You said you were going to make games, how did you become the richest man without doing anything?

The lights of the treatment center shone quietly in the night, like a lonely but steadfast lighthouse.

Under the lamplight, Sherlock's fingers trembled slightly, the words on the letter stinging his memories.

"They're looking for you. Not because of who you are, but because you might become 'that being.'"

"The arbitrator is not a position or a title, but a 'result'."

"Our father... he didn't die on the battlefield, but from the failure of the Arbitrators' plan."

At the end of the letter, one sentence was smeared with ink, but Sherlock could still make out a few words:
"...Your awakening may come sooner than expected..."

“What exactly is the Arbitrators Project?” he murmured.

“It’s an experiment,” Annabelle’s voice came from behind him.

She walked in, her expression grave. "I've reviewed the capital's secret archives. The Arbitrator Project was the last attempt at 'order reconstruction' at the end of the monarchy."

"Restructuring?"

"They believe that the legal, military, and theocratic systems of the capital are corrupt and inadequate to cope with the rise of the demi-humans and the threat of foreign enemies."

"So they want to create something... that transcends the three branches of government?"

“Yes,” Annabelle nodded. “An entity that can reconcile conflicts and check power through ‘personal will.’ It is neither subordinate to the military, nor to the temple, nor controlled by the council of nobles.”

"They call these kinds of people... 'arbitrators'."

Sherlock fell silent.

He suddenly understood many things.

Why was he always able to mediate conflicts between multiple ethnic groups?
Why can his healing magic adapt to the bodies of different races?
Why is it that he is always trusted and relied upon amidst chaos?

These are not accidental, but rather a kind of "design" deeply rooted in the soul.

“They’ve tampered with me,” he whispered.

“You were chosen.” Annabelle’s eyes were filled with complex emotions. “After that war, the authorities declared the Arbitrator Project a failure, and all the test subjects died. But… you survived.”

Sherlock's gaze turned cold.

"They want me to be a puppet."

"But you chose to become a 'doctor'."

"Because I don't want to take orders from anyone anymore."

"Now, they want to take you back."

“Then let them come.” Sherlock stood up, his eyes sharp.

The wind outside billowed his cloak, as if setting the stage for the storm to come.

Meanwhile, in the underground archives of the Royal Capital Military Headquarters.

Julius stood before a sealed magic door, his face grim.

"Confirm identity."

An ancient voice emanated from the magic-patterned gate.

"Julius Albrecht, First Regiment Commander of the Royal Guard Division."

"Authorization in progress... Authentication successful."

The door slowly opened, revealing the dusty archives.

He walked in, his fingers tracing rows of sealed files, finally stopping at a file sealed with black chains.

[Arbitrators Program - Final Report]

He placed his hand on the seal and whispered the incantation.

The chains broke, and the files slowly unfurled.

Page 1:
"Experiment number: Z-01, code name: Sherlock Irwin".

"Racial Adaptability: 100%"

"Magic Harmony Index: Grade A (Healing Specialization)"

"Personality Development: Stable, with high empathy, rationality, and abnormal resistance value."

"Conclusion: Not suitable for military use; recommended for transfer to the support system."

"—Signed by the experiment leader, Erin Irwin."

Julius's eyes widened in surprise.

“Eileen…that’s his sister.”

He continued flipping through the pages, and on the last page was a handwritten note:

"Z-01 is out of control; we cannot control its development direction."

"He was unwilling to become the 'arbitrator' of the capital."

He wanted to become—humanity's own arbitrator.

"We failed."

Julius slowly closed the file, his eyes as cold as the night.

"This person cannot be allowed to live."

The next day, the capital officially issued an arrest warrant:
[Rebel leader Sherlock Erwin, former royal army medic, now illegally controls demi-humans and builds an armed force, intending to overthrow the order of the royal capital.]

[Bounty: One million gold coins, dead or alive.]

The news spread like wildfire throughout the city.

The noble council acquiesced, the temple remained silent, and the military tacitly agreed.

The entire capital city seemed to unite overnight in the hunt for the "Arbitrator".

In the treatment center on Ruins Street, Sherlock simply grows herbs in the yard.

“Did you know?” he said to Dova, “this herb is actually used to calm the nerves.”

"Doctor, you've got a bounty on your head, aren't you nervous?"

"not nervous."

"You're crazy."

"I just... finally understand who I am."

He stood up and looked up at the sky.

“I am not a doctor, nor a soldier, nor their guinea pig.”

"I'm just a—"

"A person who wants to protect human lives."

Annabelle, who was outside the door, heard these words, smiled softly, and walked in.

"So are you ready?"

"What to do?"

"Do what you're supposed to do."

"what's up?"

"--arbitration."

That night, in the central square of Ruins Street.

On the simple wooden platform, Sherlock stood before the crowd.

Below the stage were hundreds of poor people, demi-humans, vagrants, homeless people, former soldiers, deserters, and even thieves and beggars.

Their faces showed no hope, only exhaustion.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sherlock said calmly.

“If you are afraid, the king will attack us.”

“You’re worried that I’ll end up like those ‘heroes,’ abandoning you in the end.”

“You don’t believe me.”

"I won't let you believe me either."

"Because I am not a savior."

"I'm just an ordinary person—like you all."

"But there is one thing that you don't have."

He raised his right hand and pointed to his heart.

"I have made a decision."

"I want to turn this ruin into a place where 'the fate of the capital will not be decided'."

"A place that does not rely on the army, the nobles, or the gods."

"Something that is maintained by everyone together—"

"The Land of Freedom".

After he finished speaking, the audience fell silent.

Then, a hand was raised.

It's Fufu.

"I support you!"

Then Fina said, "I support it too!"

Rhea: "I will protect every word you've ever said!"

Duowa: "I don't understand what you're saying, but I'll do it with you!"

Ophelia: "Clatter, clatter... My undead army is ready!"

One, two, ten, a hundred...

The entire square erupted in applause and cheers like a tidal wave.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He knew that from this moment on—

He is no longer alone.

And atop the tower in the capital, the ever-silent "Old King" finally opened his eyes. "The Arbitrator... has finally awakened."

He sighed.

"Let the game begin."

The wind rises from the ruins.

Sherlock, whom the capital city called a “rebel,” announced the establishment of the “Land of Freedom” in the ruins, which swept through the entire lower class of the capital city like a tornado.

Overnight, dozens of slums, refugee alleys, and subhuman settlements began to converge on Ruins Street.

They were not doing it for revolution.

Just to live.

Sherlock sat in the rudimentary conference room of the treatment center, facing a highly incongruous map. The map showed the slum structure of the entire capital, transportation routes, hidden alleys, military outposts, and even the distribution of church temples.

"Did you organize these?" He looked at Fina sitting opposite him.

The latter was gnawing on a chicken leg, with a little oil on the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were unusually clear.

"I used to be a black market courier boss, traversing every corner of the capital. You think I only stole medicinal herbs?"

"Didn't you say you were a thief?"

“I am a ‘professional distribution coordinator’,” she said confidently.

“…Alright.” Sherlock sighed. “This map is important. We need it to plan patrol routes, defense boundaries, and… escape routes.”

“Are you really going to build a ‘city’?” Fina stared at him. “A city that isn’t near the capital?”

“Not a city,” Sherlock shook his head. “It’s a place that gives you a sense of security.”

"Do you know what this means?"

"war."

At the same time, a black carriage slowly drove into the western district of the capital.

A sacred emblem—golden wings crossed with a scepter—was suspended on the carriage, symbolizing the "Court of God".

The car door opened, and a woman dressed in a white and gold robe stepped out slowly.

She had a dignified appearance and eyes as clear and cold as an icy spring. She held a sealing scripture in her hand and was followed by two paladins clad in silver armor.

Her name is Serena Crown Radiance, the current Chief Judge of the Royal Capital Temple, and the highest executive officer directly under the Pope.

“Target: Sherlock Alvin.” She opened the codex, her tone calm. “Inciting rebellion, blaspheming order, and rejecting divine authority in the name of heresy is an unforgivable crime.”

"By order of the Pope, they shall be put to trial."

"Capture them alive, without leaving a trace."

The paladin bowed: "Yes."

Ruins Street, backyard of the treatment center.

"You want to see my sister?" Sherlock looked at Annabelle.

“She’s one of the heads of the Arbitrators program,” Annabelle nodded. “If we want to know what you’ve really become, we have to investigate from the source.”

"She's in the North, and this road is difficult to travel."

"I'll stay with you."

"What should we do here?"

“I’ll stay,” Fou suddenly interjected, standing ramrod straight. “You go to the North, I’ll keep the hospital running.”

“I’m staying too,” Dova grinned. “I haven’t had enough of those troublemakers yet!”

“I’m not leaving either.” Leia hugged her hammer. “I still need to teach the residents how to forge iron for self-defense.”

"Crack crack crack... I am willing to guard the shadows of the land of freedom." Ophelia floated in mid-air, her laughter sinister.

Looking at the group of people, Sherlock suddenly realized that he was not alone.

He nodded: "Okay."

"Annabelle and I are going to the North."

"You, hold this place."

Three days later, at night.

Outside the ruined street, a small temple squad of no more than twenty people quietly infiltrated.

They weren't wearing divine robes or carrying divine staffs; they were simply dressed as ordinary mercenaries. Yet, each of them moved with the precision of a soldier, their aura restrained, their killing intent concealed.

"Objective: Test the defenses, capture key figures, and create panic."

Operation codename: Judgment.

They dispersed in the darkness, silently approaching the treatment center.

Just as they were about to enter the street corner, a dark figure suddenly descended from the sky!

boom--!
The streets were blown apart, and dust flew everywhere.

"who!?"

"Are you here to die?" a voice came from the dust.

A tall figure slowly walked out, carrying an iron pot on his shoulder and swinging his wolf tail.

Many children!

He grinned, revealing his fangs: "Our family doctor isn't here, so as the doorman, I'll have to beat you up first."

"Do it!"

Several temple warriors rushed forward, one wielding a holy silver dagger, the other unleashing a sealing spell, their target aimed directly at Dowa's head and heart.

But the next second—

Bang!
The iron pot swept out horizontally, carrying scorching magical power, and sent the two people flying with one blow!

"You think all I can do is cook?"

Boom boom boom——!
At the other end of the street, Rhea led her team of blacksmiths out, wielding makeshift hammers and shields, roaring as she charged forward!
"The land of freedom does not welcome you!!!"

On the rooftop, Ophelia waved her hand and summoned dozens of ghostly hounds, which roared as they pounced on the enemy.

"Clatter, clatter, clatter... I, your humble servant, will clean the house for you today!"

The temple squad was completely engulfed in the chaos of battle.

They never expected that a small organization from a "slum" could execute such efficient tactical coordination.

And just as they were preparing to retreat—

A figure rushed out from the street corner, smashing a teapot into the head of an enemy!
"You won't even give me time to make tea!"

Fufu! ! !

This battle lasted only a quarter of an hour.

The temple squad was wiped out, but the news caused a huge uproar in the capital.

The Temple Inquisition squad suffered heavy losses in the ruined streets!

Does the Land of Freedom truly possess independent defensive capabilities?

Can they hold their ground even without an arbitrator?

The royal council was shaken.

Meanwhile, Serena, the chief judge of the temple, held the report in her hand, her expression unchanged.

"Then we'll send out the second adjudicator."

"Target: Devastating blow."

"There is no need to capture him alive again."

The wind in the North is as cold as ice blades.

Sherlock and Annabelle walked through the snow, and before them lay a valley cabin buried by the wind and snow.

That was Eileen's residence.

When the door opened, a woman wearing a northern fur robe stood in the doorway.

She was five years older than Sherlock, and her features bore a striking resemblance to his, yet she held a magical pistol in her hand, pointing it at them.

"You finally came."

"sister."

Do you know how dangerous you are right now?

"I understand it better than ever before."

Eileen slowly lowered her gun and sighed.

"You should know that the arbitrator is not just one person."

Sherlock and Annabelle exchanged a glance.

"What do you mean?"

"The Arbitrators Program... consists of five people."

"You are the only one who survived."

The wind and snow intensified, and flashes of lightning appeared on the horizon.

And the temple bells in the capital city have already tolled for the "war".

Arbitrators are no longer a legend.

Rather, it is the spark of change in reality.

In the northern valleys, the wind and snow are as sharp as knives.

The fire crackled in the cabin, its light reflecting on the three men's faces, revealing the shadows of the past and the impending storm.

"You said—the Arbitrators Project has a total of five people?" Sherlock looked at the woman in front of him, his tone heavier than ever before.

Erin Erwin, a senior researcher at the former Royal Military Research Institute—and Sherlock's older sister.

“Yes.” She nodded, her voice hoarse. “You are Z-01, the original core test subject. There are also Z-02, Z-03, Z-04, and Z-05—each handled by a different research team, with the goal of creating ‘five arbitration personalities’.”

"Personality?" (End of Chapter)