The long, mournful blast of a horn echoed through the streets of Soltaris in the late afternoon. It was not the imposing, triumphant blare that had announced the Crimson Order's arrival weeks ago. Today, the sound was hoarse, fractured, and thick with the stench of death. The city streets were dead silent. Citizens peeked through the cracks of their wooden shutters, their faces pale with a mix of dread and morbid curiosity.
Standing watch on the eastern gatehouse, Thom and Dane looked down at the approaching procession. Even for seasoned gamers, the sight made their breath hitch.
The black-armored army that once marched in perfect, god-like unison was absolutely battered. The sheer number of Level 100 players in the guild—which hovered around a few hundred, matching the other major factions—had been violently whittled down. The surviving elites limped forward, dragging chipped weapons devoid of their magical luster. Their pristine, pitch-black armor was a mess of spiderweb cracks, melted slag, and dried, dark blood. The nauseating smell of charred flesh and burnt mana hung heavy in the air.
At the center of the procession rode Commander Warran. His massive frame still sat upright on his warhorse, driven by sheer, stubborn arrogance, but his left shoulder pauldron was shattered to pieces. The colossal greatsword on his back bore a terrifying, jagged crack down the middle.
Interestingly, his left eye—which was supposed to be severely burned by holy magic—was perfectly normal. The skin was smooth and unblemished, a testament to the absurd healing capabilities of a Level 100 Healer. Yet, despite his physical perfection, Warran's face was twisted in an ugly, continuous snarl. His facial muscles twitched violently. The immense political pressure from his 'Guild Master' and the other generals was suffocating him. He had lost too many men for a stalemate.
"They got absolutely chewed up..." Dane muttered softly, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana. "Look at how many Level 100s are missing. The Oracle must have fought like cornered beasts."
"A war of absolute destruction... ending in a bloody stalemate," Thom whispered back, his salesman eyes narrowing as he analyzed the shifting dynamics. "Their egos have been crushed into the dirt. And right now... they are going to be desperate for resources to lick their wounds."
The moment Warran stepped into the grand throne room of the inner castle, he didn't even bother removing his blood-soaked armor. He slammed his iron helmet onto the tactical map table with such force that the thick oak splintered.
"Summon the Master Crafters to the armory, immediately!!" Warran roared, his voice hoarse. "The Oracle's vanguard had too many religious zealots! We crushed them, but we lost nearly half our forces doing it, and their main army will march on us in a matter of weeks. We need to turn this city into a death trap!"
The injured high-ranking officers nodded hastily, scrambling to execute his orders.
"Draw all the pure iron ore and magical lumber we forced the NPCs to harvest!" Warran commanded, his remaining patience fraying. "Build 'Siege Warfare' emplacements along the entire wall! I want twenty Mana Trebuchets and a magical gatling-turret array facing east! Move!"
A team of Level 100 crafters sprinted toward the main military vault, quickly unlocking the heavy magical seals. As the heavy iron doors creaked open, they let out a collective sigh of relief. Mountains of glowing iron ore and enchanted logs were stacked all the way to the ceiling.
The Head Crafter confidently swiped his hand through the air, pulling up his invisible system UI. He selected massive quantities of the glowing ore and timber, dropping them into his crafting queue, and activated his highest-tier skill.
"[Mass Build: Mana Trebuchet]!"
Vzzzt!
A brilliant blue magic circle illuminated the floor beneath the materials. But instead of the glorious sound of metal forging and wood snapping into place, a sickening, brittle crunch echoed through the vault.
Crack... Shatter! Ssshhhh!
Before the horrified eyes of the crafters, the 'glowing' iron ore cracked open like cheap eggshells. The magical aura instantly peeled away, revealing the hollow, low-grade trash metal underneath. Unable to withstand the intense mana pressure of a high-tier crafting skill, the materials pulverized into a useless pile of grey dust.
"W-What is this?!" The Head Crafter's face drained of all color. He frantically ran to another pile, grabbing a chunk of 'pure iron' and squeezing it. Crunch! It crumbled in his hand. It wasn't iron at all. It was garbage rock coated in an alchemy illusion!
"Wait... an alchemy coating? You've got to be kidding me. This is the oldest scam in the book! It's a classic player trick for selling fake crafting mats!" The crafter screams
As they dug deeper into the vault, the terrifying reality hit them like a physical blow. Over 90% of the top-tier ores, rations, and rare materials were completely gone. All that remained was an elaborately disguised pile of trash.
Minutes later, a roar of sheer, desperate rage shook the very foundations of the castle.
Warran stood in the throne room, his giant sword having already cleaved the map table in half. A deep, primal terror flashed across his face. He was terrified of being stripped of his rank by the Guild Master. That overwhelming pressure from above warped his anger into blinding madness.
"Lock down the city!! Shut every single gate!!" Warran screamed, the veins in his neck bulging. "Find the scum who stole my resources! Turn this city upside down! Even if you have to slaughter every NPC in Soltaris, bring me their heads!!"
Hundreds of feet underground, completely cut off from the frantic chaos above, the 18 Undercovers were gathered around the polished stone table of their newly completed subterranean sanctuary.
Thom and Dane had just arrived, relaying the news of the battered army and the ensuing lockdown.
"Warran has completely lost his mind," Dane reported, leaning against a pillar. "The black-armored guards are rabid, tearing through houses like mad dogs looking for the stolen ore."
Talia slowly polished her cosmetic glasses, her expression unreadable. "Our base is fully operational. The heist is over. But if those guards keep tearing up the floorboards of every building, it's only a matter of time before they find the sinkholes Elise created. We need a distraction."
She looked up, her gaze locking onto Sera. "Sera. It's time to use the scapegoats. Plant the evidence in the Knight and Healer's room."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Mila, usually the cheerful chef of the group, frowned slightly, wringing her hands in her apron. "Are we really going to do this, Talia? Handing two innocent players over to a mob of angry Level 100s... they'll be tortured and executed. They're just trying to survive, just like us."
The moral weight of the decision hung in the air. They weren't villains; they were just gamers trying to stay alive.
Talia met Mila's eyes, her voice softening just a fraction, but her resolve remained absolute. "I know it's dirty, Mila. But it's them or us. If the Crimson Order finds this temple, all eighteen of us will be slaughtered. We don't have the luxury of playing the heroes."
Mila bit her lip, looking down, but she didn't argue. The harsh reality of this new world was setting in.
"I'll make it quick," Sera said quietly, the usual playful glint absent from her crimson eyes. She grabbed a pouch containing a few real, government-stamped pure iron ores and a fake emblem of The Oracle, and vanished into the shadows.
An hour later, Thom casually strolled through the plaza in front of the castle. Dozens of Crimson Order guards were running around frantically. He approached a group of guards, playing the part of a terrified local sentry perfectly, making sure his 'whisper' was loud enough for a heavily armored Crimson Captain to overhear.
"Hey... did you hear?" Thom stuttered. "A few nights ago... I saw those two new adventurers. The tall guy and the petite girl... I saw them sneaking around the sewer grates right below the military vault! The wind blew the guy's cloak back, and I swear, I saw a high-end magical sword covered in golden runes! What if they're spies for The Oracle?!"
The Captain snapped his head around, his eyes widening like a predator smelling blood. He lunged forward, grabbing Thom by the collar. "Where are they staying?! Answer me!!"
"T-The Crescent Moon Inn, sir! Second floor!"
"Gather fifty elites!! With me!!" the Captain shoved Thom aside and roared at his men. The squad charged down the street like a pack of starving wolves.
Edric and Elina trudged into their cheap rented room at the Crescent Moon Inn, exhausted from a long day of hunting low-level slimes to maintain their cover.
However, the moment Elina stepped inside, her high-tier Healer instincts flared. She froze, her eyes darting to the space beneath their rickety wooden bed.
"Edric... someone was in our room," Elina whispered, her face pale. She knelt down, pulling out a heavy leather pouch. She opened the drawstrings, and both of their hearts dropped. Inside were chunks of glowing, pure iron ore bearing the city's royal seal, resting right next to a silver emblem depicting the Holy Eye of The Oracle.
"What the hell is this?! How did this get in here?!" Edric gasped. He realized instantly that they had been set up.
"Edric, look out!!" Elina screamed.
BOOM!!
The thick wooden door exploded into splinters. Over a dozen elite Crimson Order guards flooded into the cramped room, their polearms surging with murderous intent.
"Caught you, you thieving rats!" the Captain roared. "Take them alive! Commander Warran wants to carve them to pieces!"
"Wait! We were framed!" Edric pleaded, but three heavy spears were already thrusting toward his chest.
There was no room for negotiation. Edric gritted his teeth, dropping his disguise and removing his limiters. "[Aura Burst]!"
A blinding wave of golden mana erupted from the young man's body. The concussive force shattered the incoming spears and sent the frontline guards flying through the inn's walls. Edric ripped off his shabby cloak, revealing a set of high-tier, glowing light armor and a magnificent golden-runed broadsword.
"We have to fight our way out!" Elina shouted, raising her glowing staff. "[Holy Aegis]!"
A pure white barrier enveloped them, deflecting a sudden volley of elemental spells fired through the windows. Edric lunged at the remaining guards, swinging his runed sword at blinding speeds. The sheer force of Level 100s clashing inside a confined space caused the entire back half of the inn to collapse.
"To the rooftops!!" Edric yelled. He fired a sword beam to blow a hole in the ceiling, grabbed Elina by the waist, and vaulted into the night sky.
Hundreds of Crimson Order guards swarmed the streets below, but something was wrong. Their attacks were sluggish. Fireballs fizzled out prematurely, and their magical barriers were paper-thin.
It was a brutal, desperate escape. Edric used his own body as a meat shield, taking heavy damage to protect Elina. His glowing armor cracked, and blood poured from deep gashes on his arms and legs. Elina frantically cast healing spells until her mana bar was blinking dangerously low.
"[Grand Cross Strike]!!"
Channeling the very last dregs of his strength, Edric unleashed a colossal, cross-shaped wave of golden energy. The attack slammed into the southern city wall, blowing a massive hole through the thick stone. Battered, bleeding, and gasping for air, the two of them sprinted through the rubble and vanished into the darkness of the dense forest.
Commander Warran arrived at the collapsed southern wall a few minutes later, his face contorted in absolute rage.
"You had them surrounded! Hundreds of you, and you let two rats slip away?!" Warran screamed, grabbing the Captain.
"C-Commander..." The Captain coughed up blood. He looked like he was about to collapse. "They were Level 100... And we... we just marched back from the Asteria battlefield..."
The Captain wheezed, clutching his chest. "Our army hasn't taken a 'Long Rest' since the war ended! Our physical stamina recovered slightly, but our 'Spell Slots' are completely empty! We didn't have the mana to cast high-tier crowd-control spells! We simply couldn't withstand the burst damage of two fully rested Level 100s..."
Warran ground his teeth. It was the harsh mechanical truth of this world. Without a proper Long Rest to reset their magical slots, a Level 100 player was severely crippled.
Swoosh!
Suddenly, a blood-red magical hawk dove from the night sky. It dissolved into a scroll bearing the seal of the Guild Master, landing directly in Warran's hand.
As he read the contents, his remaining eye widened in horror. "Cancel the vanguard assault on The Oracle..." Warran gritted out, his voice trembling. "The Guild Master has received intelligence. A new power is rising in the North. They call themselves the 'Free Guild Coalition'."
The surrounding guards murmured in shock.
"They are an alliance of mid-tier guilds and hundreds of independent Level 100 players displaced by our war," Warran explained, his face pale. "The Guild Master ordered us to halt our advance. If we commit our forces now, this Coalition will stab us in the back. The new orders are to fortify the walls and gather all resources to prepare for a three-way war..."
Warran wanted to scream until his throat bled. Gather resources?! With what?! The Crimson Order was now trapped in a nightmare: an empty treasury, an exhausted army, and enemies on all sides.
The Highest Bell Tower in Soltaris.
A group of figures in drab cloaks stood casually on the stone balcony, looking down at the burning southern wall.
"They actually made it out," Lars chuckled, leaning over the railing. "Though those Crimson guards barely put up a fight. Coming back from a WMD-scale war, their Spell Slots must have been completely dry."
Sera sighed, leaning against the brick wall. "I feel a little bad for them. They looked like they went through a meat grinder. But at least they're alive."
Thom walked up, holding a crumpled piece of parchment he had swiped from a drunken mercenary at the tavern earlier. "Well, they won't be wandering the woods alone for long. Have you guys seen these flyers circulating in the slums? There's a massive alliance forming up north. The 'Free Guild Coalition'."
Talia, standing quietly by the bell, turned around. She took the flyer from Thom, adjusting her glasses as she read the bold text calling for all independent players to unite against the two major guilds.
The pieces clicked together in her mind. A faint, genuine smile appeared on her lips. It wasn't a pre-planned mastermind scheme, but a beautiful, chaotic coincidence that they could absolutely exploit.
"Two Level 100 players, completely guildless, furious, and now actively hunted by the Crimson Order..." Talia murmured, looking out toward the dark forest where the duo had escaped. "Where do you think they're going to go? The Coalition just got two heavy hitters."
The guild members exchanged looks as the realization dawned on them.
"So... the power balance just shifted again," Dane noted, a grin spreading across his face. "All three sides have roughly the same amount of Level 100s now."
"Exactly," Talia nodded. "When the Crimson Order realizes how strong this Third Faction is getting, paranoia will set in. No one will dare to attack first. They'll be trapped in a Cold War."
She looked back at her guild, her eyes reflecting the distant fires of the city. "And while they are all frozen in fear, glaring at each other above ground... absolutely no one will be paying attention to us."