Deep in the Southern jungle, at Rendezvous Point 3, Ray stood in the shadows of a massive weeping willow.

The night air was filled with the chirping of digital insects. Ray stood silently, his ear-cuff hissing with static. He had heard the Squad 2 Leader’s final message.

“We aren’t making it to the rendezvous, sir. Give ’em hell for us.”

Then, the comms had gone dead.

Ray didn’t show outward emotion, but beneath his grey leather cowl, his jaw clenched. He was an Artificer, a man who dealt in meticulous calculations. But war wasn’t a machine; it was messy, unpredictable, and carried a cost. He had lost twenty men to secure a tactical advantage.

“Understood, Squad 2.”

Ray whispered into the dead comms.

Footsteps crunched in the underbrush.

Ray immediately took a defensive stance, but he relaxed as a group of grey-clad soldiers emerged from the gloom. It was Squad 5. They were exhausted, covered in mud and scrapes, but they were alive.

“Commander, we made it. We led two enemy units on a wild goose chase through Sector 6, then lost them in the ravine.”

The Squad 5 Leader panted, saluting.

“Good work.”

Ray said, stepping out of the shadows.

He looked over his assembled forces. Squads 1, 3, 4, and 5. He had roughly over seventy men left from his original one hundred. But the troops he had left were hardened. They had survived the initial onslaught and were no longer afraid of the gleaming knights of the enemy.

Behind Ray, three identical crimson flags rested against the trunk of the willow tree. His original flag, Draven’s and Zaveed’s altered flag.

Then, they heard the announcement of Regius Dinn’s elimination.

Ray looked up at the silver moon, a genuine smile breaking across his face.

“Eliza, you didn’t just hold the line; you broke it.”

Ray murmured.

He turned to his Squad Leaders.

“Lets take a short rest. Help patch up the injured and repair your armor. We are moving out. South-East trajectory.”

Ray ordered.

“To hunt, sir?”

A strider asked.

“No. If I am correct, it is to meet our ally.”

Ray said, his eyes glowing amber in the dark.

An hour later, Ray’s column arrived at the Southeast clearing.

The battlefield looked like the surface of the moon. The grass was scorched white, the earth cracked and smelling heavily of ozone and radiant heat. Fading suits of archer armor littered the ground.

Sitting on a large, blackened boulder in the center of the devastation was Eliza Vance. Her blue robes were stained with soot, her hair was unkempt, and she looked thoroughly exhausted. But the staff resting on her shoulder still glowed with a fierce, defiant light.

She looked up as Ray’s grey-clad army marched into the clearing.

For a moment, she tensed, raising her staff. Then, a single soldier stepped out of the ranks. He reached up and pulled back his faceless grey cowl, revealing the sharp, aristocratic features and amber eyes of Ray Croft.

Eliza let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and lowered her staff.

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“Nice disguise, I expected a grand entrance. Maybe riding a mechanical dragon.”

Eliza teased, her voice raspy.

“I left the dragon in the shop, I see you didn’t need my help after all.”

Ray replied, walking over to her as he surveyed the scorched earth.

“Luke abandoned them, he realized he was wasting time while you were dismantling his heavy hitters. So, he left the archers as a speed bump. I just… flattened the bump.”

Eliza said, a bitter edge to her voice.

She looked behind Ray, her eyes narrowing in sudden confusion as a group of his soldiers stepped forward. Between them, they carried flags. Six of them.

But they weren’t a mix of captured colors. Every single one of them was the heavy, crimson silk of Ray’s team.

“I heard the announcements. You took out Draven and Zaveed, I was expecting to see their flags. Why do you have six of your own? Which one is the real one?”

Eliza said, her brow furrowing.

Eliza stepped closer, her Tier-1 Scribe instincts flaring. She focused her mana, analyzing the six crimson banners fluttering in the night wind. Her eyes widened in absolute shock.

“They… they all feel real, an illusion spell shouldn’t have mass. It shouldn’t have a perfectly replicated mana signature…”

Eliza breathed, reaching out to touch the nearest one. Her fingers brushed the fabric.

SNAP.

The moment her opposing Commander-mana interacted with the spell, the delicate frequency shattered. The heavy crimson silk dissolved into a mist of golden sparks. In its place, the heavy, mud-stained Yellow Flag of Gareth Draven hung heavily from the pole.

Eliza snatched her hand back, startled.

“Draven’s flag?”

“Let me clear the board.”

Ray said.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, dispelling the Minor Illusion.

The remaining five crimson flags shimmered, the illusions melting away like wax in a furnace.

When the light faded, the true nature of Ray’s arsenal was laid bare. Only one remained the pristine crimson flag. Ray’s actual flag. Beside it was the Green flag of Arturo Zaveed.

The other three? They were nothing but thick, mossy branches hauled out of the jungle, previously masquerading as high-tier simulation assets.

Eliza stared at the branches, her jaw slightly slack.

“Sticks. You made them chase sticks?”

Eliza questioned, staring at him incredulously before she covered her mouth as she lightly, breathlessly laughed at the sheer audacity of it.

Inside Ray’s mind, the internal council convened in a fraction of a millisecond.

Veteran: “Watch what you say, kid, Every suit and noble in that stadium is listening to your conversation. You spill the secret of the Aether now, we lose our biggest gun.”

The Grizzled Veteran growled from the back of his consciousness.

Detective: “He is correct, Doyle and the faculty are analyzing every syllable. We need a plausible alibi that fits the established rules of magic.”

The Gritty Detective added coolly.

Scholar: “Then give them a lecture, my boy! Give them a theory so dense and theoretically plausible they’ll be too busy taking notes to question the impossibility of it! Hide the truth behind a wall of magical jargon!”

The Eccentric Scholar chimed in, practically rubbing his hands together with academic glee.

Ray blinked, the amber light in his eyes shifting subtly as he decided to adopt the Eccentric Scholar’s advice.

“Standard illusions trick the light.”

Ray explained, playing the role of the eccentric Artificer teacher.

“But if you weave a minor illusion directly into the physical matrix of another object, say… an enemy’s captured flag, or a piece of wood, and force-feed it enough high-density energy, you don’t just trick the eye. You temporarily rewrite the object’s code within the simulation. As long as I maintain the frequency, the system registers them all as authentic.”

He caught Eliza’s eye and gave a subtle, microscopic shake of his head. He activated the Understudy Protocol’s Resonant Communication Link.

Not here. We’re being watched.

Ray mentally said via the link.

Eliza realized their situation and understood. There was a missing ingredient he wasn’t saying, something far more profound than ‘high-density energy,’ but she knew better than to push it while the stadium was listening.

“A physical override. That is… terrifyingly brilliant. You turned the entire hunting phase into a shell game. You broke their coordination with paranoia.”

Eliza said aloud, playing along perfectly, though her brilliant mind was still reeling at the sheer impossibility of the technique he had just demonstrated.

“Hiding is boring.”

Ray said plainly. He pulled his folded map from his pouch and spread it flat on the boulder next to her.

“We have a problem.”

Ray said, pointing to the center of the map.

“The Central Ruins.”

Eliza noted, seamlessly shifting back to commander mode.

“My scouts report that the remaining Alliance armies have stopped hunting,”

Ray explained.

“They aren’t taking the bait anymore. Luke has gathered them all. They are fortifying the ruins.”

Eliza frowned, analyzing the topographical lines.

“It’s a fortress. One entrance. High walls. If they pack their remaining Heavy Infantry into that choke point and put their archers on the walls… it’s suicide to attack it. We don’t have siege engines, Ray.”

“No, we don’t.”

Ray agreed.

He looked around at his battered, light-infantry squads, and then at Eliza’s exhausted battle-mages. They were a ragtag force of survivors facing a heavily entrenched, numerically superior enemy.

Ray looked back down at the map, tracing the single road leading into the fortress.

“They think they’ve built an unbreakable turtle shell,”

Ray said, the corner of his mouth curving upward into a dangerous smile.

“They think they are safe as long as they stay inside.”

Eliza looked at him, recognizing that specific look in his eyes. It was the look of an Artificer who had just found a fatal flaw in a supposedly perfect machine.

“What are you thinking, Ray?”

Ray rolled up the map and smiled at her.

“I’m thinking that it’s time to go knock on their door.”

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