The air was thick with tension as both factions stood at the edge of the Obsidian Forest. The towering trees lood like ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky. The morning sun painted the battlefield in hues of gold and crimson—fitting for what was to co.
Floating caras buzzed overhead, their lenses capturing every mont for the academy’s spectators. The professors moved between the ranks, handing out safety gear—thin, silver suits lined with ergency teleportation runes.
"Pathetic," I muttered, rolling my shoulders as the suit adjusted to my fra. It wouldn’t stop pain. It wouldn’t stop blood. It would just yank us out before death.
A small rcy.
The head professor, a grizzled man with a voice like gravel, stepped forward.
"Listen carefully, maggots! This is no training exercise - what happens in that forest stays in that forest. Your safety suits will activate if you take life-threatening damage, but let make this perfectly clear:"
His magic-amplified voice made the ground tremble as he raised three glowing fingers:
"Rule One: No killing blows to the head, neck or spine. The suits can’t protect against instant death. Any student caught deliberately aiming for these areas will be executed by academy law."
The floating caras zood in as he raised a second finger:
"Rule Two: The forest is your battleground, your shelter, and your larder. You’ll find no prepared food - only what you hunt or forage. Starvation is a valid strategy."
A third finger joined the others, his magic projecting a massive countdown tir in the sky:
"Rule Three: You have exactly 72 hours. When this tir hits zero, whichever faction has more mbers wins."
Murmurs spread through the ranks until his staff slamd down, creating a shockwave:
"Final warning - your communication spells will be jamd. No ssages. No coordination once you enter. The caras may watch, but no help is coming. This..." he grinned savagely, "...is war."
The floating caras suddenly zood in on individual faces as the professor concluded:
"Commanders! Approach for your faction’s starting coordinates. Everyone else... prepare to learn what real combat feels like."
The oppressive silence of the Obsidian Forest was broken only by the crunch of boots on dead leaves as we marched toward our designated fortress. The towering blackwoods cast elongated shadows that seed to reach for us with gnarled, branch-like fingers. Every few steps, the forest would exhale - a sickly warm wind carrying the tallic tang of old blood and sothing faintly rotten.
Rayne’s faction moved parallel to us about fifty yards east, their formation tight and disciplined. Through gaps in the foliage, I caught glimpses of their strategy session - Rayne gesturing sharply while Rin nodded, Kali testing her poisoned blades on passing branches that withered instantly. Their efficiency was almost admirable.
"Gods, this place stinks like a slaughterhouse," Lucielle muttered, wrinkling her nose. Her crimson hair seed unnaturally vibrant against the forest’s gloom.
I stretched lazily, rolling my shoulders until the joints popped. "So," I announced loudly enough to startle a flock of razor-beaked birds from the canopy, "anyone here actually know how to cook?"
The incredulous stares I received could have lted steel. Aurelia fidgeted with the hem of her silver safety suit before raising a tentative hand. "I-I can prepare basic als," she offered, her voice barely above a whisper. "My father believed every noble should know kitchen arts."
"Perfect!" I clapped my hands together, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet forest. "Because the thought of eating whatever mutated beasts live here is already making my stomach revolt. I’d rather not spend the battle puking my guts out."
Nearby, the Nowa sisters exchanged loaded glances. Liora’s grip on her sword tightened until her knuckles bleached white. "He’s treating this like so damned picnic," she hissed to Layla.
Our commander’s violet eyes tracked with unsettling intensity. "No," she murmured back, "he’s playing a ga we don’t understand yet."
Lucielle smirked, arms crossed over her leather armor. "Just wait. When has brother ever not had a plan?"
"A plan to get us all killed, maybe," Liora shot back.
The fortress erged from the gloom suddenly - a crumbling monunt to so forgotten war. Its obsidian walls absorbed the weak sunlight, making the entire structure seem like a gaping wound in the forest. The rusted iron gates hung crooked on their hinges, squealing like a dying animal when we pushed them open.
Inside, the main hall yawned before us, its vaulted ceiling webbed with chains from which a shattered chandelier swayed ominously. Dust motes danced in shafts of sickly green light filtering through broken stained glass windows. The barracks held rows of cots with moth-eaten bedding that might have been white a century ago. In the armory, we found only rusted relics - swords pitted with age, their edges long gone dull.
The courtyard was an overgrown nightmare of thorned vines that seed to twitch when we passed. At its center, a stone well exhaled a damp, earthy breath that made the hairs on my neck stand up.
Gathering the team in the cavernous main hall, I knelt and began sketching in the dirt with my dagger. The map took shape quickly - our fortress, the surrounding terrain, and a rough periter marked by fallen monoliths about half a mile out.
"Here’s the deal," I said, tapping the boundary line. "Hunt within this zone. Eat. Rest. Do whatever you want - just don’t cross this line before tomorrow." Standing, I brushed the dirt from my knees and turned toward the groaning gates. "I’m going hunting. Alone. Be back by nightfall with dinner."
The murmurs of protest were imdiate, but Layla’s voice cut through them like a blade. "You’re our strategist," she said, stepping forward. The fading light caught the sapphire threads in her braided hair. "You can’t just abandon us. What if Rayne attacks while you’re gone?"
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