Chapter 195: Global Assault

Chapter 195: Chapter 195: Global Assault

The morning sun broke over the horizon in a warm amber glow, casting long, peaceful shadows across the pristine fields of Sunny Vale Manor. The gentle, rhythmic thrum of the Fragment of the Origin Earth Pulse hummed beneath the floorboards, a quiet reminder that the soil was alive, fertile, and ready for the Grade S truffle spores and Dragon-Vein Emerald Wasabi set to arrive by courier at eight o’clock.

Rowan stretched, pulling on his work shirt as he headed downstairs, expecting the usual comforting scents of Martha’s morning coffee and freshly baked bread.

Instead, he walked into a heavy, suffocating silence.

In the living room, Arthur stood frozen in front of the primary holographic television array, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. Martha sat at the dining table, her coffee cup untouched, her face pale as her eyes remained glued to the screens.

On the wall, dual emergency channels were flashing bright crimson warnings, the ambient studio audio replaced by the chaotic blare of global emergency sirens and overlapping frantic news broadcasts.

"Dad?" Rowan asked, his golden-amber eyes narrowing as he stepped down the hallway. "What happened?"

Arthur didn’t turn around right away. He simply pointed a trembling hand toward the central monitor. "The Order... they didn’t just hide in the Tower, Rowan. When you cut off Rueben’s head and purged their lower-floor networks, you triggered a dead-man’s protocol."

On the screen, ticker tapes in five languages scrolled past at blinding speed:

GLOBAL EMERGENCY DECLARATION — THREAT LEVEL: CATASTROPHE-CLASS

Synchronized Cult Attacks: Over 140 Major Cities & Safe-Zone Metropolises Under Attack

Cult Strategy: Mass Deployment of Stolen Soul-Rot Vials & Subterranean Necrotic Charges

Casualties & Contamination: Over 3% of the Global Human Population Affected

Status: Greatest Human Catastrophe in Recorded History

The footage playing across the channels was horrific. In Tokyo, London, New York, and Seoul, sleeper cells belonging to the Order of Humanity had detonated bio-chemical and necrotic charges simultaneously at midnight.

Without the supply lines from Floor 10 to synthesize refined suppressants, the cult had unleashed raw, unrefined soul-rot reserves directly into public water grids, transit hubs, and residential districts.

Over two hundred million people—more than 3% of the global human population—were currently suffering from acute necrotic contamination, core decay, or violent spatial isolation as entire city sectors were quarantined under biohazard barriers. Global supply chains had collapsed overnight, international guild alliances were drowning in chaos, and regional defense forces were completely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the terror.

"They knew their Tower network was dying," Arthur said quietly, his voice raspy. "So they decided to take the surface down with them. The global government is declaring this the single greatest catastrophe in human history. The hospitals are overflowing, and the emergency alchemical reserves worldwide won’t last three days."

DING-DONG.

The front chime rang softly, breaking the grim silence in the room.

Rowan opened the door to find an Imperial Spatial Courier standing on the porch, his armor stained with soot and his hands visibly shaking. He held a sealed, climate-controlled titanium chest stamped with the official seal of the Global Agricultural Exchange.

"R-Rowan Vance?" the courier stammered, handing over the digital receiver. "Spatial transit networks are shutting down nationwide in ten minutes... but your express order cleared priority routing before the lockdown. Here are your... your Grade S inoculants and rhizomes."

"Thank you," Rowan said, his voice calm, low, and terrifyingly steady as he accepted the heavy chest. "Stay inside the manor perimeter if you need safe harbor. The soil here repels necrotic spores."

The courier blinked, looking out at the glowing, vibrant grass of Sunny Vale before nodding frantically and retreating toward the guest quarters.

Rowan walked back inside, setting the titanium chest onto the table next to Martha. He looked at the television screen, watching the chaotic footage of burning cities, weeping families, and desperate doctors trying to fight a necrotic rot that standard alchemical potions couldn’t touch.

The easygoing smirk of the Sunny Vale farmer was gone. In its place was an unyielding, lethal coldness.

"They thought poisoning the world would force humanity to its knees," Rowan whispered, his golden-amber eyes igniting with primordial domain light as he looked down at the Grade S truffle spores and Emerald Wasabi rhizomes in his hands.

"Arthur," Rowan said, turning to his father. "Call Barney, Seraphina, Mirei, and Caelen. Tell them to get here immediately."

Rowan picked up the Hoe of the World-Tiller leaning against the wall, its forged edge humming with the absolute authority of [Breath of Eden - Lv. 5].

"If the world is dying of poison," Rowan declared, his voice echoing with divine authority, "then Sunny Vale is about to become the world’s pharmacy."

***

Rowan stepped back out onto the main porch of Sunny Vale Manor, where the estate’s veteran farmhands and logistics staff had already gathered in the courtyard. Fear and uncertainty hung heavy in the air following the frantic emergency broadcasts, but the moment Rowan appeared, his grounded, unshakeable presence immediately anchored the crew.

"Listen up," Rowan’s voice rang out, clear and commanding over the rustling fields. "I want every harvester, every transport crate, and every spatial storage bag we have brought to the main plots right now. Harvest every single ripe crop across Sunny Vale — Leave nothing in the soil."

The head farmhand stepped forward, nodding eagerly. "Where are we routing the yields, Boss?"

"Directly to the Imperial Emergency Medical Guilds, the regional quarantine hubs, and every major hospital network within spatial transport range," Rowan answered cleanly. "These crops carry pure, uncorrupted vitality. They will stabilize the victims’ meridians and stop the soul-rot from decaying their cores while we prepare a permanent countermeasure. Move!"

With a unified roar of determination, the staff surged into the fields, machinery and spatial harvesters humming to life as Sunny Vale began its largest emergency harvest to date.

Satisfied the surface operations were in motion, Rowan returned upstairs to his quarters, locking the heavy timber door behind him. He sat cross-legged on the central meditation mat, closing his eyes as his breathing synchronized with the deep, resonant thrum of the Fragment of the Origin Earth Pulse beneath the floorboards.

[Domain: The Virgin Soil]

Space folded smoothly around him. The physical room vanished, replaced instantly by the breathtaking, primordial expanse of his personal sub-dimension. Above him, the colossal, sky-piercing canopy of the World Tree rustled softly, casting a warm, emerald-gold light over endless rolling fields of hyper-fertile earth.

Without wasting a second, Rowan traversed the vibrant meadows, heading straight toward the hollow base of the World Tree. Descending a natural staircase woven from ancient, glowing roots, he entered the subterranean cavern beneath the tree—the vault housing the Basement of the World Tree.

At the center of the cavern lay a glowing, pristine reservoir filled with liquid starlight: the domain’s accumulated Primordial Spring Water.

Rowan extended his right hand, his golden-amber eyes igniting with absolute domain authority. "Drain half," he commanded softly.

The liquid light churned violently. With a low, musical roar, half of the vast reservoir raised into the air, splitting into thousands of concentrated, suspended spheres of divine liquid before flowing smoothly into a specialized, high-capacity spatial vault within his ring. A single drop of this water could purify a municipal water tower; thousands of gallons of it would form the potent baseline for a global antidote.

Leaving the root cavern, Rowan stepped back out onto the domain’s upper fields. Because of the extreme time dilation and dense environmental mana inside The Virgin Soil, the crops planted during previous ascents were overflowing with concentrated vitality—spirit herbs, ancient core-restoration grains, and primordial fruits glowing like raw gemstones.

Rowan raised the Hoe of the World-Tiller with both hands, driving the haft into the earth.

A localized wave of golden force swept across the entire five-acre interior of the domain. In a clean, mathematical sweep, every single ripe crop detached smoothly from the soil, floating through the air in organized streams before settling neatly into designated spatial storage compartments.

With the soil turned, refreshed, and steaming with latent primordial energy, Rowan retrieved the newly delivered titanium chest from his spatial storage.

Opening the climate-controlled vault, he brought out the Grade S assets: the Royal Imperial Black Truffle inoculants, the Celestial Diamond White Truffle mycelium, and the twelve pristine Dragon-Vein Emerald Wasabi rhizomes, alongside vast sacks of high-yield restoration seeds.

Rowan worked with practiced, fluid precision. He carved specialized cold-granite channels along the domain’s subterranean spring lines to bed the Emerald Wasabi rhizomes into fast-flowing, pulse-enriched water. Across the central oak-tree groves, he deep-inoculated the soil with the black and white truffle spores, burying them into hyper-fertile pockets rich with earth mana. Finally, he carpeted the remaining open fields with dense rows of emergency medicinal crops.

Standing at the center of the newly planted domain, Rowan raised his hand one last time, channeling [Breath of Eden - Lv. 5].

A blinding, liquid-gold mana fell across the entire dimension, soaking deep into the newly planted spores and seeds. Under the domain’s accelerated time flow, the soil groaned with life, the wasabi rhizomes instantly taking root in the crystalline waters while the truffle mycelium spread like living silver threads through the earth.

Rowan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, looking over his domain with a cold, resolute smirk. The foundation was laid. Within hours, the domain would yield the greatest harvest the world had ever seen.