BATTLEFIELD MACHINES AND THE BLOW OF DOOM

The television crackled, emitting the harsh, crashing sounds of metal and boulders. Arata and Yuki sat motionless before their meager meal, the chopsticks in their hands having paused long ago. On the screen, the siege of Fortress 22 no longer looked like a video game battle. It resembled documentary footage of the bloodiest wars in human history.

"Look at them..." Yuki whispered, her fox-like eyes narrowing in sheer amazement. "They aren't players. They are machines."

The Fearless Legion

What left the entire world watching the broadcast in shock was the expressions of the 20,000 soldiers under the Old General's command. Normally, Aethelgard players were extremely cautious out of fear of losing their accounts—something that took months of grinding to build. But these people were different.

A cold, burning battle aura radiated from the face of every human warrior. They charged up the siege ladders at terrifying speeds, completely ignoring the rain of arrows pouring down from above like a waterfall.

One soldier had an arrow pierce straight through his shoulder, blood streaming down and dyeing his cloth armor red, but he didn't even flinch. Instead of pulling the arrow out, he used his own body to shield his comrades behind him. When a massive boulder from the defenders' catapult hurdled toward them, threatening to destroy the base of the ladder, a group of three men didn't hesitate to leap directly off the suspended rungs. They slammed their bodies hard against the boulder to deflect its trajectory.

They instantly dissolved into specks of white light, their accounts wiped out, but the siege ladder remained standing. That sacrifice happened so swiftly and coldly—without a single scream, without a shred of hesitation.

"Are they insane?" The Lord of Fortress 22 stood high above, his hands trembling as he watched a human soldier, despite having an arm severed, still managing to use his remaining arm to tightly grip a monster's neck, dragging it down into the abyss until both vanished into nothingness.

Another was pierced through the abdomen by a spear, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth, yet his calmness was terrifying. He grabbed the spear's blade, pulling it deeper into his own body to close the distance, then coldly drew his short sword and decapitated his opponent.

"Too basic," the soldier whispered before falling.

15% Pain and 100% Willpower

In Aethelgard, the publishers had reduced the sensation of pain to 15% so players could endure it. However, 15% of a fatal wound was still equivalent to a deep knife cut into flesh or a broken bone in real life. It was a pain intense enough to make an ordinary person scream or pass out.

But these 20,000 people were like intelligent "zombies." They felt the pain, they knew their bodies were being torn apart, but their military discipline completely crushed their survival instincts. They used quantity to make up for quality, using the deaths of those before them as stepping stones for those behind.

"Grandpa Kenshin is truly an old fox," Arata muttered, his eyes flashing with admiration. "He didn't train them how to play a game. He trained them how to die to win."

The Moment the Great Wall Fell

At the base of the fortress, the roaring of the battering ram echoed rhythmically. It was a massive, steel-plated log suspended by a complex pulley system. Hundreds of soldiers were working together to push it, ignoring the waves of boiling oil and magic raining down from above.

Every time a wave of men fell to severe burns or spells, another wave immediately rushed in to take their place. They didn't let the machine stop for even a single second.

Crash! Crash! Crash!

Every impact shook the entirety of Fortress 22. The Lord of Fortress 22 began to sweat bullets. He had wiped out over 2,000 people, but looking down, the sea of humanity remained as vast and endless as ever. They didn't fear pain, they didn't fear losing their accounts; they only knew the absolute command of the Old General sitting on horseback in the distance.

Old General Kenshin sat there, his aged face as cold as a statue. He was calculating every beat against the fortress gates. To him, this wasn't a game; this was the final test for his young officers.

"It's time," the Old General murmured.

Crack... Crack... CRASH!!!

The three-meter-thick wooden gate, reinforced by monster magic, finally succumbed to the pressure of those maniacs. It shattered into a hundred pieces. Dust swirled blindly.

"Charge! For the honor of humanity!" The battle cry echoed across the valley.

Thousands of soldiers flooded in like a broken dam. The Lord of Fortress 22 drew his sword, letting out a desperate roar to rally his monster legion. But at that exact moment, the white-bearded old man—Wrath—who had been observing from the sidelines all this while, suddenly stepped to the edge of the wall.

The old man looked down at the surging crowd, his eyes, previously blazing with battle intent, suddenly shrinking into snake-like slits.

"That's enough fun," Wrath said, his voice soft but overpowering the roars of the battlefield. "Let me show you why this land bears the name of the Supreme Being."

On the floor of their poor inn room, Arata and Yuki both set their bowls down. They knew the true monster inside the tower—the World-Devouring Serpent—was about to reveal itself.