships?"

The possibility that his team had been the least prepared haunted him.

"Well, as you can see, people are in high spirits," Damian said, noticing Tyrin's discomfort.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"I can see that," Tyrin replied curtly.

"Don't worry. Everyone here lost someone. In fact, some teams didn't even come back," Damian said, gesturing to the empty tables around them. "To give you an idea, only about 40% of us survived that hellhole. The difference is, on this ship, there are people so crazy they seem not to care about anything."

Tyrin felt a small wave of relief.

"Thanks. I thought we were..."

"Trash?" Damian finished with a crooked smile. "Well... compared to some of the groups here, maybe we are. But at least we're alive. Come on, I want to show you something."

Damian's words were partially reassuring. Not being the worst meant they wouldn't die just yet. But Tyrin wasn't interested in being the best. He knew the universe was far too vast to indulge in such ambitions.

"There, look," Damian said, pointing discreetly to a table in the corner of the hall. "Those are the Essentials. As you can see, they're all nuts. Just looking at them gives me the creeps."

Tyrin followed Damian's gaze and spotted a group sitting together, clearly separated from the others. They maintained a low profile, but there was something unsettling about their unity—like an impenetrable wall. Each of them bore an expression that warned others to stay away.

When Tyrin looked closer, he noticed something chilling: all ten of them were now staring directly at him. Their piercing gazes forced him to look away.

"They're... strange," Tyrin commented, trying to mask his unease.

"Strange is putting it lightly," Damian laughed. "Those bastards look like they have eyes in the back of their heads. Anyway, now look at that table over there."

In another corner of the hall, a group of women sat together, laughing loudly and chatting. Despite their relaxed demeanor, they exuded courage and pride.

"Those are from the Farm Planets," Damian explained. "The elite of technology. I'm sure none of them died. They're too rich for that."

Tyrin frowned.

"Aren't those the planets that enslave their populations?"

"Shhh! For the love of everything, do you want to get us killed?" Damian hissed, looking around nervously. "They're way too rich for you to say something like that. And if you think the Essentials are crazy, it's because you haven't seen one of those women fight. They use magic."

Tyrin's eyes widened. On his home planet, magic was considered nothing more than a myth.

"I thought magic was folklore. Did you actually see it?"

"Oh, my friend, not only did I see it, but you will too. They don't hide it. With the money they have, every leader of the Farm Planets commands hundreds of mages."

"But why only women?" Tyrin asked, still trying to process the idea.

"Ah, that's an interesting story. On the first day, someone asked them that. Apparently, on their planets, only men can be leaders. The rest are killed as children or exiled. A harem planet, hahahaha. Crazy, huh?"

"Yeah... Crazy," Tyrin replied, unsure what to think.

Damian suddenly grew serious.

"Now, pay attention. There's one group you absolutely cannot mess with. Those over there."

He pointed to a table isolated in the center of the hall. Everyone else seemed to keep their distance.

"Why?" Tyrin asked, intrigued.

"They're the Pure Nobles. They have permission to kill anyone they want."

A chill ran down Tyrin's spine as he looked at the table. The figures seated there exuded an aura of authority, as if they were above any law or morality.

"With those guys, Tyrin," Damian whispered, "don't even breathe wrong."

Tyrin nodded. He had read about the Empire's tradition that stated:

"No noble is replaceable, and it is agreed that, during the harvest, noble children shall be exchanged and used as supervisors to ensure the effectiveness of training and fairness in competition."

"What you might not know is that they take that law very seriously," Damian continued. "Baron Dracont, for example, has Konem's daughter with him. In exchange, his three sons are sitting right there."

Damian pointed to three figures.

"The twins are crazy, but the girl in the middle… she's pure cruelty. My advice: never get involved with them."

"I see…" Tyrin replied, trying to absorb the information. "How do you know all this? I thought there were some restrictions on accessing these kinds of details."

Damian smirked.

"I could tell you a lot of stories, but to keep it short, my sister and I are bastards from the planet Orus."

"But isn't Orus a farm planet?"

"Yes, and that's the irony," Damian sighed. "But don't compare me to those barbarians who only care about money. Our mother got us off that planet early. She didn't want us influenced by their twisted ideology. But, one way or another, we have the same training they do. If you think I know a lot, it's because you haven't had a proper conversation with my sister yet."

Tyrin nodded silently, realizing there was much more to Damian and Cassandra's story than met the eye.

"Anyway…" Damian shifted his tone. "Since we're here, take the chance to eat something. When we get to our destination, luxuries like this will be rare."

Meanwhile, at the central table, Baron Dracont's children were speaking in a casual yet focused tone.

"This year, the Kingdom of Konem doesn't have anything interesting… except for that boy," the eldest sister said, her eyes fixed on Tyrin.

"Sister, I know what you're thinking, but you can't do that. He's the Baron's favorite."

"For now," she replied with a mischievous smile. "For now."

"You two need to focus," the eldest brother interjected, his voice firm and commanding. "We're here to supervise, nothing more. Finish your reports and prepare for disembarkation."

"You're so boring, brother. I just want to play."

"You'll have your time. But not now. Let's go."

As the three stood up, the entire hall seemed to shrink. All eyes turned to them, following their every move. The mere presence of a noble in foreign territory was enough to inspire fear. Even after they left, their table remained empty—no one dared occupy that space.