The Author's Draft

Chapter 81 - 77: Seventy-Two Hours I

Aiden stood in his flat staring at the countdown in his vision, watching the numbers tick down with mechanical precision.

[71:08:47... 71:08:46... 71:08:45...]

His mother was on her way. She’d been driving when their call dropped, and knowing her, she wouldn’t stop until she reached him. His younger brother Callum would be with her. His father was safe—the City district had gone into lockdown the moment the rifts appeared, sealing entire buildings against the crisis.

That left Aiden here, alone in his flat, trying to process what the hell he was supposed to do with seventy-one hours.

The TV was still on from before he’d been forced back, the screen showing some afternoon programme that had been interrupted by emergency broadcasts. Aiden walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes fixed on the screen without really seeing it.

His qi reserves were still scrambled from the forced ejection. His meridians ached like he’d been punched in the chest by something massive. The Heart of Slaughter pulsed in his chest with steady rhythm, the black mark over his sternum warm against his skin.

Second stage Slaughter Intent. First stage Sword Intent. An awakened heart carrying memories of someone who’d given up everything to seal power inside an infant.

And Earth had seventy-one hours before ten thousand rifts opened and armies from a Stage 3 planet poured through to conquer them.

’What am I supposed to do? Fight? Hide? Try to save people?’

The TV flickered. The programme cut off mid-sentence, replaced by a breaking news banner that flashed red across the screen.

BREAKING NEWS - GLOBAL EMERGENCY SUMMIT

A news anchor appeared, a woman in her forties with dark hair pulled back and an expression that was professionally composed but couldn’t quite hide the strain underneath. She looked like she’d been on air for hours already.

"We’re interrupting regular programming to bring you an urgent update on the dimensional rift crisis," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos behind her words. "World leaders and Hunter Association directors from major nations are currently convening an emergency summit to address the unprecedented threat facing our planet."

The screen split, showing the anchor on one side and what looked like a massive conference hall on the other. The camera panned across rows of seats, each filled with people in formal attire or hunter guild uniforms. Banners hung from the walls representing countries and organizations Aiden recognized—USA, UK, China, Germany, Japan, and dozens more.

"The summit includes representatives from over forty nations," the anchor continued. "Each country sent their Hunter Association director along with their top three guilds. This is the first time in history that so many awakened organizations have gathered in one location under crisis conditions."

The camera zoomed in on the podium at the front of the hall where a man stood waiting for the room to settle. He was American, probably in his fifties, with grey hair and the weathered look of someone who’d seen combat more times than he could count. His presence commanded attention without him having to raise his voice.

"That’s Marcus Graves," the anchor explained. "Director of the USA Hunter Association and one of the most respected S-rank awakeners in North America. He’s opening the summit now."

The feed switched to full coverage of the conference hall. The background noise of hundreds of conversations died down as Graves tapped the microphone once.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Graves said, his voice carrying easily through the space. "I know many of you had to leave critical situations to be here. I’ll keep this brief because we don’t have time to waste."

He gestured to a screen behind him that displayed a global map covered in red dots. Each dot marked a rift location. There were thousands of them.

"Seventy-one hours," Graves stated flatly. "That’s how long we have before the dimensional barriers collapse and whatever’s on the other side comes through. Every nation here is facing the same crisis. Every city, every town, every populated area is now a potential invasion point."

The room was completely silent.

"We’ve been tasked with finding solutions," Graves continued. "Protecting our citizens. Coordinating a defense. Making sure that when those barriers fall, humanity is ready to fight back instead of just dying." He paused, his expression hardening. "So let’s skip the diplomatic pleasantries and get to work. I’m opening the floor for proposals. Anyone who has ideas on how we survive this, speak now."

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then a man stood from the German delegation. He was tall, probably in his forties, with blonde hair cut military-short and cold blue eyes. His guild banner showed a silver sword against a black background—Eisenklinge, one of Germany’s top three guilds.

"Viktor Rothmann, Eisenklinge Guild," the man introduced himself, his accent slight but noticeable. "I have a proposal, though some of you won’t like it."

Graves gestured for him to continue.

Rothmann’s expression didn’t change as he spoke. "We need to stop pretending we can save everyone. The non-awakened population is a liability we can’t afford. They consume resources, require protection, and contribute nothing to our combat capability." His tone was clinical, like he was discussing logistics rather than human lives. "My proposal is simple: focus our efforts on hunters and awakened individuals. Fortify positions where we have strength. Let the rest fend for themselves."

The room erupted.

Half the delegations started shouting immediately, some in agreement and others in outrage. Security guards along the walls tensed, hands moving toward weapons.

A woman shot to her feet from the UK delegation before anyone else could respond. She was maybe thirty-five, with sharp features and dark hair streaked with grey at the temples. Her guild banner showed a thorned shield—Thornwatch, one of Britain’s elite organizations.

"Margot Castellane, Thornwatch Guild," she said sharply, cutting through the noise. "And that’s the stupidest bloody thing I’ve heard all day, which is saying something considering the circumstances."

Rothmann turned to face her, his expression unchanged. "Facts don’t care about your sensibilities—"

"Facts?" Margot interrupted, her voice rising. "Here’s a fact for you—none of us even know why Earth started spawning gates sixty years ago. We don’t know why mana returned in the first place or why some people awaken and others don’t. We don’t know why gods and constellations suddenly decided to start making contracts with humans or what they actually want from us." Her voice took on a bitter edge. "And I’m fairly certain if we asked them these questions, they wouldn’t give us straight answers because we’re probably just pieces in whatever game they’re playing."

She stepped forward, addressing the room rather than just Rothmann. "We’ve been operating blind for six decades, and now suddenly we’re being invaded and we still don’t know why. We don’t understand what triggered this so-called Stage 2 evolution. We don’t know why we’re being targeted. We don’t even know if our awakened abilities will be effective against their forces."

She stepped forward, addressing the room rather than just Rothmann. "And you want to throw away the majority of humanity because they don’t have mana cores? Citizens are the foundation of everything we do. They build our equipment. They grow our food. They maintain the infrastructure that lets us operate as hunters. More than that—protecting people is our fundamental duty. It’s why hunter guilds exist in the first place."

"Noble sentiments," Rothmann replied coldly. "But nobility doesn’t win wars. Resources do. And we have limited resources facing an enemy that’s an entire evolutionary stage ahead of us."