"T-then… what exactly makes this situation dangerous? After a battle like that, wouldn't one side be completely destroyed?"

"Not at all, Monkyspanner," Mary answered calmly. "If that were the case, they would have cleaned up afterward. We're talking about a force capable of this level of destruction—it's not like they couldn't cover it up. But instead, they left the aftermath completely exposed. What do you think that means?"

Monkyspanner hesitated, unable to answer. The Death Priest let out an eerie hiss of laughter.

"...Since the monkey can't answer, I'll do it for him. This is a warning. Sure, one side may have gained the upper hand, but the other wasn't annihilated. And we all know the truth—we can come back even after death."

"Ah!"

NPCs from Yggdrasil could be resurrected without level penalties. While reviving a level 100 NPC cost a staggering 500 million gold, a guild-scale organization could easily afford it.

"One battle doesn't decide everything… but losing once still breaks momentum. By leaving behind a battlefield like this, they're intimidating the other side. And while things might seem quiet for now—this is the most dangerous moment of all."

"Right. Now that the first battle's over, both sides will start surveying the field. The victors will want to press their advantage, and the losers will be desperate to turn things around. Naturally, their next step is to find allies—forces in this world they can use as proxies."

"And Dragon's Dream might be exactly what they're after… how annoying," Monkyspanner muttered.

Only then did he fully grasp the situation—and clutched his head in frustration. He hated headaches, and this one was massive. This was a trap waiting to spring.

If a large-scale Yggdrasil guild had arrived in this world, their ideal allies would be adventurers—unaffiliated with nations, drifting like seaweed. And among them, the most powerful and independent group, Dragon's Dream, would be the obvious first target.

In other words, they were now under the attention of not just one—but possibly two guild-level factions. With powers rivaling gods, Players, and their elite subordinates. And if Shinshi's existence were ever revealed, it might get caught up in their war.

That would be the worst-case scenario. Such a thing must never happen.

Though Shinshi was protected by layers of barriers and divine shields left behind by countless gods, that didn't make it invincible. If it were ever discovered and invaded…

The room fell silent. The High Priests and Governors, all watching quietly, turned pale as the implications hit. Even Tsaindoruks, his expression hidden behind armor, was clearly shaken. Not just one—but two or more guild-level powers had descended into this world?

Just one Eight Greed Kings had nearly brought the world to its knees—this was beyond insane.

Then, Tauros grinned and bared his teeth.

"Heh… now you understand, Drake? The outside world is far too dangerous right now. But if we cut all contact and switch Shinshi into full lockdown mode, there's no way they'll ever find it without flipping the entire continent upside down… And you know as well as I do—Shinshi is already perfect."

Drake let out a deep sigh. Tauros wasn't wrong.

Shinshi operated under rules even the High Priests and Governors couldn't fully understand. Garbage thrown out disappeared on its own. Crops and livestock grew far faster than outside. Forests regrew shortly after being cut. Mines replenished over time. Even monsters reappeared in cleared zones.

Something inexplicable governed this land.

The people called it the blessing of the gods. The top brass, however, suspected something deeper.

They understood this was a kind of system, created by the gods for their creations. Within it, a different set of laws operated compared to the outside world. But this blessing wasn't infinite—nor was it free.

It required money. Gold.

Not just any gold—only the currency of Yggdrasil worked. Coins from this world had no value. And for some unknown reason, a portion of that gold regularly vanished from Shinshi's treasury.

This was believed to be the maintenance cost of the system.

That cost was astronomical, naturally. Keeping a city like Shinshi running wasn't cheap. Every time the gold vanished, the treasury noticeably shrank. While the general population rejoiced in the divine blessings, the High Priests and Governors couldn't help but feel alarmed.

Worse, they couldn't understand why the treasury was shrinking.

Although the maintenance costs were high, they were supposed to be offset by automatic income—taxes generated by the system. But ever since they arrived in this world, that tax revenue had stopped entirely.

Why? They weren't sure. But rather than wait for answers, they needed solutions. Because if nothing was done, the rules that kept Shinshi alive might vanish.

They could, in theory, tap into the vault located deep within the temple, where the sleeping gods rested. It held enough gold to last centuries. But even entering the vault—let alone opening it—was forbidden. Only the king among the gods had that right.

Breaking that rule would be unthinkable.

It would be better to let Shinshi fall than violate that sanctum.

Still… even if the sky was falling, there had to be some way out.

Among the special items in Yggdrasil, there exists one known as the Exchange Box. This item could convert inserted goods into gold equivalent to their value. However, the exchange rate was notoriously poor. Most players used it to dispose of trash items or unused gear for a bit of gold. But in this world—where there were no other ways to obtain gold—this item was nothing short of salvation.

The High Priests first tried inserting harvested crops and mined ores. But the results were disappointing. Even with Kima, who possessed an advanced merchant class, overseeing the transaction, the gold output was meager.

They dumped in what amounted to hundreds of harvests—only for the box to spit out a single gold coin or two. Even if they dumped Shinshi's entire annual yield into it, they'd be lucky to get a few thousand coins. The High Priests were at a loss.

At this rate, Shinshi might collapse.

Just when they thought they'd found a solution, they realized the Exchange Box's conversion rates couldn't even cover basic maintenance, let alone support their citizens. Some even considered awakening the gods for guidance.

But the answer lay closer than they realized:

"If raw materials aren't valuable enough, why not turn them into items first?"

The Exchange Box didn't assess items based on weight or quality. It calculated perceived value, converting that into gold. So, even if the materials were the same, crafting them into higher-value items would yield better results.

Shinshi was a functioning nation with citizens spread across many professions. In fact, more than half of the Twelve High Priests had non-combat classes.

Among them were often-overlooked production roles like blacksmiths, tailors, alchemists, enchanters, and even chefs.

Though such classes were unpopular among players—especially considering Yggdrasil didn't support taste or scent, rendering food buffs minimal—they were well represented in Shinshi.

Thanks to this variety, they could process raw materials in countless ways. Thus began a wave of experiments: if processing increased item value, would the Exchange Box produce more gold?

In Yggdrasil, an item's value was determined by the quantity and quality of its ingredients, the crafter's class and skill level, and final enhancements using Data Crystals.

And with production specialists at level 100, low skill levels weren't an issue. Back during their guild's golden age, some blacksmiths had even regularly produced legendary-tier items.

Surely, items crafted with such care couldn't be worthless.

Clink, clink, clink—shrrrrrk!

"Well… that was a failure."

"Yeah, the return is worse than expected. Definitely a bust."

The Exchange Box produced gold, but far less than anticipated. Whether they inserted legendary or common items, the gold payout was identical. It was no better than shoving in raw ore.

Still, the experiments continued—trying everything from weapons and armor to food, clothing, accessories, and other crafted goods.

Yet, the results remained the same. The Exchange Box simply paid out gold proportional to item count, not perceived craftsmanship.

The senior officials shook their heads. It was clear that item production alone wouldn't solve their economic woes.

But then, a new idea surfaced:

"If ore is inefficient, what about agricultural goods? Shinshi's fertile land and manpower could support multiple harvests per day."

"That's brilliant! Let's do it immediately."

"Right—establish an agriculture bureau and gather specialists."

Thus began Shinshi's grand project: using crops to generate gold through the Exchange Box.

With highly skilled producers and blessed land, it was possible to harvest enormous quantities multiple times per day.

The soil never degraded, and production skills allowed seeds to sprout and mature into grain within moments—an almost miraculous feat.

Mountains of crops were funneled into the Exchange Box. Merchants with specialized skills extracted the gold with maximum efficiency.

And so, Shinshi unlocked an infinite source of funds.

All raw materials were grown within Shinshi, all processing was done by Shinshi citizens, and the gold extraction too was handled by their own people. It became a fully self-sufficient system.

A Ministry of Finance was immediately formed, with Kima—holder of the highest merchant level—appointed as minister. He and other top-tier merchants oversaw the conversion of crops and minerals into gold, managing revenue with precision.

Soon, Shinshi's treasury overflowed—not just with gold, but also with a variety of magic items produced during the intense competition among production class users to find the most gold-efficient items.

"The treasury's full now. What do we do?"

"Store the excess in another vault. Or just keep them as magic items. Actually, we should probably start producing high-value, low-volume goods—just in case we ever need them."

"Also produce consumables. We've got more than enough room in the storage. Scrolls, potions, mana crystals—make as many as you want. If we run out of space, we can just dump them in an empty dungeon."

A ridiculous situation—where income far exceeds expenditure!

No matter how much the people of Shinshi indulge in its abundance, what they spend is always outweighed by what is generated. It's essentially the creation of something from nothing. At least as long as the high-level production workers remain intact, Shinshi's finances will never run dry.

And the majority of Shinshi's top-tier producers are divine citizens. As long as they remain under the blessing of the gods, they are immune to aging and death.

Some of the low-grade items, after multiple refinements and failures, were even smuggled into the outside world at Tsaindoruks's request.

Although the plan to spread the bloodline of Players across the world had been scrapped, the current world was clearly in a state of consuming rather than creating.

If nothing new was supplied, decline was inevitable. Tsaindoruks wasn't acting out of sympathy for humanity—it was a calculated move to preserve balance.

And now, even after a hundred years, Shinshi's system still runs without flaw.

Given all this, it's only natural that production-class users wield tremendous influence. And because of that, Tauros's arguments held even more weight.

"Admit it, Drake—Shinshi is complete."

"But… a world cut off from everything else will always decay."

"We've considered that as well. We're not proposing to remain cut off forever. Whoever these Yggdrasil beings are, they don't share the long lifespans granted to us by divine grace. The Six Great Gods died of old age. The 13 Heroes we welcomed into our fold couldn't overcome their mortal lifespans either. Even if a few of them endure longer than humans, it's only a matter of time before their power wanes."

"And by lying low, we might draw our enemies out. While we restrain ourselves because our god sleeps, there's no guarantee they'll do the same."

"Ghh..."

Tauros and Mary swiftly countered Drake's weakened stance. He looked around—the other High Priests were mostly in agreement with Tauros. The conclusion was clear. The meeting had run its course.

To be honest, Drake found himself persuaded too. Severing ties with the outside world would ensure Shinshi's safety. It would lessen the risk of awakening the sleeping god. But…

"Tch…"

"There's no helping it, Drake. If this is the collective will, then I can say no more."

"Understood…"

Tsaindoruks nodded, and Drake bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Tsaindoruks felt a twinge of regret—but also a sense of relief. If a war between Yggdrasil-level powers were to break out and Shinshi got caught in the middle, it would be a catastrophe beyond imagination.

These beings, though cooperative, weren't here for this world's sake. In war, they would prioritize Shinshi over the safety of the world. In that light, perhaps it was better that they remained isolated like this.

Then, Drake raised his head again. The hesitation was gone—what remained was the dignified figure of the Supreme High Priest, the acting authority of Shinshi.

In a commanding voice, he declared:

"Then, this is Tauros's proposal. Shinshi will cease all external activities, sever all connections to the outside world, and enter a period of voluntary seclusion. If there are any objections, raise your hand."

Silence.

Not a single hand was raised.

"Then, those in favor—raise your hand."

All sixteen hands rose in unison.

Drake closed his eyes and solemnly proclaimed:

"Very well. In the name of Shinshi's highest governing body, the Council of the Twelve High Priests, Shinshi shall, from this day forward, enter a state of seclusion."

Fifteen different voices rang through the chamber in solemn affirmation.

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