“You… your civilization… are farm animals.”

  The words struck like a hammer to Nova’s chest. His thoughts darkened, rage boiling within him, seething just beneath the surface, ready to explode. ‘Farm animals’. The phrase echoed relentlessly in his mind, refusing to let go. His fingers curled into fists as he struggled to contain the inferno inside him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to ask, “What do you mean?!”

  Vragor remained unbothered by Nova’s tone. He had seen this reaction before—countless times. He answered, “The higher civilizations rear lesser ones like livestock. You should have already noticed—the portals’ primary purpose isn’t to kill, but to train.”

  Nova exhaled sharply, his mind racing. He had suspected as much. With a stiff nod, he signaled his understanding.

  Vragor continued without pause. “Ah, I almost forgot” he said, as if recalling an afterthought. A realization settled over him—he had explained what the portals were but not their origins. “The portals… they are not man-made. They are a manifestation of the Universe itself. No force in existence can create or stop them. If the Universe does not will it, your civilization will never see another portal again.”

  The weight of those words pressed down on Nova. He had already become numb to shock—one revelation after another had chipped away at his sense of normalcy. Fine. If this was how the Universe worked, he would learn everything there was to know. And then… then he would decide what to do with that knowledge.

  “That means when the Universe deems your civilization to have reached a certain threshold of evolution—when you begin inching closer to the higher civilizations—it will stop spawning portals for you. Typically, a civilization has 100 years to cross this threshold. If you fail…” Vragor’s voice carried a weight that sent a chill down Nova’s spine. “Then the Universe will cease providing portals, and your civilization will be deemed useless—your fate left at the mercy of others.”

  Nova’s jaw tightened, his mind racing.

  “On the other hand” Vragor continued, “it doesn’t matter if you, personally, surpass the threshold. It doesn’t even matter if you become the strongest being in the Universe. The moment your entire civilization meets the required standard, the portals will vanish.”

  Nova’s thoughts spiraled, grasping at possibilities. He managed to ask, “Then… how does a civilization continue to grow once the portals are gone?”

  A smirk crept onto Vragor’s face. “If you want to keep improving after your civilization reaches the threshold, there’s only one path left—Space Wars or, as we call them, Civilization Wars.”

  Nova’s mind exploded. A war between entire civilizations? How massive would that be? How long would it last? How devastating? He finally started to understand why the higher civilizations did what they did. ‘No wonder. If their younger generations want to keep growing, their civilizations must constantly wage war against others… But then another thought struck him. How do they benefit from us? Can they enter our portals?’

  Vragor seemed to read Nova’s thoughts. His expression darkened. “Civilization Wars are brutal. We’re talking about billions—sometimes tens of billions up to trillions—clashing against each other. You can imagine the devastation that brings.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before delivering the final blow.

  “Do you really think those powerful civilizations would gamble the lives of their sons and daughters in something like that?”

  Shaking his head, Nova finally pieced it together. A chilling realization settled in his mind as he asked, “Are you… one of the losers?”

  This time, it was Vragor who was caught off guard. His expression remained calm, but the subtle flicker of something long buried—pain, resignation—flashed in his eyes. With a slow nod, he admitted, “Yes. My civilization lost. And as punishment, the Universe caged us within these portals, turning us into nothing more than sharpening stones for the rising civilizations.”

  Nova exhaled through his nose, unsurprised. He had already suspected as much. But one question still clawed at the back of his mind, refusing to be ignored.

  “How, then, do the higher civilizations farm us?” His voice was sharp, demanding. “We have nothing but these portals. And I doubt they can enter them. So what possible use are we to them?”

  For the first time since they met, Vragor’s mask of calm cracked. A bitter, almost hollow laugh slipped from his lips.

  “You received a class choice, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice laced with something that almost resembled pity.

  Nova’s brows furrowed. “Yeah…”

  Vragor let out another laugh—this one darker, heavier. “Then let me share something funny with you.” His tone dripped with cynicism. “There are many class choices. Too many. Ever wonder why?”

  A dangerous thought slithered into Nova’s mind, one so horrifying he instinctively tried to reject it. But the pieces were already falling into place. His mouth went dry. “I… I didn’t think about it before. But now… I think I know.”

  Vragor gave a slow, knowing nod. “It’s exactly what you’re afraid of.” His next words carried the weight of a terrible truth.

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  “Those aren’t classes established by the Universe. No… Those are classes created by the higher civilizations. And the people who choose them?” He took a deep breath, as if preparing to drop the final hammer. “They’re not leveling up their class. They’re working. Like farm animals.”

  Nova felt his stomach twist.

  Vragor’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

  “They’re working… for their sons and daughters.”

  ‘It’s just as I thought…’

  Nova’s teeth clenched so hard they ached. His thoughts spiraled, each one sharper than the last. ‘Did I just escape one cage only to be thrown into another?’

  For twenty years, he had lived shackled in his old life, desperate for freedom. He believed he had finally broken free. But now—now he realized the truth. He hadn’t escaped. He had just stepped into a slightly bigger cage.

  A snarl escaped him. “What about the class ‘None’?” His voice was tight with frustration. “And how the hell can the higher civilizations interfere with the system itself?”

  Vragor nodded, as if expecting the question. “That’s the class the Universe grants to everyone. The only one that should’ve ever existed. In the beginning, the Universe offered freedom.” His gaze darkened. “But that freedom was short-lived. The first to rise… ensured no one else would ever be truly free again.”

  Nova’s stomach churned.

  Vragor studied him for a moment before adding, “I doubt you can comprehend the power of the higher civilizations, but let me give you some perspective.” He exhaled, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know how large your planet is, how vast your civilization stretches. But I do know this—your entire galaxy? A single punch from one of their elites could wipe it out.”

  Nova felt his blood turn cold.

  “Now” Vragor continued, his voice steady, “if that’s the scale of power they wield, do you really think it’s difficult for them to introduce a few classes? They don’t even force you to choose them. They just lay them out in front of you, let you pick freely—and with that, they own you. No backlash. No effort. Just another civilization, tricked into serving them.”

  Nova’s mind reeled. ‘No, it’s not difficult at all.’

  If beings like that existed, altering a lesser civilization’s system would be nothing more than an afterthought. A game. ‘One of their juniors could probably do it without even breaking focus.’

  But then, another thought gripped him.

  ‘If they introduced us to this system… did that mean we needed their help?’

  ‘Would we have ever been able to unlock it on our own?’

  Suppressing the storm raging in his chest, Nova forced himself to ask, “Do civilizations need to be introduced into the wider Universe?”

  Vragor shook his head. “No. When a civilization is deemed worthy by the Universe, it will be introduced naturally—by the Universe itself. The ones who need to be introduced by others… those are the lowest of the low.”

  Nova’s laughter rang out, sharp and laced with irony. ‘We’re really that pathetic?’

  He chuckled to himself. The absurdity of it all was almost amusing. ‘I can’t wait to reach another civilization and let loose’. A grin tugged at his lips, but deep down, the weight of reality pressed on his chest.

  Vragor watched him, disbelief flickering in his eyes. ‘Did the truth wound him so deeply? Understandable… he’s still so young. In some civilizations, he wouldn’t even be considered out of infancy.’

  Nova turned to the troll king—the being who had answered so many of his questions, easing his confusion in this vast and terrifying reality. A rare feeling stirred in his chest. Gratitude.

  “Thank you, Vragor.” His voice was steady. “Can you leave this portal?”

  A heavy sigh escaped Vragor. “No. I can’t escape the Universe’s laws.” His grip tightened, his expression resigned. “The only way out for me is either to kill you and continue existing here… or die by your hands.”

  For a moment, silence hung between them.

  Vragor had spent an eternity bound to this portal, trapped in an endless cycle of battle. He had expected his release to come one day, to be slain by some rising warrior, and yet… now that the moment had arrived, he felt an odd reluctance.

  Strange. He had been so eager for an end. But now, after even this brief respite—after this conversation—he found himself hesitating.

  Slowly, Vragor pushed himself up from his throne. His hand reached for the club resting at his side. The air grew colder with each step he took.

  Nova exhaled, feeling the weight of inevitability press against him.

  “I wish there was a way for you to leave this place” he admitted. “I’m not the kind of person who kills those who’ve helped me.”

  Vragor met his gaze, the sentiment echoing in his own heart. “I wish so too.”

  But there was no other path.

  His towering body now just three meters away, looming over Nova like a shadow of fate.

  Nova nodded, gripping his spear with both hands for the first time in what felt like an eternity. A surge of power coursed through him—his strength had grown far beyond what it was the last time he wielded his weapon this way.

  Across from him, Vragor stood firm, his club resting in his grip. The two warriors locked eyes, their grins mirroring each other. No words were needed.

  With a tacit understanding, they moved.

  Both lunged forward at the same time—Vragor lifting his club high with both hands, pouring every ounce of his raw strength into a devastating overhead strike. The sheer force behind it promised absolute destruction.

  Nova, reacting swiftly, knew better than to meet that power head-on. Instead, he sidestepped, pivoting with precision as his spear lashed out in a sharp jab toward Vragor’s right side.

  Vragor, confident in his resilience, didn’t bother dodging. He chose to trade blows.

  Pain flared through his body as the spearhead plunged into the right side of his chest—only for another sharp sting to follow as Nova’s spear slashed across his right leg.

  Stunned, Vragor roared and swung his club in a desperate, sweeping arc, hoping to force Nova back and regain his footing.

  But Nova didn’t retreat.

  Using the momentum of his attacks, he nimbly avoided the incoming strike, weaving around the massive weapon before driving his spear into Vragor’s left thigh.

  The troll king grimaced—he had underestimated Nova’s speed. Realizing the fight was turning against him, he wrenched himself backward in a hurried retreat, shaking off Nova’s pursuit.

  Both warriors reset their stances as they stared each other down once more.

  This time, the difference was clear—Vragor stood wounded, while Nova remained unscathed.

  Though the troll king’s injuries began to heal rapidly, something else lingered—an imprint of Nova burned into his mind.

  Grinning, Vragor let out a low chuckle. “You’re good. But I suppose it’s time I show you why I’m a king.”

  With a firm grip, he grasped the handle of his club with one hand and its thick body with the other. Then, he pulled.

  A deep, grating sound filled the air as the club’s structure shifted. Slowly, something emerged from within—a gleaming blade, its edge catching the dim light of the hall.

  With a flick of his wrist, Vragor tossed aside the now-empty club casing, standing tall with a massive, two-meter-long sword in his grasp.

  “You see” he said, his grin widening, “I only use the club for fun.”

  Then, in an instant, he was gone.

  Nova’s eyes widened. Vragor’s speed had just doubled.

  A whisper of a voice echoed through the hall.

  “My favorite weapon… is the sword.”

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