The transition into the Astral Immersion Conduit was instantaneous. One moment, the four participants were standing in the sunlit Grand Arena of Solhaven Academy; the next, a wave of cold, digital blue light washed over their vision, pulling their consciousness down into the illusionary world.

When the light faded, the smell of damp earth, rusted iron, and woodsmoke filled their lungs.

The Shattered Citadel was breathtaking in its desolate scale. It was a massive, ruined fortress-city nestled in the belly of a deep, fog-choked valley. Crumbling stone watchtowers pierced the low-hanging clouds, and the remains of grand cathedrals and armories cast long, jagged shadows across the cobblestone streets.

But the ruins were not empty.

A deafening, rhythmic thunder echoed through the eastern courtyard of the city. Marie Isolde opened her eyes to find herself standing at the head of an army. One thousand soldiers stood at attention before her. Half were light rangers clad in muted greens and browns, gripping longbows; the other half were heavy shock-troops she had drafted as a frontline buffer.

She gripped her bow, her eyes immediately darting to the left to identify her randomly assigned ally.

Standing fifty yards away, resting a massive, iron-block Eldorian Siege Maul on his armored shoulder, was Bazba Bordon. Behind him stood a terrifying block of five hundred heavy infantry and a contingent of combat engineers managing crude, siege ballistas.

Marie’s expression instantly soured.

Bazba caught her gaze and let out a booming, unapologetic laugh, his heavy half-plate clanking as he walked over to her command post.

“Well, if it isn’t the Iron Key. Looks like the system paired the hammer with the scalpel. We’ve got a solid vanguard and ranged support. We can work with this.”

Bazba grinned, completely ignoring the sheer hostility radiating from her.

“Do not act as if the first round did not happen, Bordon. We had an alliance. You were the first to break ranks and plunge a knife into the back of our own coalition. I have not forgotten.”

Marie said coldly, her fingers tightening around the grip of her bow.

Bazba waved a massive, gauntleted hand dismissively.

“It was a game of survival, Isolde. Croft played us, sure, but the alliance was a bloated corpse waiting to rot anyway. I just made the first move. That was then. This is a two-versus-two. If we don’t work together now, we both fail. So, put the grudge away.”

Marie’s mind worked like a decryptor, instantly calculating the variables. He was right. Sabotaging this alliance out of spite would only guarantee her own elimination. She let out a slow, measured breath.

“Fine. For the duration of this event, we are allies. What is your operational proposal?”

Bazba unrolled a heavy parchment map of the Shattered Citadel on a ruined stone barricade. He pointed a thick, calloused finger directly at the center of the map.

“Efficiency. Look at the Central Keep and the Grand Cathedral. Large Strongholds. They are worth three points each. The math is simple, Isolde. We only need to garrison one hundred troops to hold one. If we take both, that’s six points for only two hundred men committed to defense. The Small Strongholds are a waste of time. Fifty troops for a single point? We’d have to spread our army razor-thin just to match the score of a single major fortress.”

Bazba stated bluntly.

Marie frowned, her analytical eyes scanning the topography of the map.

“Your plan is flawed.”

She countered.

“Look at the distance. The Central Keep and the Grand Cathedral are miles apart, separated by a labyrinth of ruined streets. I have designed my army to do the strategy of fluid harassment; we do not hold static positions. If we split our forces to occupy both major strongholds, and Luke and Eliza concentrate their entire two-thousand-man army on one of them, we will be overrun. It would take too long for the other half of our army to reinforce the position.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Bazba scowled, leaning heavily on his maul.

“So what? We cower in the corners and collect scraps?”

“We maintain operational fluidity. We target a cluster of strongholds that are geographically close to each other. It does not matter if its small, medium or large strongholds. We keep our troops within a single, unified reinforcement radius. We do not spread ourselves apart for the sake of high-value targets.”

Marie insisted.

“If we play it safe, Eliza will drop artillery on our heads while Luke’s cavalry runs us down. We need to hit the center, breach the gates, and dare them to dig us out!”

Bazba argued, his hot-headed nature flaring.

“If you march your heavy infantry into the center without scouting, you will be walking into a fatal choke point!”

Marie shot back.

The two commanders glared at each other over the map, the air thick with unresolved tension, neither willing to yield their tactical strategy to the other.

Miles away, on the western edge of the Shattered Citadel, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Eliza Vance stood upon a ruined overlook, the wind catching the deep blue fabric of her Statecraft robes. Below her, the courtyard was a sea of disciplined steel and humming arcane energy. Five hundred heavy spearmen and five hundred armored cavalrymen stood in perfect formation. Behind them, Eliza’s own forces, Warders holding hexagonal barrier shields and Evokers vibrating with offensive mana, waited in silence.

A massive, steel-clad Eldorian Warhorse trotted up the ramp to the overlook. Luke Herrington, resplendent full plate armor, pulled back on the reins.

“Scribe Vance.”

Luke greeted, his voice ringing with authoritative respect.

“Magistrate Herrington.”

Eliza smiled, tapping the base of her pale, crystal-topped command staff against the stone.

“It appears the Founders have smiled upon us. The anvil and the artillery, perfectly paired.”

Luke dismounted, his heavy boots thudding against the stone.

“We have a balanced army. Infantry to hold the line, cavalry to flank, and your Evokers to break their morale. Since I possess the higher Academy Rank, I am prepared to take vanguard command, but I value your tactical input. How do you propose we proceed?”

Eliza bowed her head slightly.

“As a Tier-3 Magistrate, you have the seniority. I will defer to your overarching strategy, Herrington. Please lead the way.”

Luke unrolled his map, his armored finger tracing the outer rim of the ruined city.

“Bazba is a blunt instrument. He will look at the Central Keep and see glory,”

Luke deduced accurately.

“I propose we do not contest the center immediately. We do not rush for points. We scout first. We focus our early game entirely on securing locations that are easy to defend.”

Luke pointed to a cluster of ruined bridges and narrow gatehouses on the western perimeter.

“It does not matter if a stronghold is Small or Large. The only criterion that matters is whether we can hold it without bleeding our forces. We find choke points. We establish your Warders at the front, create an impenetrable phalanx, and let Bazba exhaust his infantry trying to break us.”

“A war of attrition,”

Eliza murmured, her eyes gleaming with approval.

“I completely agree. In fact… I believe your strategy of minimal casualties is even more crucial than you realize.”

Luke looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“How so?”

Eliza looked out over their assembled army, her mind flashing back to the moments just before she had stepped into the Astral Immersion Conduit.

(Flashback)

The crowd had been cheering as Bruce Doyle announced the map. Eliza had been doing the mental math on the stronghold points when a sudden, familiar vibration hummed in the back of her skull. It wasn’t the ambient mana of the arena; it was the Resonant Link.

Ray’s voice had spoken directly into her mind, crisp and entirely private. This was right as she stepped toward the obelisk, long before the doors sealed.

Eliza. Listen carefully.

She hadn’t turned her head to look at the spectator box where Ray was, keeping her expression perfectly neutral as she stared at her silver obelisk.

I hear you, Ray. What is it?

I believe Bruce is putting on a show.

Ray’s mental voice relayed, vibrating with the analytical weight of the Grizzled Commander.

Look at the board. The math is too simple. Remember the first round had a hidden mechanic; the event ended once half of the participants got eliminated. The academy doesn’t do straightforward games. I don’t know what the catch is, but think like a true scholar of Statecraft. They are grading you on leadership. What is the true cost of war?

Eliza had blinked, her brilliant mind connecting the dots instantly. Ray wasn’t giving her an answer; he was handing her the cipher.

Casualties.

Eliza’s theory blooming in her mind.

They are giving us a thousand troops. It’s not just about taking real estate. They want to see how we spend them.

I am thinking the same thing.

Ray had replied, his tone deeply approving.

Don’t throw lives away. Preserve your assets. Good hunting.

(End Flashback)

“A trusted colleague posed a very interesting question just before we got transported, that got me thinking. I do not know the exact parameters, but I strongly theorize there is a hidden mechanic in this round. The Academy is testing us as Statecraft commanders. The currency of a commander is the lives of their soldiers.”

Eliza told Luke, keeping her voice low.

“You believe we will be penalized for our casualties?”

Luke’s eyes widened slightly beneath his visor.

“Or rewarded for our survivors,”

Eliza corrected.

“If Bazba throws two hundred men at a wall to secure three points, and we secure a one-point tower without losing a single soldier… we may actually be winning the invisible war.”

Luke looked out over his army, a new weight settling onto his armored shoulders. He nodded slowly, drawing his broadsword and resting it against his shield.

“Then we fight like true Magistrates. We give no ground, and we throw no lives away. Send out your scouts, Eliza. We move as a single, unbreakable unit.”

Luke declared.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep