The transition was seamless, terrifyingly so.

One moment, Ray was sitting in the cold, humming silence of the silver monolith; the next, he was inhaling the heavy, humid air of a rainforest.

Ray opened his eyes. He stood on a jagged limestone ridge overlooking a vast, steaming jungle valley. Giant fern-trees spiraled toward a digital sky, their leaves dripping with condensation. Below, the terrain was a nightmare of broken stone ruins, mud-choked rivers, and dense undergrowth.

Ray looked behind him. His army stood waiting in perfect silence.

They were not the gleaming knights in plate armor that the nobility favored. Ray’s troops were clad in mottled grey leather armor that shifted color slightly to match the stone. They carried short-bows, climbing hooks, and dual daggers. They were light, fast, and fragile.

Ray didn’t order them to march. He turned to his Squad Leaders.

“Scatter,”

Ray ordered quietly.

“Fade into the tree line and hold position. Do not engage. I want three scouts to fan out, North, East, and West. Eyes only. If you are spotted, do not fight. Run.”

The soldiers nodded and melted into the dense foliage with practiced ease. Their light armor made no sound against the underbrush.

“I’ll take the South.”

Ray murmured.

He wondered if she could use this archetype skill in this simulated world so he activated the Stoic Assassin’s ‘Flowing Shadow’ technique. To his surprise, he could use his archetype skill; the simulation didn’t just copy the visual effect, it dampened his sound and lowered his presence within the simulated world.

Ray leaped from the ridge, grabbing a hanging vine and swinging silently into the canopy below.

He traveled for at least 1 hour, moving like a ghost through the upper branches. The jungle was loud with digital wildlife, but Ray tuned it out, hunting for the metallic clank of armor.

He found it.

In a clearing about two kilometers East of his spawn point, two armies were engaged.

Ray crouched on a thick branch, peering through the leaves.

To one side, a phalanx of heavy, iron-clad Shock Troopers marched under a banner of crimson and gold. He recognized one of the commanders of the troops, it was Gunther Draven, a Tier-2 Prefect from the College of Statecraft who sat atop a massive armored warhorse.

Opposite him, a regiment of Battle-Mages in blue robes formed a firing line. Commander Marie Isolde Tier-2 Iron Key from the Minor College of Codes and Detection (Statecraft) stood at their rear.

Ray narrowed his eyes. They were skirmishing.

Spells flew. Fireballs exploded against tower shields. Lightning arced through the air. It looked like a brutal engagement.

But something felt… off.

Ray watched as a fireball from Isolde’s mages soared over the heads of Draven’s troops, exploding harmlessly against a rock wall. Draven’s archers fired a volley, but the arrows fell short, landing in the mud ten feet in front of the mage line. It looked like they were conserving their strength, merely testing each other’s defenses.

“Cautious, too cautious.”

Ray whispered, noting their positions before slipping away.

He moved West, covering ground rapidly.

Fifteen minutes later, he found another pair.

Luke Herington, a Tier-3 Magistrate from the College of Statecraft was leading a Heavy Cavalry unit against a fortified pike formation commanded by another noble.

Ray watched them for a full minute. Herington ordered a charge, but his horses pulled up before impact, wheeling away as if feinting. The pike-men didn’t pursue. They just reset their lines.

It was the same pattern. A lot of noise, a lot of movement, but zero casualties.

Ray’s frown deepened. He turned back, racing through the canopy to return to his ridge.

When he arrived, his three scouts were already waiting.

“Report.”

Ray commanded.

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“Contact to the North, Commander, two armies. Skirmishing, but holding position.”

The first scout whispered.

“Contact to the West, two armies. Engaging at range, but no aggressive maneuvers.”

The second scout added.

“Same to the East.”

The third scout confirmed.

Ray closed his eyes.

He had seen two pairs. His scouts had seen two pairs.

That was eight armies. Eight distinct forces, all surrounding his spawn point, all engaging in low-risk, high-noise combat.

Ray decided to review what he saw and the information he got from the scouts.

With the help of Eccentric Scholar’s pulled up the memory of what he had just seen with perfect, eidetic clarity. He replayed the scene of Isolde’s fireball. He replayed the scene of Herington’s cavalry charge, this was also projected internally for this internal council to see.

Veteran: “Look at the Shield Wall, They aren’t bracing. If they were expecting a real impact, they’d be digging their heels in. They’re standing flat-footed.”

The Grizzled Veteran growled in his mind.

Detective: “And the trajectory, that fireball wasn’t a miss. It was a warning shot. They aren’t trying to hit each other, kid. They’re putting on a show.”

The Gritty Detective added, smoking a phantom cigarette.

Ray opened his eyes. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water.

They aren’t fighting, they’re stalling. They are waiting for us to make a move so they can collapse the net.

Ray thought in realization.

It wasn’t a free-for-all. It was a hunt.

Ray didn’t know the specifics, but the logic led to only one conclusion. This was a conspiracy that was probably planned before the event, likely in a velvet-lined parlor within the College of Statecraft.

Two days prior to the main qualifier event. The air in the private tea room smelled of expensive tobacco and entitlement. Ten students sat around a mahogany table. Luke Herington, the de-facto leader of the Statecraft participants, sat at the head.

Marie Isolde slammed a thin dossier onto the table.

“I have the rules for the first round. Capture the Flag. Blind Selection. Simulated Combat.”

Marie announced, her voice sharp.

A ripple of interest went through the room.

“Blind selection favors chaos, Good.”

Gunther Draven grunted.

“It favors the prepared.”

Marie corrected. She pointed to a name on the participant list, circling it with a manicured fingernail. It was Ray Croft’s name.

The room stiffened.

“It is an insult, the War-Gaming Event is the domain of the high nobility of the College of Statecraft. It is a test of command, of lineage, of breeding. And now? We have a minor noble, an Artificer from the power-crazed College of Arcanum, thinking he can waltz into our arena and play General.”

Marie spat.

“He’s arrogant, just because he defeated the rising Viktor Garrick in a spar, he thinks he understands warfare?!”

Luke agreed, leaning back.

“And he brought Eliza Vance with him, she’s a traitor to her College. She’s been seen strategizing with him. If we let them play normally, they will link up. Team Chimera will dominate the board.”

Marie added.

Marie looked around the table, locking eyes with every participant.

“So we don’t let them play.”

She pulled out a piece of parchment.

“I propose a pact. We suspend hostilities until the ‘Anomaly’ is removed.”

“Ten against two? Seems excessive.”

Gunther asked.

“Eliza is dangerous, she has been on the rise, beating the senior students along the way. She can be Ray’s strong ally if they link up. So, we isolate Ray and her. We will need two participants that are closest to her during the event and will need to pin her down. Your job isn’t to win, just box her in.”

Marie countered and slammed her hand on the table.

“The other eight… We hunt the Artificer. We locate his spawn point, we encircle him, and we crush him before he can craft a single trap. We humiliate him so thoroughly that no students from the other colleges ever dares to enter this event again.”

Luke Herington smiled, raising his glass.

“To the purity of the game.”

Luke toasted.

“To the game.”

The table echoed.

Back to the present time.

Ray was analyzing the situation.

The theory fits the facts. The lack of aggression, the odd trajectories, the sheer number of armies converging on this specific, low-value ridge. But a theory wasn’t enough. During his preparation using the Tactical Replication Protocol, acting on a guess usually got you killed.

He needed proof.

“Squad Leaders,” Ray said, his voice low but cutting through the jungle noise.

Five soldiers materialized from the underbrush.

“I need eight scouts, the fastest you have. Split them into four teams of two.”

Ray commanded.

He pointed to the four directions.

“Send them back to the contact points. North, South, East, and West. I don’t want them to engage. I want them to watch.”

Ray looked at his soldiers, his amber eyes intense.

“Tell them to watch the enemy’s formation. Are they setting up perimeters? Are they scouting for each other? Or are they just marching?”

“Go.”

The scouts vanished into the trees.

Ray waited. Time stretched out, heavy with the humid heat of the simulation. He paced the ridge, counting the seconds, calculating the movement speed of Heavy Infantry across broken terrain.

Two hours later, the leaves rustled.

Four scouts returned, one from each team panting slightly but unharmed. They knelt before Ray.

“Report.”

Ray said.

“North Sector, two armies. Cavalry and Pikes. They aren’t securing the area, Commander. They are moving South in a line. No flankers. They aren’t worried about being hit from the sides.”

The first scout said.

“East Sector, Heavy Infantry and Battle-Mages. They bypassed the Ruined Keep along the way.”

The second scout reported.

Ray’s eyes narrowed.

“They bypassed a defensive strongpoint?”

Ray asked.

“Yes commander, they walked right past it. They are heading straight for this ridge.”

The second scout confirmed.

“West Sector, same movement. Moving East. Slow, deliberate march.”

The third scout said.

“South Sector, moving North. They are linking shields with the Eastern group.”

The fourth scout finished grimly.

He visualized the reports.

North moving South. South moving North. East moving West. West moving East.

They weren’t skirmishing anymore. They were ignoring strategic assets and ignoring each other to focus entirely on one coordinate.

His coordinate.

“They know we’re here, they have located us, and now they are closing the net.”

Ray realized, his voice cold.

What Ray did not know was that It was a 10 vs.2 setup. Eight armies to crush the ‘upstart Artificer,’ and two sent to where Eliza is located. Eliza would be too busy defending herself to help. They planned to humiliate him, wiping the smudge of his existence off their pristine board.

Ray stepped back from the ledge, a dangerous light entering his amber eyes.

“You want to rig the game?”

Ray whispered to the digital wind, his hand drifting to the Aether humming in his core.

“Fine. Then I’ll break the board.”

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