The scariest thing in the world wasn't a dragon. It wasn't a demon lord. It wasn't even General Marcus with a hangover.
It was an Excel spreadsheet with no "Undo" button.
Hiroshi stared at the scroll unrolled across the obsidian desk. It was twenty feet long.
"Explain," Hiroshi said. His voice was a low growl, mostly because he was trying not to cry.
The Imperial Treasurer, a withered goblin-man named Gix, trembled so hard his spectacles rattled.
"Y-Yes, Your Supreme Terrifying Majesty," Gix squeaked. "As you can see... Line 400. Expenditures."
Hiroshi looked.
Spikes (Iron, Rusty): 4,000,000 Gold Coins Skulls (Decorative): 500,000 Gold Coins Poison (Widow's Weep): 2,000,000 Gold Coins Civilian Infrastructure: 0 Gold Coins
"We are bankrupt," Hiroshi whispered.
"Technically, we are 'liquid-asset deficient,'" Gix corrected, sweating. "The Empire's economy is based entirely on... looting. Since you conquered the last kingdom yesterday, we have no one left to loot. Revenue has hit zero."
Hiroshi rubbed his temples. The "God of War" body didn't get headaches, but Hiroshi's soul was currently throbbing.
So, I have a massive army, no money to pay them, and no enemies to fight.
BOOM.
A tremor shook the castle. Dust fell from the ceiling.
"Earthquake?" Hiroshi asked, gripping the desk.
"No, Majesty," Gix whimpered. "The Barracks. The 3rd Legion is... bored."
Hiroshi stood on the balcony overlooking the training grounds.
Below, ten thousand men were brawling. It wasn't a mutiny. It was worse. It was recreational violence.
Soldiers were throwing each other through stone walls. A group of spearmen were playing jump-rope with a live wyvern. General Marcus was in the middle of it, laughing as he suplexed a centaur.
"They are restless," Marcus shouted, spotting the Emperor. He leaped forty feet into the air and landed on the balcony with a heavy thud, cracking the marble.
"Majesty!" Marcus grinned, wiping blood from his nose. "The men are spirited! They demand a target! Who shall we crush? The Sea Folk? The Cloud Giants? Point us, and we shall turn their bones into soup!"
Hiroshi looked at the chaos. If he didn't give them an outlet, they would burn the capital down just to see the pretty lights.
I need to distract them. Something physical. Something competitive. Something... safe.
His mind flashed back to Earth. To Sunday afternoons. To stadiums roaring with energy, not murder.
"Marcus," Hiroshi said.
The General snapped to attention.
"War is... inefficient," Hiroshi said. "It wastes resources. It breaks the toys."
Marcus tilted his head. "Toys?"
"Soldiers," Hiroshi corrected quickly. "I have a new design. A simulation of war. To keep their edges sharp without dulling the blade on useless rocks."
Marcus's eyes lit up. "A simulation? Like... the Death Maze of Zog?"
"No," Hiroshi said. "Better. We will form teams. Eleven men per side."
"A small skirmish squad," Marcus nodded. "Tactical. I like it."
"They will fight over an objective," Hiroshi continued, waving his hands to shape an imaginary ball. "A sphere. They must move this sphere into the enemy's... territory. Into a net."
Marcus frowned. "A net? To trap the enemy commander?"
"No, just the ball. They cannot use weapons. Only their feet. And their heads."
Silence.
The wind howled through the high towers.
Marcus stared at him. Then, slowly, a look of pure, unadulterated horror spread across the General's face.
"Only... their feet?" Marcus whispered. "And their heads?"
"Yes," Hiroshi said, feeling proud. "It builds coordination. Stamina."
"By the Abyss," Marcus breathed. "To strip a warrior of his steel... to force him to use his own body as a blunt instrument... to headbutt a heavy iron sphere until the skull fractures..."
"Wait, it's leather, not iron—"
"And to deny them the mercy of hands!" Marcus shouted, getting excited. "To force them to run until their lungs burst! It is a test of pure, primal endurance! A mockery of combat that strips away the glory and leaves only the suffering!"
Hiroshi opened his mouth. Closed it.
Why does he always make it sound so metal?
"You will call it..." Hiroshi paused. Soccer? Football?
"CALAMITY BALL," Marcus roared.
"No, I was thinking 'The Imperial League'—"
"I will organize the brackets immediately!" Marcus jumped off the balcony, plummeting back into the brawl.
"LISTEN TO ME, YOU DOGS!" Marcus's voice boomed across the training grounds. "THE EMPEROR HAS DECREED A NEW TORMENT! THROW DOWN YOUR SWORDS! TODAY, WE FIGHT WITH OUR FEET!"
The soldiers cheered. It sounded like an orcish war cry.
One hour later.
The training ground had been cleared. Two "nets" had been set up—made of jagged scrap metal and dragon bones, naturally.
The "Ball" was a leather sack stuffed with... Hiroshi hoped it was straw. He really hoped it was straw.
Two teams stood facing each other. The Red Legion and the Black Legion. They were shirtless, scarred, and vibrating with aggression.
"Remember the rules!" Hiroshi shouted from the royal box, his voice amplified by the System. "No killing! No maiming! If the ball goes out of bounds, it's a throw-in!"
"HE SAYS NO SWIFT DEATHS!" Marcus translated for the troops. "SUFFERING MUST BE PROLONGED!"
[System Alert][Quest Created: The First Olympiad][Objective: Establish a National Sport][Current Mood: Bloodthirsty]
The whistle blew. (Actually, a horn blasted).
The game began.
It was... chaos.
A soldier kicked the ball. It exploded across the field at Mach 1, taking the head off a stone statue.
Three defenders tackled the striker simultaneously. The ground shook.
"FOUL!" Hiroshi screamed. "Yellow card! That's a slide tackle from behind!"
"Excellent!" Marcus clapped politely. "He crushed the ankle to immobilize the runner. Tactical genius."
"No! He needs to be penalized!"
"Penalized?" Marcus blinked. "Ah. You wish to introduce... The Punishment Box?"
"The Penalty Box, yes. Put him in there for two minutes."
Marcus signaled the guards. They grabbed the offending soldier and threw him into a literal iron cage filled with angry badgers.
"Two minutes with the badgers!" Marcus announced.
"That's not what I meant!" Hiroshi buried his face in his hands.
But the crowd...
Hiroshi looked at the soldiers watching from the sidelines. They weren't fighting. They weren't rioting.
They were cheering.
"KILL HIM! PASS THE SPHERE! BREAK HIS LEGS!"
They were invested. They were distracted. They were... having fun?
[System Notification][Army Morale: Stabilized][Aggression diverted to: 'Calamity Ball'][Civil War Probability: 85% -> 12%]
Hiroshi let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It was violent, it was dangerous, and the rules were being interpreted by psychopaths.
But it was organized.
"It works," Hiroshi whispered.
"It is glorious," Marcus agreed, watching a goalkeeper catch the ball with his face. "This 'League' will consume them. They will train for this. They will bleed for this."
Marcus turned to Hiroshi, eyes shining with adoration.
"You have turned war into a game, Majesty. You have mocked death itself. Truly, you are the bored God."
Hiroshi looked at the "scoreboard"—a pile of rocks being stacked by a giant.
"Just... make sure they drink water," Hiroshi said weakly.
"Hydration!" Marcus roared. "THE EMPEROR COMMANDS FLUIDS!"
As the sun set over the first ever match of Calamity Ball, Hiroshi realized something important.
He could sell tickets to this.
"Gix," Hiroshi said to the trembling goblin behind him.
"Y-Yes, Lord?"
"Charge admission," Hiroshi said, his eyes narrowing as his inner negotiator took over. "And sell snacks. Popcorn. Ale. Merchandise."
Gix gasped. "You mean... exploit their passion for profit?"
"I mean economic recovery," Hiroshi corrected. "We're going to merchandise the hell out of this."