Ray retreated from the ledge back to the clearing where his main force waited.

He looked over his army. It wasn’t a uniform block of heavy infantry like the nobles commanded. It was a mixed troop composition, hand-picked with the intention of being mobile.

There were Shadow-Walkers, clad in shifting grey cloaks and armed with dual daggers for stealth and ambush. There were High-Summit Archers, equipped with composite shortbows and climbing claws, designed to fight from the tree canopy. There were Dune-Striders, light skirmishers carrying spears and bucklers, chosen for their sheer sprinting speed.

They were a motley crew compared to the gleaming legions of the Statecraft students, but they all shared one trait: Speed.

Ray stood before them, but he didn’t relax. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up.

“If they are coordinating an eight-army encirclement, they aren’t doing it blind. They have eyes on me right now.”

Ray murmured.

He closed his eyes, centering his breathing. He activated Concurrent Partial Immersion and used the Serene Cultivator’s ‘Aetheric Perception’ and the Gritty Detective’s ‘Observation’ skill.

Ray opened his eyes.

The world didn’t just sharpen; it revealed its layers.

The jungle became like a crime scene of hyper-detail. He noticed the unnatural depression of a moss patch on a high branch. He saw a single leaf fluttering against the wind direction. He spotted a shadow that was two shades too dark for the angle of the sun.

Simultaneously, the Aetheric Perception peeled back the veil of reality. The vibrant greens of the jungle were overlaid with a translucent map of flowing energy. He could see the ambient life-force of the trees, the frantic sparks of digital insects… and the discordant, burning hum of foreign souls.

The combination was terrifyingly effective.

To the North, Ray saw a boot print on a branch. He also saw the red pulse of a heartbeat hidden behind the Cameleon Cloak.

To the East, he saw a fern move. And he felt the cold intent of a magical gaze.

“Six of them, high-level scouts using stealth arts. They’re triangulation markers for the main armies.”

Ray whispered.

Ray didn’t shout. He turned to his High-Summit Archers and Shadow-Walkers, using hand signals.

“Archers, draw. Elevation 30 degrees. North and East sectors.”

Ray whispered, his voice barely audible.

Ten archers raised their bows, nocking arrows silently.

Ray pointed a finger toward the North tree line.

“First target, third branch down. The knot in the wood is a helmet.”

He pointed East.

“Second target, behind the red fern. Aim low.”

He gestured to a squad of Shadow-Walkers.

“Third target, west ridge. He’s prone in the tall grass. Flank him. Silence him.”

The soldiers moved with efficiency. The archers drew their strings to their cheeks. The dagger-men vanished into the bush.

Ray waited for the count of three.

“Loose.”

Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

The sound of arrows releasing at once was no louder than a sharp intake of breath.

In the distance, there was a wet thud, followed by the sound of a heavy body crashing through branches to the North. To the East, a brief, cut-off yelp. To the West, the grass rustled violently for a second, then went still.

Ray lowered his hand. The eyes of the Alliance were gone. Now, he had a window.

“Good, now we have privacy.”

Ray turned back to the clearing. He realized that he couldn’t win a battle of brute force. But he didn’t need to fight the enemy; he needed to fight the environment.

Let’s see how robust the architecture of this dream really is.

Ray thought.

He raised his hand, tracing a simple geometric sigil in the air.

“Visio.”

He cast the cantrip spell: Minor Illusion.

Usually, this spell created a static visual phantom, a rock, a bush, a chair. It had no substance, no mass. If you touched it, your hand would pass right through the light.

But Ray didn’t just fuel the spell with mana. He tapped into his core and used his innate Aether-Infusion technique on the spell.

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He jammed his Golden Aether into the spell’s matrix.

The world around him shuddered. The leaves on the nearest tree didn’t just rustle; they distorted, dissolving into raw blue mana for a split second before snapping back into focus. The simulation was struggling to process the higher-tier energy, forcing the fabric of the illusion to rewrite itself to accommodate the density of the Aether.

The image of a rock flickered in Ray’s hand, translucent, then opaque, then heavy.

CRUNCH.

The sound of grit grinding against skin. Ray squeezed.

It was solid. It was cold. It was heavy.

Ray smiled, tossing the stone in the air and catching it with a satisfying thwack.

The simulation treated standard mana like a request. But it treated Aether like a Command. He hadn’t just tricked the system; he had forced the lie to become the truth.

“Squad Leaders, front and center!”

Ray barked.

Five soldiers stepped forward, a mix of Archers and Striders.

Ray reached into one of the leather pouches at his belt. He pulled out a handful of small, silver ear-cuffs, each etched with microscopic runes and inlaid with a tiny sliver of resonance crystal.

“We are splitting up, squads 1 through 5. Mix your compositions. I want Archers and Striders in every group. Mobility is key,”

Ray announced, tossing the cuffs to the squad leaders.

He turned to the nearest tree line. “Bring me four thick branches. Roughly the height of a spear-shaft. Hurry.”

The soldiers scrambled.

Ray didn’t stop there. He moved to the perimeter of the clearing, kneeling in one spot. With a focused expression, he began to etch a series of complex, interlocking Runic Arrays into the dirt.

He worked with the speed of a master Artificer, burying small, glowing mana-crystals at key intersections of the circle. These weren’t simple explosive traps; they were Dispersal Nodes, arrays designed to take a single spell and amplify its radius tenfold. He connected the nodes with lines of Aether, creating a dormant web of power that hummed beneath the grass, waiting for a trigger.

Later the soldiers returned with four rough-hewn sticks. Ray lined them up in the sand.

“Commander? What is the plan?”

One of the squad leaders asked, looking at the sticks with curious eyes.

Ray stood up, dusting off his hands. He looked at the sticks and at the shimmering barrier of the jungle.

“The plan is to make them regret looking for us.”

Ray said, a dangerous glint in his amber eyes.

He gathered the Squad Leaders close and began to whisper instructions.

Time passed by very fast and below the ridge, Gunther Draven laughed.

“We have him, he’s turtling on the ridge! My scouts confirm he brought Light Infantry! The fool brought leather to a steel fight!”

Gunther shouted to Marie Isolde across the gap.

“Crush him, Draven. I’ll cut off his retreat.”

Marie responded as she smirked.

The two armies began to march up the slope. From the treeline, three other armies emerged, closing the noose.

On the ridge, Ray stood alone at the edge of the cliff, his army seemingly gone. He watched the steel tide rising toward him.

He waited until he could see the whites of their eyes. He waited until the front lines of Draven’s heavy infantry were stepping onto the rune-etched dirt.

Now!

Ray thought as he snapped his fingers.

Every rune he had buried in the clearing detonated at once.

It was an aether-infused rune array with the 1st-Circle spell: Fog Cloud etched on it.

WHOOSH.

It didn’t start as a mist; it hit like an avalanche. A wall of unnatural, opaque white vapor exploded from the ground, rolling down the slope with the force of a tsunami.

“What the…”

Gunther grunted surprised.

The fog swallowed them.

It wasn’t just visual blocking. The Aether-infused fog dampened sound and scrambled mana-sense.

Outside the simulated world where the audience was watching.

“AND… VISUAL IS LOST!”

Bruce screamed, tapping his scrying crystal frantically.

“Ray Croft has turned the area into a sauna! We have zero visibility! Is he digging in for a last stand?!”

In the VIP box, Headmaster Andrade watched the swirling white mass on the screen. She took a sip of her tea.

“No. He is hunting.”

She whispered.

Inside the fog, chaos reigned.

“Hold formation!”

Gunther bellowed, his voice sounding muffled and distant even to his own ears in the dampening mist.

“It’s just smoke! Push through! Find him!”

“CONTACT!”

A scout from the vanguard screamed, his voice cracking with adrenaline.

“I see the banner! The Crimson Flag! Moving North!”

Gunther’s head snapped toward the shout.

“Intercept! Pin him down!”

Gunther commanded.

“NEGATIVE!”

Another voice cut through the magical comms-link, sharp and frantic. It was a lieutenant from the Eastern flank.

“The flag is here! Moving East! I have eyes on the target!”

“What?”

Draven growled.

“Check your eyes, soldier! The flag is North!”

“CONTACT WEST!” They are breaking out! I see the flag!”

A third voice roared.

“CONTACT SOUTH! I SEE IT! IT’S REAL!”

Confusion rippled through the Alliance like a shockwave.

“Four contacts? That’s impossible! They’re illusions! Ignore them!”

Marie commanded as her voice shrieked.

“They aren’t flickering! I saw it hit a tree branch! The fabric folded! It has mass! It’s real!”

The Eastern lieutenant argued back.

Gunther spurred his horse forward, charging through a gap in the fog. For a split second, the white veil parted.

He saw them.

A squad of grey-clad soldiers was sprinting down the ravine to his left. In the center of the formation, a runner carried the heavy crimson flag. It snapped in the wind with a heavy, distinct thwup-thwup. It wasn’t a phantom of light; it was heavy silk and steel.

“I see it! It’s the real one!”

Gunther shouted.

He scanned the squad, his eyes hunting for a specific target. He was looking for the arrogant face of the Artificer. He was looking for the distinct, midnight-blue coat of the College of Arcanum that Ray Croft wore.

“Where is he?”

Gunther hissed.

He looked at the flag bearer. Just a grunt in a grey hood. He looked at the archers covering the retreat. Faceless soldiers in leather masks. He looked at the flankers.

Ray Croft wasn’t there.

“Isolde!”

Gunther shouted into his communication device.

“Do you see Croft with the Eastern group?”

“No!”

Marie responded back, sounding panicked.

“It’s just a squad of nobodies! But they have the flag! I can sense the mana signature! It’s the Command Flag!”

“He’s not in the North group either!”

Another commander shouted.

“Just grunts!”

Gunther pulled his horse up, his mind reeling.

Ray Croft was gone.

There were five flags moving in five different directions, carried by five identical squads of faceless soldiers. And the Artificer was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s hiding in one of them, or he’s using the squads as decoys! I don’t care! I’m taking the North Flag!”

One of the commanders shouted, greed overriding discipline.

“No! Maintain encirclement!”

Gunther ordered, but it was too late.

The commander broke formation, charging North to chase the easy kill.

“The East one is mine! If it has the mana signature, it’s the objective! I’m not letting you steal the glory, Gunther!”

Marie yelled.

“Damn it!”

Gunther roared.

He couldn’t tell which was real. If he let the others chase the flags and they caught the real one, he would lose the credit. If he stayed here, he would be left holding nothing but fog.

Greed and panic shattered the Alliance instantly.

“Squad! With me! Run them down! Kill them all until we find him!”

Draven screamed, pointing his sword at the ravine.

The organized line collapsed. The encirclement dissolved into a frantic free-for-all as eight armies fractured, chasing ghosts into the deep jungle.

High on the ridge, hidden within the ranks of Squad 3, a generic grey-clad soldier adjusted his grip on his spear. Underneath the leather mask, Ray Croft smiled.

The game was on.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep