Philip allowed the quiet laughter in the chamber to fade before continuing. The delegates had every reason to be cautious, as proposals of this scale rarely benefited everyone equally. Most international agreements contained hidden compromises that only became obvious years later, leaving some nations at a permanent disadvantage. This proposal, however, had been scrutinized from every conceivable angle during the previous week, and despite those efforts, no delegation had uncovered any obvious trap.
That was precisely what unsettled many of the people present.
Several intelligence agencies had spent days dissecting every paragraph of the document. Teams of legal experts had compared it with previous treaties, economists had examined the financial implications, and military analysts had searched for strategic weaknesses. Yet every report reached roughly the same conclusion: the proposal appeared remarkably balanced and surprisingly practical.
Of course, that did not mean everyone welcomed it.
A handful of nations were already preparing arguments to slow the adoption of the treaty, even if they privately admitted that the proposal itself was sound. Russia, in particular, had every reason to delay the negotiations. They understood perfectly well why the European Union wanted the agreement finalized quickly, and they knew that every day of delay gave them more time to negotiate from a stronger position.
The problem was that recent events had robbed them of much of their leverage.
They knew why the EU was bringing this proposal forward: a young women was done being a mascot and wanted to do other things, which led to a whole host of troubles, and they learned of her identity and were briefly tempted to do something underhanded but were quickly pulled back from their dangerous ideas. If even a single hair on that woman's head went missing under suspicious circumstances, the retaliation that followed would likely be catastrophic.
The Russian delegation was not foolish.
Their own great houses had preserved records stretching back centuries, long before the modern era. Those archives contained numerous accounts describing the ancient European trade families and the lengths they would go to protect their own. None of those historical accounts painted a reassuring picture, and the Russian delegates had no desire to test whether those old traditions still survived.
Naturally, some officials had asked whether Russia possessed comparable families of its own.
The answer had been blunt.
"No."
Most of those influential houses had disappeared during the Soviet era.
Revolution, purges, political repression, and decades of ideological conflict had effectively erased much of the old aristocratic structure. Whatever remnants remained possessed nowhere near the influence of Europe's surviving great houses. The comparison simply was not favorable.
History itself offered another uncomfortable reminder.
One of the less publicized reasons behind the rapid collapse of the Eastern Bloc was the quiet support offered by Europe's old merchant and noble families. While governments fought openly on the political stage, those ancient families had worked patiently behind the scenes, accelerating economic pressure wherever opportunities presented themselves. Whether every story surrounding those events was accurate hardly mattered anymore; the reputation alone commanded respect.
Because of that history, Russia found itself in an awkward position.
They wanted more time.
Unfortunately...
The rest of the world no longer seemed interested in waiting.
Even nations that traditionally disagreed with the European Union had expressed cautious optimism regarding the proposal. After years of fruitless negotiations, delegates were eager to move forward rather than continue arguing over the same unresolved issues. If Russia attempted to stall the process too aggressively, there was genuine concern that the remaining nations would simply proceed without them.
Philip understood those political realities perfectly.
That knowledge gave him confidence as he resumed his presentation.
"As many of you know," he began, "our previous negotiations reached something of a standstill."
He looked around the chamber.
"Every proposal eventually encountered the same obstacle."
He raised one finger.
"We lacked an objective method to evaluate military readiness across nations with vastly different traditions, training methods, and organizational structures."
Several delegates nodded.
No one disputed that assessment.
Different countries emphasized different strengths within their armed forces. Some valued strict discipline above all else, while others prioritized initiative, adaptability, or specialized training. Comparing those approaches fairly had proven nearly impossible without introducing political bias into the discussion.
"So..."
Philip smiled faintly.
"Our delegation decided to examine the problem from an entirely different perspective."
The large display behind him illuminated.
Charts, diagrams, and organizational tables gradually appeared across the enormous screen, giving everyone in the chamber a visual overview of the proposal. Rather than overwhelming the audience with numbers immediately, the presentation first focused on the underlying philosophy behind the system.
"For approximately one week," Philip continued, "we have refined this approach."
He paused deliberately.
"The greatest obstacle was never the framework itself."
His expression brightened slightly.
"It was determining how to test it."
A murmur spread through the room.
Everyone already knew where the explanation was heading.
"Fortunately..."
Philip gestured toward the display.
"The System has solved that problem for us."
Another chart appeared.
"The newly announced proving grounds provide exactly the objective testing environment we have been searching for."
That statement immediately drew the full attention of every delegation.
Until the System's announcement, most governments had assumed they would need to create expensive international training exercises spanning multiple countries. Such exercises would have required enormous logistical coordination while still leaving room for accusations of favoritism. The proving grounds eliminated almost every one of those concerns in a single stroke.
Philip allowed the significance to settle before continuing.
"As you all know," he said, "the greatest difference between our militaries is not equipment."
He shook his head.
"It is discipline."
That observation resonated throughout the chamber.
Equipment could eventually be standardized.
Technology could be shared.
Weapons could be manufactured.
Discipline, however, reflected decades of military culture and could not simply be purchased. It represented the collective habits of an entire armed force, making it one of the fairest measurements of long-term military readiness.
"Our proposal," Philip continued, "divides the evaluation into three separate categories."
The pie chart behind him changed once again.
Each section appeared in a different shade, clearly illustrating how the final score would be assembled.
"The foundation of every nation's evaluation will be the performance of its regular armed forces."
He pointed toward the largest portion of the chart.
"Over a rolling five-year period."
Another diagram appeared beside it.
"Each participating nation must enter at least one hundred thousand soldiers annually into each proving ground that they have"
A ripple of surprise passed through several delegations.
The requirement was substantial.
Philip immediately addressed the concern.
"The purpose is consistency."
He spoke calmly.
"A small elite unit cannot accurately represent an entire military."
Several military advisers quietly nodded.
Using only special forces would reveal almost nothing about the average quality of a nation's armed forces. Requiring such a large number of participants ensured that the results reflected the discipline, leadership, logistics, and training standards of the military as a whole rather than the exceptional performance of a tiny elite.
"The average score across those five years," Philip continued, "forms the primary portion of each nation's overall evaluation."
He pointed once more toward the pie chart.
"This section represents seventy percent of the total."
The audience carefully studied the numbers.
"So what happens to the remaining thirty percent?" one delegate quietly asked.
Philip smiled.
"I'm glad you asked."
He advanced the presentation.
"The remaining thirty percent is divided between two additional competitions."
The second section of the chart illuminated.
"Twenty percent is awarded through an advanced academic competition designed for military students and officer candidates."
Several education ministers immediately began taking notes.
"The purpose," Philip explained, "is to reward strategic thinking, theoretical understanding, planning ability, and innovation."
He deliberately emphasized each point.
"The future of warfare depends upon more than physical strength alone."
The final section appeared.
"The remaining ten percent is reserved for special operations forces."
That announcement produced another wave of quiet discussion.
Philip waited patiently before continuing.
"These units represent capabilities that conventional armies rarely possess."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"Although they are comparatively small, their expertise deserves recognition."
The complete scoring system now filled the massive display.
Seventy percent.
Twenty percent.
Ten percent.
Simple enough that every delegation could understand it immediately.
"The advantages extend beyond ranking nations," Philip explained.
He looked across the chamber.
"Competition creates motivation."
That sentence immediately captured the room's attention.
"If nations know that their performance directly influences their standing within the alliance..."
He smiled.
"...they will naturally invest more heavily in improving both their soldiers and their educational institutions."
The proposal offered something unusual.
Rather than forcing cooperation through obligations alone, it encouraged improvement through prestige and measurable achievement. Every nation retained complete control over how it trained its people, yet all of them would compete according to identical standards established by the proving grounds.
"The points earned in each competition," Philip continued, "are added back into each nation's cumulative alliance score."
He gestured toward the final chart.
"Once every category has been completed, those combined scores determine each nation's overall standing within the alliance."
The logic was straightforward.
Consistent military performance mattered most.
Education shaped the future.
Special forces rewarded exceptional excellence.
Together, they painted a far more complete picture than any single competition ever could.
Philip finally reached the end of the public portion of his presentation.
"As for the distribution of alliance benefits..."
He closed the presentation folder resting on the podium.
"...our delegation has prepared several possible frameworks."
His expression remained perfectly professional.
"However, we believe those details are best discussed in a closed session among the participating governments."
The room remained silent for several moments.
Not because the proposal lacked merit.
Quite the opposite.
The delegates had already begun realizing that, for the first time in years, someone had presented a framework capable of breaking the diplomatic deadlock that had stalled humanity's preparations for the next Guardian Trial.