The thrill of personally vaporizing a few D-Rank heroes faded quickly, replaced by the grim reality of Ragnar's financial situation.

The EXP he'd gained was a nice little bonus, but it was a drop in the ocean of his massive CP debt.

He was a king with an empty treasury, and his plans for a grand monster city were on hold until he could get his economy back on track.

"We need more CP, and we need it now,"

Ragnar grumbled, pacing in the Throne Room. A recent, small-scale invasion of the Farm had netted him a measly 50 CP, barely enough to buy a handful of goblins.

"I can't fund a war with this kind of pocket change."

Pixia, ever the helpful font of information, floated beside him.

"My Lord, based on my analysis of the System's reward structure, there are two primary methods for acquiring CP outside of natural regeneration.

The first is direct combat experience, as you have just demonstrated.

The second…" she hesitated. "The second is a high-risk, high-reward feature known as [Random Creation]."

Ragnar stopped pacing. "Random Creation? You mean a gacha? A loot box?"

A dangerous, familiar glint entered his eye. In his old life, he'd had a love-hate relationship with gacha games.

They were predatory, unfair, and designed to drain your wallet. He loved them.

"Precisely, my Lord," Pixia confirmed.

"You can spend a variable amount of CP for a chance to create a subordinate unit.

The rarity and power of the unit are randomized. You could spend 100 CP and receive a common Slime, or you could receive a unique, legendary creature that cannot be created through any other means."

"So it's a slot machine," Ragnar said, his inner gambler stirring.

"I like it. How much CP do we have?"

"Fifty, my Lord. From the last student party."

"Fifty it is!" he declared, ignoring Pixia's look of academic horror. "Let's roll the dice! Give me something good, universe!"

He opened the [Random Creation] tab, a feature he'd ignored until now, and pumped all 50 CP into it.

The screen flashed with a dazzling array of colors. Gold! It was a gold flash! That meant something rare, right?!

A pillar of muddy brown energy erupted in the middle of the Throne Room. When it faded, it left behind a hulking, ten-foot-tall creature with a single, massive horn in the center of its forehead. It was big, ugly, and holding a club the size of a small car. It was a C-Rank Ogre.

Ragnar stared. He pulled up the normal creation menu. A standard Ogre cost 35 CP.

He had just paid 50 CP for a 35 CP monster.

"I got a common drop," he whispered, his voice dangerously quiet. The gacha god was a cruel and fickle master.

"I spent all my money and got the fantasy equivalent of a toaster. A very big, very ugly toaster."

With his gacha addiction momentarily sated and his wallet empty, Ragnar turned his attention to a more pressing matter.

He needed a reliable team for his next big move: invading a rival Demon King's territory to forcibly "acquire" their resources.

But who would lead this crucial first expedition? His eyes fell upon Isabelle.

She was powerful, experienced, but he needed to see how she stacked up against his own elite creations.

"Alright, people! Time for another round of performance reviews!" he announced.

"Isabelle, Chloe, Reina. In the arena. I want to see what you can do."

The three of them gathered in the Mess Hall. Chloe, the graceful Dark High Elf. Reina, the stoic, explosive Dhampir. And Isabelle, the former Sword Saint.

"First up, Isabelle versus Chloe," Ragnar commanded.

You two will spar. First one to yield, loses. Begin!"

It was, in retrospect, the single stupidest decision he had made since the party.

The battle wasn't a spar. It was a vicious, personal, and deeply cathartic attempt at mutual murder.

BOOM!

They met in the center of the arena, not with the cautious testing of a training exercise, but with the full, unrestrained fury of jilted lovers.

The ground cracked under their feet. The wind shrieked as their blades clashed, a screaming vortex of dark steel and Elven grace.

CRACK!

A shockwave erupted from their crossed swords, a visible dome of force that blasted dust and pebbles across the room.

Every parry was a barely-disguised killing blow, every feint a venomous insult.

"Your form is sloppy, Commander," Chloe hissed, her twin blades a blur of motion.

"You rely on brute force, like the human animal you are."

"And you fight like a coward, hiding in the shadows," Isabelle retorted, her powerful strikes forcing Chloe back step by agonizing step.

"Afraid to face a real opponent in the light?"

Ragnar watched, his jaw tight.

"Okay, that's enough! It's just a test!" he yelled.

They both ignored him, their eyes locked on each other, the battle escalating.

He was starting to think this wasn't about tactics anymore.

Chloe, caught off guard by the human-style feint, was a fraction of a second too slow to react.

The flat of Isabelle's blade slapped against her side. It was a clear, decisive hit.

"Winner: Isabelle," Ragnar said, impressed.

Chloe grumbled and left the scene in anger.

Next was Reina. She stepped forward, her crimson eyes burning with cold fire.

"Begin!"

BOOM!

Reina didn't dance. She exploded.

The ground shattered under her feet as she became a red-and-black blur, aiming for a single, overwhelming knockout blow.

Isabelle stood her ground. Instead of meeting the charge head-on, she shifted her weight, angling her body.

BOOM! CRACK!

Reina's fist, a miniature detonation, whistled past Isabelle's head, the wind shrieking.

The sonic boom from the near-miss was deafening.

Isabelle, using Reina's own momentum against her, flowed around the attack, the hilt of her sword striking Reina precisely at the back of the knee.

...

Reina stumbled, her explosive charge broken. Before she could recover, the point of Dáinsleif was at her throat.

Silence.

Ragnar stared. His created monsters, even his most powerful ones, fought like programmed machines.

They were strong, they were fast, but they were predictable.

Isabelle… she fought with her mind. She used feints, leveraged momentum, and exploited openings that his other minions didn't even see.

She had something they lacked, years of real combat experience, of fighting against other thinking, breathing opponents.

It was a hidden stat, one not listed on any screen. And it was the most powerful one of all.

A slow grin spread across Ragnar's face.

The gacha had failed him. But he already had his SSR-rank unit. He'd just stolen her from the other team.

"Alright," he said, his voice full of a new, absolute certainty.

"The invasion team has its commander." He looked directly at Isabelle.

"Congratulations on the promotion. Your first target is the Tyrant of the Shopping Mall.

Don't disappoint me."

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