In the Eastern Sector, Marie Isolde froze. She was wading through a swamp, the water waist-deep and thick with algae. Her eyes were fixed on the retreating back of a grey-clad soldier carrying a crimson flag.

“Draven is out?”

She gasped, stopping in the muck.

“How?! I’m chasing the flag right now! He couldn’t have been engaged!”

Ahead of her, the runner sensed the pursuit was slowing. He panicked and dropped the heavy flag to run faster.

The flag splashed into the swamp water, sinking slowly.

Marie rushed forward, ignoring the filth, reaching for it.

“I claim the…”

Her hand touched the fabric.

POOF.

The crimson silk vanished in a puff of mana. Floating in the murky water was a rotting log, covered in slime.

“No!”

Marie said, horror dawning on her face as she looked at the stick.

“It’s a decoy.”

She looked up at the dense jungle around her. The trees seemed to close in, mocking her. Somewhere out there, four other armies were chasing sticks, completely out of position, while the predator watched them from the shadows.

“We’re all chasing decoys.”

In the far Southeast, the situation was desperate.

Eliza Vance was not capturing a hill. She was fighting for her life.

“Mages! Link formation!”

Eliza screamed, slamming her staff into the scorched earth.

“On my mark! Scutum!”

Behind her, twenty defensive Battle-Mages (Warders) from her unit raised their wands in unison, channeling their mana into a singular frequency.

A barrier of golden light flared around her small unit. It wasn’t a single dome; it was a honeycomb of hexagonal panels that snapped together, fusing into a solid, shimmering wall of force.

CRASH.

The impact shook the ground. To her left, a heavy cavalry unit slammed into the magical wall, their lances splintering against the collective barrier. Leading them was Luke Herrington, the favorite to win the event. He sat atop a white charger, looking bored as his troops hammered Eliza’s defenses.

To her right, a second army, a regiment of Archers, rained fire-arrows down on her position, turning the grass around them into a burning ring of ash.

Eliza gritted her teeth, feeling the drain on her mana reserves. It was a stalemate, but a losing one.

“They aren’t trying to break us, Commander!”

Her lieutenant shouted, pouring mana into the shield to patch a crack.

“They’re just pinning us down! They’re bleeding our clock!”

Eliza’s mind raced as she held the spell.

Two armies. Working together seamlessly from the first time she met them in the field. Luke Herrington hadn’t even tried to engage the other Commander; they had moved in perfect sync to encircle her.

“It’s a collusion.”

Eliza realized, a cold knot forming in her stomach.

“They rigged the game.”

She did the math instantly. There were twelve participants. Two were here, keeping her trapped in this corner of the map.

“If two are on me…”

Eliza whispered, her eyes widening.

“That leaves eight armies hunting Ray.”

She felt a pang of despair. Ray was talented, but he was a 1st-Circle Novice. If eight Noble armies had coordinated to attack him, he was already dead. She was alone.

Then, the sky boomed.

“COMMANDER GUNTHER DRAVEN ELIMINATED!”

The sound rolled over the battlefield like thunder.

The attacking armies faltered. Luke Herrington pulled on his reins, his bored expression vanishing instantly. The archers stopped firing.

Gunther Draven was the hammer. He was supposed to be one of the heavy hitters assigned to eliminate Ray Croft.

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Eliza heard the announcement, and her brain froze for a second.

Draven? Eliminated?

Eliza thought in surprise.

If Ray was dead, the announcement would have been ‘Commander Ray Croft Eliminated.’ But Ray was still in the game. And Gunther Draven was gone.

A sharp, predatory grin spread across Eliza’s face, washing away the exhaustion.

“Draven is out?”

Eliza laughed breathlessly, wiping soot from her cheek.

“He actually did it.”

She looked through the translucent gold of her shield wall at Luke Herrington. The Magistrate looked confused, exchanging worried hand signals with the other Commander. Their perfect plan had just suffered a setback.

“You boys are in trouble.”

Eliza taunted, her voice amplified by her magic so Herrington could hear her.

Luke looked down at her, scowling.

“You sent eight armies to kill one Artificer,”

Eliza said, her eyes flashing with renewed fire.

“And he just took out one of your heavy hitters.”

She slammed her staff down again, reinforcing the shield.

“The Artificer is loose, Luke! And I bet he’s coming for you next!”

Back in the ravine, Ray adjusted his Theorist Gloves. He had lost zero men, though some Squad 1’s members had been injured they had been forced to hold the line against impossible odds.

It was a calculated risk. But it was a winning one.

Ray looked up at the sky, where he knew the audience were watching.

“One down.”

Ray whispered from behind his mask.

He signaled his troops to melt back into the jungle. They vanished into the shadows as if they had never been there, leaving only footprints in the mud.

“Let’s see who takes the bait next.”

Ray moved through the jungle with a terrifying silence.

He was buried deep within the ranks of Squad 3, indistinguishable from the other soldiers. He wore the same grey leather armor, the same mud-stained boots, and the same faceless cowl as the rest of the unit. To any observer, he was just a grunt. To his army, he was the Ghost General.

Behind him, the remnants of Squad 1, the survivors of the Draven’s attack, marched in a tight column, their morale restored. Ray had remade their flag, and the heavy crimson banner snapped defiantly in the wind above their heads.

But it was Squad 3 that presented the true nightmare for any enemy scout.

Above Ray’s personal unit, two identical Crimson Flags waved side by side.

One was the original. The other was the captured Lion Flag of Gunther Draven, which Ray had already twisted with the Aether-Infused cantrip spell: Minor Illusion.

He hadn’t just painted over it; he had rewoven its reality. To the naked eye and to magical sensors, it was a perfect duplicate of his Crimson Flag. It radiated the same mana signature, possessed the same mass, and fluttered with the same heavy thwup-thwup.

“Three heads, and we’re just getting started.”

Ray murmured from beneath his mask.

Suddenly, the silver ear-cuff clipped to his ear crackled with static.

“Commander! Can you hear me?”

The voice was jagged, breathless with panic. It was the Squad Leader of Squad 4.

Ray pressed a finger to his ear, signaling his column to halt.

“I hear you, Squad 4. Report.”

“We are pinned!”

The Squad Leader responded over the sound of rushing water and whistling projectiles.

“We’re at the River Delta! We’re taking fire from the tree line! Commander… we lost the package! The enemy took our flag ten minutes ago!”

Ray pulled a folded parchment map from his belt pouch, scanning the topographical ink lines for the river delta.

“Did they already know it was a decoy?”

Ray asked calmly.

“Yes! They grabbed it, and it turned back into a branch right in their hands!”

The Squad Leader’s voice trembled.

“But that’s the problem, sir. After they saw it was a fake… they didn’t finish us off.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed behind his cowl.

“Explain.”

“They laughed, sir. They retreated to the tree line and stopped shooting to kill. Now they’re just… shooting our legs. They’re toying with us.”

Ray folded the map with a sharp snap. The picture was clear.

The enemy had captured a decoy. They knew Ray was playing tricks. Instead of wiping out the squad in frustration, they had switched tactics. They were torturing Squad 4 to make them call for help, betting on the real Commander would have to come save them.

“Can you identify the enemy Commander?”

Ray asked.

“Negative on visuals! But there’s a mage on the hill calling out our positions every time we try to move! We are hit by invisible attackers in the mud! We’re locked down!”

Veteran: “An Assassin and a Spotter. One holds the high ground for intel, the other stays in the mud for the wet work. They aren’t trying to wipe them out quickly; they’re bleeding them to drag you out into the open.”

The Grizzled Veteran growled at the back of his mind.

“Commander?”

“You’re the worm, they’re waiting for the fish to come save you.”

Ray said, signaling his column to pivot West, directly toward the river.

“They want to lure out the fish?”

Ray whispered.

“Let’s give them a shark instead.”

Two kilometers away, Squad 4 was dying by inches.

They were a unit of twenty High-Summit Archers and Dune-Striders, but they were reduced to fifteen battered men. They were backed against a roaring river, the water churning white over jagged rocks.

“Hold the perimeter!”

The Squad Leader screamed, firing an arrow into the trees.

Thwip.

The arrow vanished into the shadows.

From the tree line, a mocking laugh echoed.

Arturo Zaveed, a Tier 2 Inner Veil from the minor College of Intelligence (Statecraft), was playing with his food. His unit of Shadow-Rogues was darting in and out of stealth, slashing at the exposed flanks of Ray’s troops before vanishing again.

“Too slow! You aim like a farmer!”

Arturo’s voice drifted from the left.

A dagger flew from the foliage, striking an archer in the shoulder. The man cried out, dropping his bow.

Behind the tree line, safe in a fortified position, Lucia Lascaris, a Tier 3 Silver Key from the minor College of Codes and Detection (Statecraft) stood with her unit of Sensory Mages. She wasn’t fighting; she was the eyes.

“Three targets, left flank, behind the rock, they are struggling. Finish them, Zaveed.”

Lucia called out over the comms.

“With pleasure.”

Arturo replied, materializing from the shadows to deliver a hamstring cut to a retreating strider.

Squad 4 was in trouble. They couldn’t see the enemy. Every time they tried to move, Lucia called out their position, and Arturo struck. It was a death sentence.

Suddenly, Lucia’s head snapped to the West. Her sensory web vibrated violently.

“CONTACT!”

Lucia screamed.

“New signature! Moving fast! Open ground!”

Arturo paused in the shadows, his dagger raised.

“Reinforcements?”

“No.”

Lucia said, her voice trembling with sudden greed.

“They have a Flag! I see them! It’s moving through the clearing!”

Through the trees, they saw it.

A squad of grey-clad soldiers was sprinting across the riverbank, openly carrying a crimson flag. They looked panicked, disorganized, as if they were fleeing a larger force.

“I see it!”

Arturo shouted, his eyes locking onto the flag.

“That has to be the real one!”

“Wait!”

Lucia warned, scanning the area.

“It’s too easy! It could be a trap! Maintain formation!”

“A trap?”

Arturo scoffed, pointing his dagger at the pinned Squad 4.

“We already stripped the decoys off this lot and found a stick! If this squad was the bait, then that squad is the prize!”

The logic seemed perfect to him. Ray Croft had sacrificed a pawn to hide the king. Now, the king was making a run for it.

“They’re exposed!”

Arturo grinned.

“I’m going for it!”

Greed overrode discipline. Arturo signaled his forty Shadow-Rogues.

“Break off! Intercept the carrier!”

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