The rhythmic, thundering clank-clank-clank of fifty heavy infantrymen marching forward drew the immediate attention of the entire courtyard.

“Bordon! What are you doing? Hold your position!”

Luke Herrington shouted from the center of the ruins, stepping forward.

Bazba ignored him. He marched his wall of steel directly toward Flinn’s huddled troops.

“Halec! Your position is exposed! Hand over your flag for safekeeping in the center of my formation!”

Bazba barked, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

Flinn’s eyes went wide with panic. He saw the raised shields and the drawn swords of Bazba’s men. He wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly what ‘safekeeping’ meant.

“Stay back, Bordon! Defensive formation! Draw weapons!”

Flinn shrieked, his voice cracking.

Flinn’s front line made of light infantry nervously drew their swords, creating a fragile barrier between Bazba and the flag.

“Don’t be a fool, Halec! Give it to me, or I swear to the gods…”

Bazba roared, stepping into striking distance.

The tension snapped.

A terrified, twitchy archer in Flinn’s back line panicked. He released his arrow and fired. The arrow struck Bazba’s shoulder with a clink as the arrow bounced, failing to pierce Bazba’s heavy armor.

There was no damage, but it was all the excuse Bazba needed.

“TRAITOR! They’re breaking the Alliance! CRUSH THEM!”

Bazba roared at the top of his lungs.

Bazba swung his heavy mace, shattering the shield of the nearest soldier. His heavy infantry surged forward like a tidal wave of steel, slamming into Flinn’s light troops with devastating, bone-crunching force.

The spark had caught. The powder keg detonated.

Across the courtyard, Marie Isolde saw Bazba making his move. Panic completely overrode her logic.

If Bazba gets Flinn’s flag, and the clock runs out, I’m eliminated! I need one now!

“They are turning on us! Take their flags! Incinerate anyone in your way!”

Marie screamed to her troops. She pointed her staff at the other two minor commanders who were currently frozen in shock.

A volley of offensive spells erupted from Marie’s camp, crashing into the other commander’s forces.

“Archers! Volley on the mages! Bring down Isolde’s evokers!”

Neira Megion shrieked, realizing that if Marie got the other flags, she would be the only one left empty-handed.

A rain of arrows descended on Marie’s camp. The mages shrieked, turning their destructive spells away from their original targets and redirecting them at Neira’s archers.

In a matter of seconds, the Central Ruins devolved into an absolute, bloody free-for-all.

It was a riot of flashing magic, arrows loose and clashing steel. The air grew thick with smoke, ozone, and the panicked screams of soldiers. The carefully planned ‘unbreakable formation’ was a slaughterhouse. Friendly fire was rampant.

“COMMANDER FLINN HALEC ELIMINATED.”

“COMMANDER VOSS DROMON ELIMINATED.”

The booming voice of the simulated world rang out in the night sky, completely ignored by the commanders who were now fighting for their lives against their own allies.

In the center of the madness, Luke Herrington sat atop his white charger, his eyes wide with utter despair.

“STOP! STOP FIGHTING!”

Luke screamed, his voice completely lost in the roar of battle.

He raised his sword, desperately trying to command his forces to intervene. But the fatal flaw of his elite army was suddenly laid bare. He commanded his Heavy Cavalry. On an open plain, they were gods of war. But boxed inside a crowded, chaotic stone courtyard, surrounded by barricades, flying spells, and a riot of foot soldiers, his warhorses were completely useless.

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They couldn’t build momentum for a charge. The horses reared in terror, spooked by the fireballs and the deafening noise. His knights were trapped on their mounts, unable to swing their lances without hitting each other.

The ‘King’ was trapped on his throne, powerless to stop his kingdom from burning itself to the ground.

A quarter-mile away, on the dark, quiet ridge, Ray and Eliza sat shoulder-to-shoulder on a log.

They were eating in comfortable silence. Through the gaps in the jungle canopy, they had a perfect view of the Central Ruins.

The interior of the fortress was flashing violently, illuminating the night sky with strobes of red fire, blue lightning, and golden wards. The distant, muffled sounds of screaming and clashing steel echoed softly over the serene chirping of the jungle insects.

Eliza took a sip from her canteen, her eyes reflecting the colorful explosions.

“You know, when I signed up for the College of Statecraft, they told me that absolute power was the ultimate weapon.”

Eliza said softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

Ray leaned back, his amber eyes fixed on the burning fortress.

“Power is just a tool, Eliza. Paranoia can cause power to turn on oneself, so in my humble opinion Paranoia is more like a counter to the ultimate weapon.”

Ray said softly, the flashes of light painting sharp shadows across his smiling face.

Inside the Central Ruins, the air choked on the scent of blood and the ozone of spent mana.

Luke Herrington sat atop his white warhorse, his chest heaving, his eyes darting across the courtyard like a trapped animal. The ‘unbreakable alliance’ was gone. In its place was a meat grinder.

In the far corner, Bazba Bordon had retreated behind a phalanx of his Heavy Infantry. He was battered and scorched, but he was grinning maniacally, clutching the captured flag of Flinn Halec. He had secured his ticket to the next round, and now he was simply watching the rest of them burn.

In the center of the courtyard, the battle for survival had reached its desperate peak.

Marie Isolde was screaming. Her defensive wards were shattered, and her battle-mages were dropping like flies. She was fighting a losing war on two fronts, but her primary aggressor was Neira Megion.

“Give it up, Isolde!”

Neira shrieked, drawing her bowstring back. Her archers had Marie’s remaining squad surrounded.

“You’re done! I’m taking your flags!”

Neira was winning. She had the positioning. She had the numbers. In a short moment, she would eliminate Marie and claim two flags, Marie’s and the one she had taken from Dromon Voss.

Luke watched them, his grip tightening on his lance until his leather gauntlets creaked.

Will the organizers sound the horn? Is time running out?

Luke looked at his own empty hands. He had zero flags. He was the favorite to win the entire tournament, the prodigy of House Herrington, and he was mere moments away from being disqualified because of a bluff.

He couldn’t save Marie. If he tried to intervene and save her, the chaos would drag on, and the clock might run out. He needed a flag. He needed a guarantee. And right now, Neira’s flank was completely exposed as she focused on the kill.

A King does not die for his subjects. A King survives to rule another day.

Luke told himself, a cold, ruthless pragmatism settling over his heart.

“Forgive me.”

Luke whispered.

He didn’t shout a battle cry. He didn’t signal a charge. He simply spurred his horse.

The white charger exploded into motion, covering the short distance across the stone courtyard in a heartbeat. Neira Megion never even saw him coming. She was too focused on Marie.

“Commander Megion! Look out!”

One of Neira’s lieutenants screamed.

Neira turned, her eyes widening in disbelief as she saw the lance of her own Alliance leader bearing down on her.

“Luke? No! TRAITOR!”

Neira screamed, trying to raise her bow.

It was too late.

CRUNCH.

Luke’s lance shattered her magical barrier and drove straight through her chest. The impact lifted Neira off her feet. Her avatar shattered instantly into a cloud of fading energy.

Luke yanked his lance back, snatching the flag from her fading grip. He didn’t look at Marie, who was staring at him in horrified relief. He just stared at the flag in his hand, his heart pounding with the shame of what he had just done.

“COMMANDER NEIRA MEGION ELIMINATED.”

A quarter-mile away, on the dark ridge overlooking the ruins, Ray Croft stood up.

He dusted the moss from his leather pants and adjusted his Theorist Gloves. Below him, the magical flashes in the ruins had died down slightly, replaced by the eerie silence of the aftermath.

“That’s the signal, Neira is gone. The heavy infantry are turtling in the corner. Herrington just betrayed his own flank. They are broken, terrified, and exhausted.”

Ray said, his voice calm.

Eliza Vance stood up beside him, grabbing her staff. Her fatigue seemed to vanish, replaced by the thrill of the hunt.

“We sweep the board?”

Eliza asked, a predatory grin on her face.

“We sweep the board.”

Ray confirmed. His amber eyes glowing.

“All squads form up. We hit the main gate hard. No mercy. We end this now.”

Ray took a step forward, his muscles coiling to spring into the jungle.

HOOOOOOOOONK.

A deafening, discordant horn blast shattered the world. It wasn’t a sound from the simulation; it was the System Horn, loud enough to vibrate their very bones.

Ray froze mid-step.

The night sky above them abruptly turned a solid, static white. The simulated moon vanished. The burning ruins froze in place. The wind stopped blowing.

“EVENT CONDITION MET.”

The mechanical voice boomed from the heavens, stripping away the immersion of the world.

“SIX COMMANDERS ELIMINATED. THE WAR-GAMING FIRST ROUND IS CONCLUDED.”

Ray stood there, blinking. He slowly relaxed. A dry, incredulous chuckle escaped his lips.

“You’re joking.”

Ray muttered.

Eliza stared at the frozen sky, then at Ray. She started to laugh.

“You bluffed them too hard, you told them there was a time limit, so they panicked and fought each other so fast that the actual elimination rule triggered before we could even get down there.”

Eliza said, shaking her head.

Ray looked down at his clean hands. He hadn’t fought a single commander in the final phase. He hadn’t even stepped inside the ruins.

“I guess we don’t get to knock on the door after all.”

Eliza smirked, fading as the simulation began to dissolve around them.

“You defeated them with a piece of paper.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep