While the recruitment trials of the Crimson Sun continued deep within the forests of the Netherlands, the rest of the world was moving just as frantically. Governments across the globe were preparing for the coming expansion of Earth and the next Trial that loomed over humanity like a storm cloud. Every nation had realized the same terrifying truth during the first Trial: their standing armies were nowhere near large enough. As a result, countless governments began retraining veteran soldiers while aggressively recruiting talented civilians who had distinguished themselves during the chaos of the Tutorial. Unfortunately, enthusiasm alone could not solve everything, especially when nearly every government on the planet was effectively bankrupt.
Although taxes on points collected during the Trial existed, the income vanished almost immediately because nations were spending points faster than they earned them. Maintaining armies, buying resources from the System Shop, stabilizing infrastructure, and preparing for expansion consumed unimaginable amounts of wealth daily. That was why the discovery of coin mints within the System Shop had nearly caused politicians to cry tears of joy. For the first time since humanity switched currencies, governments possessed a way to create a stable currency again. Yet those mints came with strict requirements. The concentration of cultural energy needed to produce coins efficiently only existed in densely populated areas. As a result, orders spread quickly throughout Europe for people living in villages, farms, and isolated countryside homes to relocate toward major cities.
Massive apartment complexes were printed day and night using industrial-scale 3D construction machines. Entire city districts rose from the ground within days as governments desperately tried to prepare enough housing before the world expanded in only a few weeks. The reason behind this relocation effort was simple. Every concentrated million citizens allowed a coin mint to function at maximum efficiency, producing a silver coin per day or more. More people meant more cultural energy, and more cultural energy meant more money and stronger cities. Unfortunately, convincing stubborn rural populations to abandon homes that had belonged to their families for generations proved far harder than politicians anticipated.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," a visibly exhausted social worker said politely while standing before a countryside farmhouse. "Would you consider relocating to the nearest city? We have prepared modern housing with proper facilities and safety measures." The elderly woman sitting calmly on her porch merely snorted dismissively before replying in a firm voice, "No. This house has belonged to my family for over two hundred years, and I refuse to rot away inside some tiny apartment." Her tone carried the finality of a mountain refusing to move.
The social worker forced a strained smile onto her face despite wanting to scream internally. "Ma'am, this relocation is for your own safety. The world expansion will occur in three weeks, and only densely populated cities possess enough cultural energy to resist the terrain shifts. If you stay here, your home could literally be torn apart. One side of your house might end up thirty kilometers away from the other." She prayed the explanation would finally convince someone for once. Sadly, she already knew how this conversation would end.
The old woman simply sat down harder in her chair and turned her head away stubbornly. "I do not care. I do not believe any of this nonsense, and you cannot force me to leave. Good day to you, young lady." The dismissal was absolute. With a defeated sigh, the social worker quietly crossed another name onto the red section of her clipboard before walking away. Another person scheduled for forced relocation by the military in two weeks. The thought alone made her head ache. She honestly did not envy the younger generals tasked with carrying out those operations.
Ironically, the senior military leadership had already cleverly avoided responsibility for the situation. General Herman and several older commanders had passed the problem onto younger officers under the excuse of "valuable field experience." In reality, they had simply thrown the political nightmare into someone else's lap. Still, even the generals were not suffering nearly as much as the politicians overseeing the relocation plans. The reason was painfully simple. Every isolated village and farming region represented enormous economic value now. A countryside population large enough to support a functioning mint that could produce hundreds of silver coins daily. From the perspective of governments and corporations alike, leaving people scattered across remote regions was equivalent to throwing away mountains of money.
As a result, politicians who previously preached endlessly about personal freedoms suddenly became very determined that "no citizen would be left behind." Whether those citizens wanted to move or not had quickly become irrelevant. The economic future of entire nations depended on concentrated population centers, and capitalism had never tolerated leaving profit untouched on the table. Unfortunately, that practical logic clashed violently with the political reality of democracy. The military had effectively ruled Europe during the first Guardian Trial because quick, decisive action had been necessary for survival. Soldiers did not particularly care about popularity or public approval. Politicians, however, absolutely did.
Inside the European Parliament, arguments erupted daily regarding the future direction of the Union. Every political faction attempted to secure more voters through increasingly reckless proposals focused almost entirely on short-term benefits rather than long-term stability. Heated shouting matches became common as representatives fought for influence while trying to avoid public backlash. Eventually the chamber descended so deeply into chaos that Speaker Nadia Bergman finally slammed her hand against the podium hard enough to silence the room.
"Enough," Nadia declared sharply while glaring across the chamber. "At this rate we will destroy the Union ourselves because everyone here is terrified of the next election cycle instead of planning for the next century." Her cold voice immediately crushed the remaining arguments into silence. "Therefore, I propose extending parliamentary election cycles from four years to ten." The statement instantly froze the entire chamber. Before anyone could react, Nadia continued calmly. "Humanity can now live to one hundred and fifty years at minimum. Longer if we advance stages successfully. Continuing to spend enormous resources on elections every four years is both wasteful and shortsighted."
The politicians sitting before her remained completely silent. In truth, not a single one of them disliked the proposal. Election campaigns were exhausting, expensive, and limited long-term planning severely. Most governments effectively only had two stable years to govern before they needed to begin campaigning again. Under those conditions, politicians focused almost entirely on immediate rewards and popular short-term decisions rather than difficult projects whose benefits might only appear decades later. Extending election cycles would not only strengthen their personal positions but also allow governments to think strategically for the future.
And so, for perhaps the first time in modern history, the European Parliament achieved absolute unity. The motion passed with seven hundred and twenty votes in favor and none against. Ironically, the only proposal every politician could wholeheartedly agree upon was the one that guaranteed they would face elections less often.