I Have a Military Shop Tab in Fantasy World-Chapter 94: New Frontier

The forest remained eerily still after the rift collapsed. No wind, no birdsong, not even the usual rustling of branches. It was as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.

Inigo stood at the edge of the crater, boots sunk slightly into scorched soil. His shotgun hung loosely in one hand, barrel still warm. The air reeked of ozone and burnt magic. Somewhere behind him, Korrik was panting like a warhorse, while Arienne leaned against a tree, beads of sweat trickling down her brow.

"This wasn’t just a gate," Arienne finally said, voice hoarse. "It was a test."

Inigo turned. "Explain."

"The portal wasn’t stable. Not completely. Whoever opened it was testing the strength of their anchor. And now that it’s destroyed, they’ll know someone interfered."

Garen wiped his sword on a rag, sheathed it, and joined them. "We’ve bought time, not victory."

"And we’ve drawn their attention," Lyra added, brushing leaves from her cloak. "They’ll be looking for us now."

Inigo knelt down, sifting through the remains of the obelisk. Among the shards, he found something odd—a sliver of black crystal, warm to the touch, its surface pulsing with dull light.

"Arienne?"

She took it, inspecting it closely. "This is shard-core. Rare. And...not native. This came from outside the continent."

Garen’s eyes narrowed. "You’re saying someone is importing magical anchor material to build these rifts?"

Arienne nodded slowly. "And with precision. This wasn’t just dark magic. It was engineered."

Inigo exhaled sharply. "Then we’re not dealing with cultists anymore. This is a syndicate. A military-grade operation."

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You think it’s foreign? From beyond the sea?"

"Possibly," Inigo said. "But right now, I’m more concerned about where they’re setting up the next gate."

They gathered around the tracefinder again. Surprisingly, it still pulsed faintly.

"Residual signal," Arienne said. "Faint. But it’s pulling... south."

Korrik grunted. "Toward the marshes?"

"Toward Hollowmere," Arienne confirmed.

Everyone fell silent. Except Inigo who tilted his head to the side, this was the first time of him hearing that word.

"What the heck is a Hollowmere?"

"Hollowmere was infamous—not for monsters or curses, but for being dead. An old trading town, wiped out decades ago during the last arcane plague. No one had rebuilt. No one dared to," Lyra answered. "It’s also located in the western continent and it’s quite far away."

"If they’re building another gate there," Garen said, "then it’s deliberate. They know no one patrols that region."

"Then that’s our next destination," Inigo said, eyes hardening. "But we don’t go blind."

He turned toward the MRAP. "We return to Elandra first. Rest. Resupply. And warn the Guild."

Two days later — Elandra, Guild Intelligence Hall

The war table was covered in parchment, arcane diagrams, and stacks of marked maps. Several guild operatives, dressed in neutral-toned robes, flitted between corners of the room carrying scrolls and reports.

Inigo stood at the head of the table, arms crossed. The black shard sat in a sealed vial at the center, under a glass dome inscribed with containment wards.

Guildmaster Thorne stood beside him. His expression was drawn, eyes scanning the reports with military precision.

"Three sightings of similar obelisks in the past month," Thorne said. "One near Fellwood Pass. Another deep in the Scarlands. And one unconfirmed—far to the east near the coast."

"If they activate all three," Arienne said grimly, "they could triangulate a massive rift. Something far more dangerous than what we just fought."

"You think they’re summoning something larger?" Thorne asked.

"I think," she replied, "they’re trying to bring something through. A commander. A being of power."

The room fell quiet.

Then Inigo spoke.

"We need to split our forces. My team will take Hollowmere. We need eyes on the Scarlands and the eastern coast immediately."

Thorne nodded. "I’ll dispatch two elite squads. But you’ll be on your own again."

Inigo smirked slightly. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Just once, I’d like backup that isn’t ten hours late."

Thorne chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Take what you need. You leave at dawn."

That night — Elandra’s western watchtower

The city stretched out below like a painting in gold and stone. Inigo leaned against the parapet, watching the flicker of streetlamps and the blur of distant lanterns swaying in merchant carts.

Arienne joined him quietly. "You’re worried."

"Of course I am."

"Because of the scale?"

"Because of the silence," Inigo said. "This group... they’re not screaming their arrival. They’re whispering. Building quietly. Coordinating. That scares me more than a demon army."

Arienne nodded. "Subtlety is the language of confidence."

He glanced at her. "What happens if we’re too late?"

She didn’t answer at first.

Then, quietly: "Then we fall back. And try again. Because we’re the only ones who can."

They stood in silence for a while, listening to the wind.

Dawn — Departure to Hollowmere

The team assembled by the city gate. The MRAP was stocked—fuel tanks filled, ammunition crates stacked, and food supplies packed tightly beneath the benches. The crystal lantern from their last mission now glowed faintly on the dashboard.

Garen arrived last, mounted on his armored horse. His face was calm, but his eyes sharp.

"You sure you’re ready?" Inigo asked.

"I was born ready," Garen replied, deadpan.

Korrik barked a laugh. "You’re starting to sound like me."

Lyra loaded herself into the turret, stretching. "Let’s make this one quick. I hate marshes."

Inigo looked over the squad, then at the road ahead.

"Let’s move."

The gate opened slowly. And as the sun crested the hills, bathing the land in gold, the MRAP rumbled forward—toward Hollowmere.

The wheels of the MRAP crushed loose gravel as they crossed the final gate. Behind them, the walls of Elandra slowly disappeared in the dust and rising sun. Ahead, the road wound westward into lands seldom traveled, where moss covered forgotten paths and the air grew thick with history and silence.

Inigo leaned back in his seat, adjusting his Desert Eagle holster across his chest. The emblem of the warbinder cult still lingered in his mind.

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