What Gaia found most admirable was not the young officer's talent but the restraint shown by his government. Like many others around the world, she had been quietly observing his progress since the Trial ended, carefully measuring every decision made by both the young man and those guiding him. It quickly became apparent that he possessed the ability to advance to Stage One nearly a month earlier if he truly wished to do so. Instead of rushing toward immediate strength, however, he and his government had chosen a far more patient path.
Their reasoning was surprisingly simple.
Breaking through to Stage One represented a permanent milestone in a person's cultivation, and the strength of one's foundation before that breakthrough often determined how much potential remained afterward. Sacrificing long-term growth for short-term gains would have been a foolish decision, especially for someone expected to carry the hopes of an entire nation. Since they had already waited this long, another few weeks meant very little in comparison.
To support that decision, Saint Martin had spent what many outsiders considered an unreasonable amount of money.
The government purchased an exceptionally rare fruit capable of strengthening the body ever so slightly before a breakthrough. The improvement it granted was modest, almost insignificant by itself, and certainly not worth the asking price from a purely economic perspective. Nevertheless, the tiny island nation still paid one thousand silver coins for the treasure without hesitation.
For a country the size of Saint Martin, that amount of money was enormous.
Countless infrastructure projects could have been funded with those same resources. Public buildings could have been renovated, roads expanded, or new equipment purchased for the military. Instead, the government invested those funds into improving a single young man by only the smallest margin because they believed that even the slightest increase in his future potential justified the expense.
Gaia found that decision strangely heartwarming.
It demonstrated complete trust between the nation and the individual chosen to represent it. The government believed that he would never abuse the opportunities placed before him, while the young officer continued dedicating every waking hour toward becoming worthy of that faith. Neither side treated the arrangement as a political transaction. Instead, it resembled a quiet promise shared between an entire nation and one of its sons.
Originally, Gaia had never intended to reward the first human who successfully advanced to Stage One.
From her perspective, reaching the first stage of cultivation represented nothing more than the natural progression of intelligent life. Every civilization would naturally produce individuals capable of crossing that threshold without any effort. Rewarding such an achievement felt unnecessary because it celebrated something she had always expected humanity to accomplish.
She had also assumed that one of the great powers would inevitably claim that honor.
Countries such as China, the United States, India, or one of the major European nations possessed overwhelming advantages in terms of population, research, infrastructure, and available resources. Statistically speaking, it seemed almost impossible for a tiny island nation to compete against such enormous countries. Even if Saint Martin produced one exceptional individual, the larger nations possessed thousands of similarly talented candidates.
That assumption, however, slowly began to crumble.
The more Gaia watched Saint Martin's careful preparations, the more she realized that she had underestimated what determination, unity, and intelligent planning could accomplish. Large nations possessed tremendous resources, but those resources were often divided among countless competing interests. Small nations, on the other hand, could sometimes focus every available asset upon a single objective.
That realization changed her mind.
If Saint Martin truly became the first nation to produce a Stage One cultivator under these circumstances, perhaps such an accomplishment deserved recognition after all. The achievement would not merely represent personal strength. It would stand as proof that intelligence, patience, and cooperation could occasionally overcome overwhelming differences in wealth and population.
More importantly, it would send a message to every smaller nation on Earth.
The future did not belong exclusively to the largest countries. While they would always enjoy certain advantages, they did not possess a monopoly on success. Careful planning, wise leadership, and the willingness to nurture exceptional individuals could allow even the smallest states to carve out meaningful places for themselves within the new world.
Gaia knew all too well that many governments would never have allowed such a person to flourish.
In several countries, an individual capable of becoming vastly stronger than the political leadership would immediately be viewed as a potential threat rather than a national treasure. Ambitious politicians, fearful military leaders, or jealous rivals might attempt to suppress such a person long before they reached their full potential. History had repeated that mistake countless times across many civilizations.
Saint Martin's political system made that outcome far less likely.
Although it remained a democracy, its relatively small population created an atmosphere very different from that of larger nations. Claiming that everyone knew everyone else would have been an exaggeration, but not by much. Personal relationships remained strong throughout the island, political competition rarely became excessively hostile, and public officials generally remained in office unless they committed serious mistakes.
That sense of familiarity fostered an unusual level of trust.
People evaluated one another based upon years of shared experience rather than distant public images. Ambition certainly existed, but it rarely evolved into the ruthless power struggles commonly seen in larger political systems. For Gaia, that environment greatly increased the likelihood that truly talented individuals would receive support instead of becoming targets of suspicion.
A thoughtful smile slowly appeared across her face.
"I should probably finish my new project," she murmured quietly.
If the young officer truly intended to break through in the near future, there was little time remaining before she needed everything prepared. Several details still required careful adjustment, and although they appeared insignificant individually, together they would determine whether the entire project succeeded or failed.
The project itself remained one of the few secrets Gaia intentionally kept from humanity.
Ordinarily, she made little effort to hide information from the world's governments. If politicians wished to discover what she was doing, they generally possessed more than enough opportunities to observe her actions. In this particular case, however, secrecy served an important purpose because revealing her intentions too early might unintentionally influence the delicate political discussions already taking place across the globe.
Those discussions centered upon an initiative currently being developed by the European Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Interestingly, the ministry made almost no attempt to conceal its work. Diplomats from numerous countries already understood that Europe intended to propose something significant, and rumors had spread throughout the international community within hours of the first discussion ending. Rather than seeing that openness as a weakness, Gaia considered it a remarkably positive sign.
She genuinely liked the direction those negotiations were taking.
The proposal did not magically erase the enormous advantages enjoyed by the world's largest powers. No realistic diplomatic agreement ever could. Nevertheless, it offered smaller nations something equally valuable: hope that they would not simply become victims of international politics in the decades ahead. Even modest protections could dramatically improve the balance between great powers and their smaller neighbors.
Her own project sought to strengthen that balance even further.
It would never place tiny island nations on equal footing with continental superpowers, nor was that its purpose. Instead, Gaia hoped it would provide enough opportunities for determined countries to compete through intelligence, cooperation, and specialized development rather than sheer population alone. If successful, humanity's future might become significantly more diverse than many analysts currently predicted.
Above all else, however, Gaia wished someone would finally conclude the diplomatic negotiations taking place on Null Island.
During the first few days, she had found the proceedings endlessly fascinating. Watching experienced diplomats maneuver through complicated international issues using carefully chosen words proved surprisingly entertaining. Their ability to speak for hours without directly answering a single question struck her as both impressive and utterly baffling.
Three weeks later, the novelty had completely disappeared.
She had reached the point where even an immortal consciousness found the endless negotiations exhausting. Every proposal generated another committee, every committee requested another review, and every review produced yet another round of discussions. Progress existed, but it advanced at such a painfully slow pace that even Gaia's considerable patience occasionally wore thin.
"I suppose I could simply read their minds," she muttered to herself.
Technically, she possessed that ability.
Unfortunately, the only reliable method involved leaving the target either dead or permanently brain-dead afterward, which she considered an entirely unacceptable price for satisfying her curiosity. Whatever frustrations diplomacy caused, murdering negotiators simply to speed up the process would hardly improve humanity's future.
Instead, she settled for observation.
After weeks of carefully watching every meeting, body language, and private conversation she witnessed, Gaia had pieced together a fairly accurate picture of the world's political direction over the coming decade. She disliked many aspects of those plans, particularly the willingness of certain major powers to prioritize national advantage over genuine international cooperation.
That was one of the reasons Herman's recent initiative had pleased her so much.
His intervention had introduced fresh momentum into negotiations that had been threatening to stagnate indefinitely. Even if the discussions remained slow, at least they had finally begun moving toward meaningful decisions instead of endlessly circling the same arguments.
Besides...
The political drama itself was undeniably entertaining.
Watching ambassadors attempt to outmaneuver one another, observing alliances quietly form and dissolve, and seeing veteran diplomats struggle to maintain perfect composure during unexpected developments had become one of her favorite ways to pass the time. At the moment, she could not isolate herself to focus entirely upon her own work, making humanity's endless political theatre an unexpectedly pleasant distraction.
There was another reason she continued watching so closely.
Despite everything she knew, Gaia could never predict the future with complete certainty. Divination, contrary to humanity's countless myths and legends, did not reveal destiny itself. It simply calculated enormous numbers of possible outcomes, comparing countless variables before identifying the futures most likely to occur.
The greatest flaw in that process was something humanity possessed in abundance.
Free will.
A single unexpected decision made by one ordinary individual could trigger a chain of events that spread outward through society like ripples across water. Given enough time, that tiny deviation could completely overturn predictions that previously seemed almost inevitable. Combined with the fact that humanity's new world still lacked sufficient historical data for truly accurate simulations, Gaia accepted that even she could not know exactly what tomorrow would bring.