Mr. Han was busy adjusting his streaming setup. Tonight’s broadcast was a calm one — Infected Skyline: Building a City-State.

At first glance, it sounded dull, but Mr. Han’s commentary had always been engaging. Many of his loyal viewers were already waiting, and the moment he went live, they flooded into his channel.

Even if they didn’t watch closely, just listening to Mr. Han’s panicked reactions had become its own kind of entertainment.

But tonight’s stream was about to take a very different turn.

—

“What? The drones detected unidentified players scouting the area?”

Mr. Han frowned slightly and stood up. “Are you sure?”

The player reporting nodded so fast it looked like his head might fall off. Mr. Han immediately signaled a few veteran players to follow him, and together they headed for the city wall.

Through the thermal imaging feed sent back by the drones, they could clearly see several figures lying prone in the snow, holding binoculars and spying in the direction of their settlement.

Mr. Han’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me… it’s those Trolls again?”

Everyone exchanged looks — and realized he might be right.

Those Troll is a massive faction of players — rivaled the Holy Knight Federation in strength. They were one of the “Three Major Powers” in this virtual war. Though the Trolls lacked unity, their countless guilds and cliques made them a formidable force. And each of them loved chaos — true troublemakers who delighted in stirring things up.

“Are we about to have another faction war?” one of the veterans muttered. “The last one was just last month — the Battle of Prong. We didn’t get a clear winner, but we knocked their elite squad down four whole levels… though we lost a few sets of junk gear in return.”

“Pretty normal,” another said with a smirk. “You ever play EVE Online?”

“Uh… I tried the tutorial, mined some rocks, then got completely lost.”

“I knew it. Anyway, they treats this game like EVE 2.0. If they go a few months without a war, they start twitching.”

Mr. Han clicked his tongue. “And it’s not like they have much to lose. Even if they drop a level or two, who cares? Their junk gear isn’t worth a dime. Tomorrow they’ll just raid the patrol corps for new stuff.”

“At least it’s cheaper than EVE — where a single 14-hour war could cost players tens of thousands of dollars in destroyed ships.”

Indeed, EVE Online once saw a legendary 14-hour battle… only for that record to be broken years later. The new war lasted 49 hours straight — over a hundred thousand players clashing in a massive cosmic battlefield. Missiles and lasers filled the sky, titan-class ships exploded like fireworks, and by the end, total losses exceeded ten million U.S. dollars.

—

“So what now?” one player asked. “Do we fight?”

As the veterans debated, Mr. Han noticed the sudden spike in his viewer count. The chat was exploding with excitement:

“Second Battalion! Bring out the Italian cannon!”

“Crush those Trolls, leave no survivors!”

Mr. Han chuckled. “The Trolls really is like some stray mutt on the roadside — can’t stop barking.”

He turned to the camera, addressing his audience directly. “Of course we’ll fight. No way we’re letting those Trolls keep walking all over us.”

He shrugged. “Though honestly… with our gear, they might just collapse before they even get close.”

It wasn’t arrogance — it was true. The Federation players were equipped with Tomorrow’s Development-grade high-tech combat coats, while the Trolls still looked like savages wielding sticks and scrap weapons.

“Let’s send out our scouts,” Mr. Han ordered. “Find out which guilds the Trolls brought this time.”

“Roger,” someone replied with a grin.

The Troll was notoriously divided, made up of countless small war guilds. The one that had gone toe-to-toe with the Federation last month was likely still recovering. The scouts’ job was to identify the players’ usernames and guild tags, cross-check them online, and plan their counter-strategy accordingly.

Within minutes, players specialized in scouting and sniping set out under the starry, snow-filled night, wearing white cloaks that blended perfectly with the landscape. Through their long-range scopes, they spotted the approaching group.

“Hmm… looks like it’s mostly the Rat Guild — you know, the one full of streamers and meme-lovers.”

The sniper squinted and continued, “Didn’t think they’d show up this time.”

The Rat Guild was affiliated with Mouse Platform, a Western streaming site. Its members were a mix of high-level players and content creators, known for their flashy antics and viral stunts. Each member brought their own audience — and they weren’t weak, either.

The vanguard scouts soon returned from their mission and reported back. Upon hearing their findings, Mr. Han and the other veteran players all let out a collective sigh of relief.

Fortunately, they had joined Tomorrow’s Development, earning access to advanced equipment and better combat gear. While some players couldn’t use all the weapons or armor from the faction’s store due to stat restrictions, their elite units were more than strong enough.

Had they not joined Tomorrow’s Development, this battle would have been a nightmare. The Rat Guild alone could have caused massive trouble.

But now? They had an edge — and Mr. Han knew it.

Still, he wasted no time. “Form up the troops!” he ordered. If enemy scouts had been spotted, that meant their main force couldn’t be far.

In the U.S., it was still early Saturday morning — fewer players online, less manpower. But in Asia, it was Saturday night. And Saturday night meant one thing: every gamer in the region was online and ready to fight.

Did the Trolls really think they’d attack now and catch them sleeping? Laughable.

Then again… it made sense. The Trolls had timed it perfectly — fighting through their daylight hours while counting on Asia’s players to tire out overnight. A simple but effective time-zone war tactic.

“Send word to the guild leaders in Japan, Korea, and Southeast Asia,” Mr. Han commanded. “We’re holding a strategy meeting.”

Even with superior equipment, he wasn’t taking chances. If their high-tier gear got destroyed and looted, that advantage would disappear instantly.

This was going to be a siege defense.

—

Five minutes later, a sniper player burst into the room, panting and cursing.

“Damn it all—! Dawn of the Newborns! I just saw three catapults out there!”

Mr. Han’s expression darkened. “Catapults? Those weren’t even in the last siege!”

“Their main force is already closing in,” the sniper continued breathlessly. “I didn’t get a full count, but there are thousands of them!”

Mr. Han shot to his feet. “Sound the horn!”

A thunderous horn blast rolled from the battlements, it’s long, piercing call split the night and echoed through every corner of the settlement.

Players froze mid-conversation and rushed toward the central square. The horn were the rallying cry of war.

On the holographic map, enemy and allied positions lit up in red and blue. Mr. Han frowned, but when he noticed a familiar player logging in, his mood lightened slightly.

“Glad you’re here. Take a look, Xiao Ran.”

Xiao Ran — full handle Xiao Ran Asagiri — was a well-known content creator and skilled player. A Lupo from Ursus, he was one of the Federation’s core contributors and a trusted strategist.

After studying the map, Xiao Ran A. looked up. “We should contact the War God’s Bloodline players — the Russians. Let them know what’s happening.”

“Right. The Trolls’s always had beef with them, but they’ve never actually fought. To those Western players, we’re the real enemy.”

“Exactly,” Xiao Ran said with a nod. “If we coordinate with the War God’s Bloodline, our odds of victory go up significantly.”

Mr. Han agreed. Together, they stepped out into the freezing night. Outside the town hall, dozens of players had already gathered, their faces grim but resolute.

Unlike the last chaotic war, this time they had preparation — and confidence.

“Comrades,” Mr. Han began, raising his voice, “I love war!”

A ripple of awkward laughter spread through the crowd. The players looked at each other, embarrassed — but still gave him some face by slamming their weapons into the snow, producing a steady thump, thump, thump like a marching drumbeat.

Mr. Han grimaced. Even his livestream chat was roasting him.

“Bro’s quoting memes again.”

“Most awkward speech of 2025.”

Clearing his throat, he pressed on. “Let’s begin the strategy meeting. The Minotaur Guild will handle communications and coordination, same as last time.”

He nodded toward the guild’s leader, Noire Bull, who returned the gesture.

“All players level 50 and above — you’ll form the main strike force of this operation!”

Mr. Han continued assigning roles with practiced precision. After all, he’d done this before — and this time, everyone knew their part.

“The overall strategy will focus on defense. Sniper players level 45 and higher, check your gear and head to the first defensive line.”

“Vanguard players level 50 and above with Dexterity 60 or higher, step forward — you’ll serve as our eyes on the battlefield. Report every movement.”

“Casters with Intelligence 65 or higher, and any with the subclass Diffuse Caster, you’ll join the snipers on the front line to provide area support.”

As names were called, players moved with energy and confidence, rallying at designated points. Those who didn’t meet the requirements weren’t left out either — they, too, had roles to fill in logistics, repairs, and support.

The Federation was ready.

The Holy Knight Federation stood backed against the towering, cloud-piercing mountains. Surrounded on three sides by enemies, devising an effective defense strategy for the city was no easy task.

Several veteran players—battle-hardened from countless PVP matches—were gathered in the main command tent. They might have been skilled in open-field combat, but none had ever faced the chaos of a siege.

“The Envoy of the War God’s Bloodline has already left,”

Xiao Ran A. said as he lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. The others turned toward him, still discussing defensive positions.

“Some place in Russia are more or less in a similar time zone to us. If they’re willing to help, that’d be ideal—but we can’t place all our hopes on them.”

Just then, a shrill whistle sounded from the first defensive line—the outer city wall. The players exchanged glances, and in that brief silence, they all knew what it meant.

The war had begun.

——

On the battlements, a Lupo player with the ID Kalei gripped his staff tightly. The entire wall shuddered under a barrage of fireballs, nearly knocking him off his feet.

As the squad leader of a seven-member team of diffusion casters, Kalei was supposed to coordinate his group—but in the chaos of the battlefield, he barely knew where to start.

“Where’s Lao Jin?” someone shouted over the thunderous explosions.

“Hell, he fell off the wall! What a genius!”

“Did he die? Drop any gear?”

“Nope!”

The deafening roar of chain fireballs left everyone’s ears ringing. Kalei blinked hard, regaining his bearings, and when he learned how Lao Jin had died, he could only sigh helplessly. What a pitiful way to go.

“Counterattack, damn it! Where are the casters? What are you doing?!”

Snapping back into focus, Kalei raised his staff high. The enemy snipers below paused to reload, giving him a brief opening. Along the battlements, hundreds—no, thousands—of lights flared to life.

The glow of Arts.

“Ice casters, attack first!” Kalei shouted.

His squad—specialists in ice-type Originium Arts—joined in with the other ice casters. As they raised their staves, a sharp, howling wind erupted across the battlefield. At first glance, it was merely wind—but as it surged forward, it condensed into a raging blizzard, slamming into the vanguard of the Troll’s heavy infantry.

“Water-type, now!”

Another commander’s voice echoed through the air. In an instant, torrents of water burst forth—like hundreds of Pokémon unleashing Hydro Pump all at once—crashing down upon the Troll’s formation in a roaring flood.

“F**k!”

“Fire—fire! Burn them down!”

The enemy casters retaliated, conjuring flames that flared brilliantly in the night. But their fire couldn’t hold back the overwhelming deluge. The Troll’s frontliners were drenched from head to toe, a new Wet debuff flashing over their health bars.

Then came the icy wind.

They shivered violently as another debuff appeared—Hypothermia.

The effect steadily drained their HP. Without a heat source, they were doomed to a slow, freezing countdown to death.

“Next wave, take over!”

“Roger!”

The Federation’s snipers stepped up. Crossbows reloaded and raised in unison.

The command was given—Loose!

Thousands of arrows darkened the sky, raining down upon the enemy. The Troll’s heavy units scrambled to raise their small shields, but a few weren’t fast enough—one took an arrow to the knee, while others screamed in pain. The unlucky casters in the back weren’t so fortunate; one was struck through the forehead, his timer ticking down, while another was riddled with arrows, his gear bursting onto the ground as his body fell.

“Why the hell is their bow range suddenly so long?!”

“Oh my god, I swear I’ll kick your ass with my grandma’s shoe—are you new here? Since when do arrows normally fly that far?”

“This is bulls**t! What the hell is going on?!”

Panic rippled through the Troll’s ranks. Their carefully planned assault was unraveling before it even began.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere within the Holy Knight Federation’s side was far more composed. Yet, standing at the front lines, Xiao Ran A. narrowed his eyes.

“That’s just their vanguard,” he murmured. “The real threat is still the Mighty Rat Guild.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep