The transport semi that would be their base for the next several months sat in the staging area, engines already humming.

  From the outside, it looked like a fortress on wheels. The cab at the front was armored in overlapping plates of spiritual steel, its windows narrow slits of reinforced glass. Behind it, the main trailer stretched back forty feet, its roof bristling with two flak cannons.

  The forward cannon sat just behind the cab, its barrel angled toward the sky. The rear cannon mounted at the trailer's back end, covering the vulnerable cargo containers that would trail behind them.

  Four additional trailers waited nearby, each one a simple metal box compared to the sophistication of the main unit. Mechanics swarmed over them, running final checks before attachment.

  "Container one, locked. Container two, locked. Container three, locked."

  Vivian's voice came through the external speakers, clipped and professional. Leo watched as the mechanics finished their work, each trailer latching onto the one ahead with heavy metallic clanks. The semi shuddered slightly as the load settled.

  Leo climbed aboard through the side hatch, making his way forward to the cab. The space was cramped but efficient. Four primary stations dominated the front: pilot, copilot, navigator, and communications. Behind them, a bench seat could hold four more passengers if everyone squeezed together.

  Vivian occupied the pilot's seat, her hands moving across multiple interfaces simultaneously. She acknowledged Leo's presence with a brief nod but said nothing, her attention already consumed by the dozens of tasks required to bring the transport online.

  Tom sat at the communications station, headset pressed to one ear. He waved Leo toward the back.

  "Break room's through the first compartment," Tom called over his shoulder. "Matt's back there. Get acquainted while we get into position."

  Leo moved through the connecting passage, passing a series of reinforced fuel tanks built into the walls. He paused, studying them.

  Two different systems. The first was clearly spiritual, a reservoir of condensed Qi. Emergency reserves for shields and overdrive.

  The second system was purely mechanical, steel tanks filled with diesel fuel.

  That was the key. The innovation that made Earth's logistics possible.

  Spiritual Qi was precious, limited, and rationed. Running a transport purely on spiritual energy would drain resources faster than they could be replaced. But diesel was cheap. Abundant. Mortal fuel with the highest energy density of any conventional option, capable of moving massive loads across vast distances for free.

  The cab drew on the Qi reservoir only during emergencies. Overdrive mode, when the transport needed to accelerate beyond normal limits. And shield projection, when Nascent Soul level protection meant the difference between life and death. Everything else ran on diesel.

  This was how Earth could fight a war against the Catacombs. The enemy had more spiritual resources, richer Qi veins, deeper reserves of power. But Earth had industry. Refineries. Oil fields that produced millions of barrels daily. The Catacombs could outspend humanity in spiritual terms, but they could never match the sheer volume of mortal energy that human civilization produced.

  Seize Catacombs territory. Extract their resources. Transport everything using fuel the enemy couldn't match. It was the only path to victory.

  Leo continued through the passage into the break room.

  The space looked like someone had compressed a studio apartment into a compartment slightly larger than a walk-in closet. Two sofas faced each other across a fold-down table. A compact kitchen unit occupied one wall, complete with a small refrigerator and microwave. The lighting was warm and surprisingly comfortable.

  Matthew Stammer sat on one of the sofas, a tablet in his lap displaying what looked like engine diagnostics. He looked up as Leo entered.

  "You must be Leo." Matt stood, offering a handshake. "Glad to finally meet you in person. The footage Tom showed us was impressive."

  "Thanks for joining the team," Leo said. "I know it was a risk."

  "Calculated risk." Matt smiled slightly. "If its just the four of us, we can earn merits twice as fast."

  A rumble passed through the floor as the transport picked up speed. Matt gestured toward the window.

  "Come look at this."

  Leo joined him. Through the reinforced glass, the outskirts of Garrison Boston stretched in every direction. Warehouses the size of the flying aces stadiums. Fuel depots with tanks reaching five stories high. Rail lines carrying cargo containers in endless streams. And everywhere, transports. Hundreds of them, forming long columns that snaked toward the horizon.

  "I've seen the numbers," Matt said quietly. "But seeing it in person is different."

  The convoy assembly area sprawled across a staging ground capable of handling hundreds of vehicles simultaneously. Similar transports lined up ahead of them and behind, each one a variation on the same basic design. Armored cab, main trailer with mounted weapons, expendable cargo containers trailing behind.

  Matt tapped the window, drawing Leo's attention to the left. "Look over there."

  Leo turned. His breath caught.

  It moved like a building that had decided to grow treads. A massive vehicle, easily ten times the length of their semi, crawled along a dedicated lane separate from the convoy. Its hull was armored in plates thick enough to stop artillery. Spiritual formations crawled across its surface in geometric patterns, pulsing with contained power.

  "Dreadnought," Matt said. "Land-based capital ship. To protect our convoy."

  Giant flak batteries studded the dreadnought's upper deck, each one large enough to require a full crew. The barrels tracked slowly, scanning the sky in automated patterns. Along the sides, Leo counted a dozen drone bays, each one holding a Nascent Soul level combat drone locked in place by magnetic clamps.

  The dreadnought passed them slowly, its engine noise a deep rumble that vibrated through the floor of their transport. Leo spotted crew members moving on the upper observation deck, tiny figures against the massive hull.

  The massive ship finally cleared their position, continuing toward the front of the forming convoy line. In its wake, the regular transports looked almost fragile.

  "Can I ask you something?" Leo turned to Matt.

  "Sure."

  "Your family owns Stammer Climate Solutions. Your father probably has an exemption. Why are you out here farming merits?"

  Matt was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice had softened.

  "The exemption only covers my father. As long as he avoids advancing to Nascent Soul, he's too valuable to the war effort to draft. The military truly appreciated his radiation filters."

  He turned away from the window.

  "The exemption doesn't cover the rest of us. My little brother is twelve. He's terrified of the catacombs. Has nightmares about it." Matt's jaw tightened. "He's trying to become a formation master. Been grinding his Divine Sense by drawing formations since he was seven. The draft exemption for formation masters should protect him. For now."

  "For now?"

  "Everyone knows the exemption rules can change. If the war goes badly, if casualties spike, all those Qi Refining formation masters who aren't close to maxing out their Divine Sense will have their exemptions revoked."

  Matt shook his head. "No point in spending decades growing formation masters when you need infantry now."

  Matt looked towards the cab. "I’m here to earn draft exemptions for myself and the rest of my family. Vivian's here for the same reason. She has a little sister. Her parents are just computer programmers. No special patents, no critical skills. First in line to be drafted."

  They stood in silence, watching the convoy continue to form. Transport after transport fell into line, each one carrying its own cargo, its own crew, its own collection of desperate hopes.

  "Here." Matt moved toward the center of the break room. "Let me show you around. You should know the layout."

  He pointed toward the front of the compartment, where a narrow slide angled upward toward the ceiling.

  "That connects to the forward flak cannon. My station. If we need to evacuate, I can drop straight down into the cab in about three seconds."

  A locker was built into the wall near the slide entrance. Matt tapped it open, revealing armor hanging inside.

  "Your combat gear," Matt said. "T4 Nascent Soul grade, same as the transport. Similar design to the Yale Bulldogs uniform you trained with, but bulkier, more radiation shielding, and non of those sport specific formations."

  "Thanks, Matt. I'll buy it from you when I get the money."

  "Don't worry about it. My dad will gift it to you if we earn enough merits for an exemption or two." Matt shrugged. "It's just money."

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  He led Leo through a connecting hatch into the second compartment. This one was dimmer, lit by soft blue lights that pulsed gently with spiritual energy.

  "Cultivation room. This is what makes the whole logistics system work."

  The space was cramped. Meditation mats lined one wall. Hammocks hung from ceiling mounts, arranged so three people could sleep simultaneously.

  "Cultivators can live in these semis indefinitely," Matt explained. "Train, sleep, advance, all while the transport keeps moving. From the outside, there's no way to tell who's inside. Could be high school students on their first run. Could be Nascent Soul old monsters hitching a ride."

  The third compartment made Leo pause. A VR pod dominated the center of the space, its surface gleaming with integrated formation arrays. Beside it, somewhat incongruously, sat a small tea dispenser.

  "Tom insisted on that," Matt said, noticing Leo's gaze. "Said you'd want it."

  "Thanks, it's perfect."

  The fourth compartment was smaller, reinforced walls marking it as the secure cargo hold. Ammunition crates lined the walls, neatly organized and magnetically locked in place.

  "High-value cargo and ammo storage," Matt said. "The rear flak cannon mounts directly above us here. That's Tom's station."

  Leo looked around. "Where's his evacuation chute?"

  Matt shook his head. "There isn't one."

  "What?"

  "The rear gunner position doesn't have a quick escape route. If we need to evacuate and there isn't enough time for everyone..." Matt's voice remained matter-of-fact, but something in his eyes suggested he had thought about this more than he wanted to admit.

  "Tom's the only one who can make that call anyway. He's the only one who can sacrifice himself."

  Leo couldn't imagine his roommate in that situation.

  Matt seemed to sense the mood shifting and deliberately changed the subject. He moved to the window and pointed toward the containers trailing behind their main trailer.

  "See those? That's the real innovation."

  Through the rear viewport, Leo could see their cargo containers stretching back in a long chain. They looked almost primitive compared to the main transport, simple metal boxes on wheels.

  "Each container is modular. Dedicated engine, dedicated diesel tanks. Completely self-sufficient." Matt traced the outline of one with his finger.

  "Made entirely from mortal materials. Some Tier 1 and Tier 2 formations drawn using spiritual energy extracted from Catacombs territory. Completely expendable. The moment combat starts, we jettison them."

  The convoy had fully formed now. Through the windows, Leo could see the long line of transports stretching toward the horizon, a mechanical serpent preparing to cross hostile territory.

  After what felt like an hour of waiting, the official order from command came through. The convoy set off.

  The dreadnought at the front of the column lurched forward, its massive treads churning against the reinforced roadway. Behind it, hundreds of transports surged to life in sequence, a flood of steel and guns flowing toward the Catacombs border.

  Their semi shuddered as Vivian engaged the drive systems. Leo watched the staging area fall away through the break room window.

  "Come on," Matt said. "Let's go up front."

  They made their way through the connecting passage to the cab. Tom had swiveled his communications chair around to face the center of the space. Vivian remained focused on the controls, but the transport had settled into a steady cruising speed that required minimal attention.

  Leo and Matt squeezed into the back row. Through the reinforced windshield, the view was staggering. Transports stretched ahead as far as he could see, each one bristling with weapons. The dreadnought dominated the center of the formation, its batteries tracking slowly across the sky.

  "This is insane," Tom said, gesturing at the spectacle before them. "I ran the numbers while we were waiting. There's got to be over a thousand flak cannons in this convoy. All of them capable of firing Nascent Soul level shells."

  "The escort drones on that dreadnought are Nascent Soul grade too. I counted twelve bays." Matt leaned forward between the front seats for a better view

  "Plus whatever cultivators are riding in the other transports," Leo added. "Could be Nascent Soul old monsters."

  "Exactly." Tom grinned. "Anything that attacks this convoy is going to regret it. We've got enough firepower to level an entire army."

  "The Catacombs forces would have to be suicidal to engage us," Matt agreed. "One wrong move and they're facing a thousand guns plus whatever hidden assets are scattered through the formation."

  Leo found himself nodding. The sheer scale of the operation was reassuring. All those weapons, all that armor, all those unknown variables working in their favor.

  "You're all idiots."

  Vivian's voice was flat. She kept her eyes on the road ahead.

  The warmth drained from the cab immediately.

  "What?" Tom's grin faltered.

  "To the cults of the Catacombs we just look like juicy bait."

  Vivian adjusted their heading slightly, matching the transport ahead of them.

  "You might think the purpose of the convoy is logistics. Moving supplies, maintaining the war effort. But the primary purpose is something else entirely."

  "The primary purpose of the convoy is to bait and kill enemy Nascent Souls. The Catacombs has more Nascent Soul cultivators than Earth. Their territory is larger, their spiritual resources are richer. A war of attrition at the Nascent Soul level means we lose. Every time."

  Vivian's hands remained steady on the controls.

  "So we create situations where their Nascent Souls commit to attacks. Then we kill them. Ambush the ambushes. Convoys are perfect bait. High value targets. Predictable routes. Vulnerable enough to be tempting. Some convoys have Nascent Soul kill teams hidden inside."

  She finally glanced back at them.

  "Most convoys are bait. Sacrifices. If every convoy was a trap, the Catacombs would stop attacking. The strategy only works if some convoys are genuinely vulnerable. No one knows which type of convoy they're in. Command doesn't tell you. No one wants to be bait."

  Silence filled the cab. Through the windshield, the convoy continued its advance.

  Tom shook his head. "You're such a killjoy, Vivian. You know the Boston Catacombs hasn't lost a convoy in weeks, right?"

  Vivian said nothing.

  "Besides, the war effort isn't even focused here. The Boston Catacombs is not where America is trying to break through. Everyone knows that." Tom leaned back in his seat. "The cults over here know it too. Both sides are just going through the motions."

  Matt's shoulders relaxed slightly. Some of the tension left his jaw.

  "That's actually reassuring." He stood up from the copilot seat. "I'm going to go cultivate. Take my mind off things."

  He squeezed past Leo and disappeared through the connecting passage toward the cultivation room.

  Tom turned to Leo. "We should go sleep. Rotations start now. This first string of missions is going to be basically three days of constant driving before we make it back to Garrison Boston."

  Leo raised an eyebrow. "Three days?"

  "Vivian takes the first shift. Matt takes the second." Tom gestured toward the back of the transport. "You and I take the third shift together. So we need to be rested."

  He stood, stretching his arms above his head.

  "Come on. The hammocks in the cultivation room are actually pretty comfortable. Matt won't mind if we crash while he meditates."

  Leo took one last look through the windshield. The convoy stretched toward the horizon, a river of steel flowing into hostile territory. Somewhere ahead, the dreadnought's silhouette dominated the formation.

  Was he the hunter, or the hunted?

  ---

  The first day in the Catacombs passed without incident.

  That was the good news. The bad news was everything else.

  "The navigation system is throwing errors again." Vivian's voice came through the intercom, clipped with frustration.

  Leo pulled himself out of his hammock in the cultivation room. This was the fourth mechanical issue in the past six hours. The freshly assembled semi had seemed impressive back at the staging area. Now it felt like a collection of parts that had decided to hold a mutiny.

  "I'll check the diagnostics," Tom called from somewhere in the break room.

  "Diagnostics won't help. It's a hardware problem." Matt's voice joined the chorus. "The coupling between the nav computer and the main display is loose. We need a replacement connector."

  Silence.

  "We don't have a replacement connector," Vivian said.

  "Who packed the spare parts?" Tom asked.

  More silence.

  An even longer silence.

  "We left before the shipment of spare parts would arrive," Matt said.

  Leo rubbed his temples. They were three hours into hostile territory, their navigation system was failing, and apparently they went with the 'Free Two Day Shipping' option.

  "I can fly to command and grab one," Leo offered, pulling his flying sword from his dantian.

  "You can what?" Vivian's voice carried a note of disbelief.

  Five minutes later, Leo was back with the connector. Matt installed it while Vivian kept the transport on course using manual navigation. Tom coordinated with the convoy ahead to explain their temporary reduction in speed as they fell toward the back of the formation.

  It worked. Barely.

  The fuel line coupling failed four hours later.

  "Are you kidding me?" Matt stared at the diagnostic readout like it had personally insulted his family.

  Leo made another trip to command.

  By the second day, the team had developed a system. When something broke, everyone would stare at it in silence for approximately three seconds. Then Leo would sigh, summon his sword, and disappear toward the horizon. Nobody bothered with diagnostics anymore.

  "At least you're getting good cardio," Tom offered during one of Leo's return trips.

  Leo nearly threw a replacement bearing at his head.

  The team barely spoke to each other by the end of that second day. Everyone was exhausted, frustrated, and quietly wondering if this whole arrangement had been a terrible mistake. Matt had started talking to the engine like it was a misbehaving pet. Vivian's responses had shortened to single syllables. Tom had run out of optimistic observations.

  Then they checked their merit totals.

  Tom pulled up the numbers on his tablet during a brief rest period. His eyebrows rose. Then rose further.

  Matt leaned over his shoulder. His jaw dropped.

  Vivian actually started crying a little, and the rest of them pretended not to notice.

  "If we maintain this pace," Matt said slowly, running the calculations a second time to make sure, "all of us will have enough merits to purchase an exemption before we graduate high school."

  Nobody spoke.

  "Most people are lucky to earn an exemption before they graduate college," Tom said eagerly.

  The number sat there on Tom's tablet, glowing softly in the dim light of the cab. Four teenagers. Two days of chaos. And they were already ahead of schedule by a margin that seemed almost absurd.

  Something changed in that moment.

  The fights stopped. The frustrated silences disappeared. When problems arose, they solved them together.

  By the end of their first three-day rotation, their shift system started to come together.

  Handoffs were still clumsy. Communication gaps still led to minor mistakes. But the framework was there, and everyone was committed to making it work.

  By the third week, everything clicked.

  The team had gotten good at preventive maintenance. Matt's spare parts hoard was comprehensive and well-organized. The shift system ran smoothly, everyone got their cultivation time and sleep, and the transport hummed along like a well-oiled machine.

  Well, almost everyone got their allocated time.

  Tom had quietly shortened his daily cultivation allotment to six hours, matching Leo's schedule. Neither of them mentioned it directly, but the flexibility proved invaluable. Whenever an unexpected problem arose, whenever a convoy leader needed coordination, whenever something simply went wrong, Tom and Leo had the spare capacity to handle it without disrupting Matt and Vivian's routines.

  "You don't have to do that," Leo said one evening, watching Tom adjust the schedule on his tablet.

  Tom shrugged. "Someone has to be flexible. Might as well be me."

  They started optimizing their downtime. Longer multi-day trips meant less time wasted at the bases between missions. Maintenance that used to require stopping could be handled on the road. Paperwork got filed during quiet stretches of driving.

  "Word's gotten out," Tom mentioned during one of their shared shifts. "Every convoy leader knows you represent Peak Gold Core combat power. We can get on any convoy we want now, even if it's technically full."

  "Sounds pretty cool."

  "It's not just cool." Tom grinned. "We are earning way more than expected. No more waiting for openings. We pick our routes, we pick our timing. Maximum efficiency."

  They were earning merits twenty-five percent faster than Tom's original projections. Two and a half times faster than a typical group of high schoolers running the same routes.

  Leo's Flying Aces practices every Monday and Tuesday made scheduling a little tricky. However they made it work, the rest of the team used those days to catch up on classes and handle personal matters.

  Vivian somehow maintained her position as first in their class despite spending most of her time in the Catacombs. Leo would occasionally glance toward the cab during his shifts and see her an earbud in, recorded lectures playing while she simultaneously monitored navigation, communications, and the road ahead.

  Leo tried it once. He lasted about ten minutes before nearly missing a course correction.

  "How does she do that?" he asked Matt during a handoff.

  Matt shook his head. "No idea. I stopped trying to figure it out."