The Mighty Rat Guild's assault leader was none other than the legendary player once hailed as the "Demon King" of the FPS world—Shroud, the number one entry fragger from North America during the CS10 era.
Formerly a key member of Team Cloud, he had won multiple world championships before retiring from professional play. Now, he streamed under contract with the team, broadcasting on MouseTV, where his tactical insight and calm charisma made him a fan favorite.
Renowned for his sharp intuition and battlefield command, Shroud wasn't one of those chaotic, toxic types—his positive personality and sportsmanship had earned him the respect of many. A large number of players were more than willing to follow his lead.
But today, something felt wrong.
The guild assigned to lead the first assault wave wasn't the Mighty Rats, but another capable force—the Fork Guild. According to their prior agreement, no matter how the siege progressed, they were to check in every thirty minutes. Yet half an hour had already passed, and the Fork Guild was nowhere to be seen.
What's going on? Shroud frowned. Did something go wrong with their offensive plan?
As he chatted casually with his viewers on stream, he kept glancing toward the horizon, hoping to catch sight of their allies.
Ten minutes went by. Nothing.
Yeah… something definitely happened.
Unlike the Holy Knight Federation, whose members were united by the mutual understanding of "fifty bucks for everyone, we're all brothers," the Troll's guilds operated independently, each fighting for their own glory. Shroud couldn't tell whether the Fork Guild had succeeded and decided to hog the spotlight—or if they'd been completely wiped out.
Just then, a figure came stumbling toward him—rolling, crawling, gasping for breath.
Shroud immediately stepped forward. He recognized the man—one of their own recon players from the Mighty Rats.
"What's the situation up front?" Shroud demanded.
The player's voice trembled as he sucked in air. "Oh my god, I've seen hell out there!"
"What?"
"The Holy Knight Federation bastards… I don't know where they got it, but they've got advanced tech weapons! The Fork Guild was completely crushed—their formation broke in two minutes!"
Shroud's eyes widened. Advanced technology? What the hell…?
"The Fork Guild's still hanging back at a safe distance," the scout continued. "They're refusing to retreat. Their Casters and snipers already finished one full cast cycle—they're trying to use catapults now, taking potshots from afar."
"I see…"
Shroud glanced back toward his stream, and sure enough, the chat was exploding—his American viewers were losing their minds. He exhaled slowly and waved his scout off.
"Go rest up. You've done enough."
Back inside the command tent, Shroud faced the camera. His expression was calm, composed.
"The front line isn't looking great," he admitted, "but those Federation players are putting up more resistance than expected. Still—once the Mighty Rat Guild moves in, they won't stand a chance."
Then, he raised his hand.
"Mighty Rat Guild—prepare to advance!"
The order rippled through the ranks.
Players grabbed their weapons and began moving siege equipment forward. In addition to trebuchets, they had brought battering rams—massive wooden contraptions designed to smash through fortress gates.
After about twenty minutes of marching, Shroud vaulted over a low ridge, his borrowed rifle slung across his back. But the sight that met his eyes on the other side stopped him cold.
The battlefield was a frozen wasteland—split apart by jagged spears of ice. Patches of water and frost covered the ground, glinting faintly under the gray light.
And there, among the wreckage, were the remnants of the Fork Guild.
Dozens of their players sat in miserable clusters, swearing and complaining. Some huddled near Casters using Originium fire Arts for warmth, while others guarded piles of equipment belonging to their fallen comrades—still counting down their death timers.
There was no need to ask what had happened. The answer was obvious.
They'd failed.
Yet, as Shroud's gaze shifted toward the distant city walls of the Holy Knight Federation, he noticed something else—charred black marks, cracks, and even a few small breaches in the fortifications.
So they did manage to do some damage after all.
Shroud and the Mighty Rat Guild approached, but were immediately met with wary, defensive stares.
"Where's your guild leader?" Shroud asked, keeping his tone neutral. "I'd like to have a word."
"Reading timer," one of the players muttered, clutching a fallen comrade's gear.
"…Vice leader, then?"
"Also reading timer."
"…Huh."
Shroud scratched his head. No wonder the Fork Guild looked like a headless chicken.
"What the hell happened out there?" Shroud demanded.
The exhausted player slammed his fist into the ground, his voice full of anger.
"The Holy Knight Federation—those bastards somehow got their hands on a batch of new gear! Their range, power, and performance outclass ours completely. I'm telling you, if we can still fight after this, it'd be a miracle!"
"Far superior equipment…?" Shroud frowned deeply. That didn't make sense. Their gear was all taken from the Ursus Patrol Corps. Since when did a stronger Patrol unit exist—one that got raided by the Holy Knights instead?
"Can you hand this area over to us?" Shroud asked calmly.
"No objections here."
The Fork Guild players, seeing the Mighty Rat Guild's banners approach, began rising to their feet, cursing and helping each other limp toward the rear lines. With both their leader and vice-leader still stuck in respawn countdowns, there was no one left to command them. Even if they did return, they wouldn't have the strength to continue.
Watching them retreat, Shroud shook his head. Dawn had broken; the surprise attack had failed. That meant the rest of the battle would have to be fought head-on—steel against steel.
"Ready the trebuchets," Shroud ordered, his tone hardening. "Let's show them what the Mighty Rats are made of!"
A chorus of "Yeah!" roared back at him, the American players pounding their chests in excitement.
---
On the other side, Kalei had dozed off for a short while. It was already the dead of night in the Asia region—well past midnight. Though he had long grown used to late-night gaming, the adrenaline rush of combat had left his mind weary. For a moment, he even considered logging off and collapsing into bed.
Beside him, Lao Jin yawned. He had just returned after tending to his crying infant—married life had made gaming a rare luxury. Sneaking in a few hours of play felt like stolen treasure.
Half an hour had passed since the Trolls pulled back from their offensive. During that time, logistics players had delivered rations and energy food to replenish stamina. Scout players rotated shifts, and the main combat force took the brief opportunity to rest.
Even Xiao Ran A. had allowed himself a short break—but not for long. He was busy mapping out the next defensive plan. If his prediction was correct, their next opponents would be the Mighty Rat Guild, their main strike force.
Even with superior, almost experimental-grade equipment, defeating Shroud's group through tactics alone wouldn't be easy.
"If only this were a turn-based game," Xiao Ran muttered wryly to himself, "where we take turns attacking and defending. Then the Holy Knight Federation would win for sure."
Suddenly, a voice shouted from the watchtower:
"The Mighty Rats are here! I can see new trebuchets!"
Xiao Ran's eyes snapped open. He grabbed a nearby scope and peered toward the distance. The morning sun was just beginning to rise, weak light filtering through mist and smoke—but even so, he could faintly make out the curved silhouette of a trebuchet's arm.
"What the—if this goes on, my stream's gonna get flagged!" he muttered, half laughing, half cursing.
Beside him, Mr. Han looked away quickly, squinting at the horizon.
"If the Mighty Rats plan to attack like that… maybe it's time we take the initiative," he said.
"How many players do we still have online?"
"Over five thousand," someone reported. "But it's already 2 A.M. in the real world—some of the older guys couldn't hold out and logged off."
"Then how about this—let's send out three thousand as a feinted breakout, but make it a real offensive midway through?"
"Good idea," Xiao Ran nodded. "It's time we put Tomorrow's Development gear to use. Close-quarters firefights are where this equipment truly shines."
The veteran players quickly finalized their plan.
Mr. Han pointed toward the battle map. "We're surrounded on three sides. The only way out is forward. If we break through the center and take out the Mighty Rats' leader—Shroud—their morale will collapse."
"Agreed," Xiao Ran said. "And our Tomorrow's Development coats are double-sided—the inner layer's pure white. Perfect camouflage in the snowfield."
Moments later, the horns of war blared once again.
A sentry on the wall suddenly looked up, eyes widening as a massive sphere of rock and mud hurtled straight toward him. He stumbled backward in panic, falling flat as the projectile smashed into the ground outside the wall with a deafening boom.
The impact shook the fortifications. When the dust cleared, players saw that the boulder was wrapped in oiled cloth—now burning fiercely, flames licking up its surface.
"You've got to be kidding me!" someone shouted. "Since when did the Americans know how to do proper siege warfare? That's literally ancient Chinese tech!"
Curses and laughter mixed in the air as players clamored for a counterattack, ready to charge out and meet the Trolls head-on.
But before they could act, a runner from the Minotaur Guild came rushing through the ranks, breathless, shouting urgent news.
Kalei's original squad had been scattered and reorganized into a new unit. Now, he was assigned to follow Xiao Ran A. in a direct assault on the enemy's central force. Among the players, their levels ranked among the highest — meaning they couldn't just sit behind the walls and defend passively.
The second boulder fell with a deafening crash, striking the corner of the city wall and carving out a deep, jagged dent. Fragments of stone scattered everywhere.
Kalei knew that on the other side of the wall, players focused on production were already patching up the damage, racing against time and the wall's durability gauge.
"Let's move out," Xiao Ran A. said, glancing at his gear. "By the way, the Pioneer design team really thought this outfit through. Reversible — both sides wearable."
Kalei nodded. The front was a stylish black-and-white uniform, but turned inside out, it became pure white — perfect camouflage for a snowy battlefield.
He had also seen another variant in the faction shop — one with a black reverse side, clearly intended for nighttime operations.
Their vanguard force numbered just over two hundred. Silently, they slipped out through the city gate and advanced toward the enemy's central lines. Kalei and other ranged players stayed in the rear, controlling drones equipped with stealth modules that hovered high above, relaying reconnaissance data. Through their screens, they could clearly see where the Mighty Rat Guild had set up checkpoints, where small squads were stationed, and which areas were left undefended.
They didn't plan to charge in recklessly — two hundred players weren't enough to take on the entire Mighty Rat Guild head-on. Instead, they regrouped at the foot of a small hill, using their drones to transmit intel to the approaching reinforcements.
After several tense minutes, the second wave — nearly a thousand players — arrived. Xiao Ran A. took the lead once more, mapping a route that would circle around behind the Mighty Rat Guild's main camp for a surprise strike.
In ancient warfare, such a maneuver would've been near impossible — but now, with drone support, they could bypass enemy patrols entirely and even plant traps bought from the faction shop along the way.
After more than ten minutes of maneuvering, as the city walls behind them continued to crumble under constant bombardment, Xiao Ran A. finally spotted a dozing American player lounging on a recliner.
In a war this chaotic, true stealth was impossible. Even if they killed the sentry, he'd respawn shortly and raise the alarm. So instead, Xiao Ran A drew a dagger coated in paralysis poison.
Realizing what he was about to do, Xiao Ran A. couldn't help but mutter to himself, "Damn, I'm starting to feel like Johnny Black from SAO's Laughing Coffin—poison dagger and all."
The American player clutched his throat and collapsed, a Paralyzed debuff flashing above his view. His eyes widened as unfamiliar faces flooded his vision — dozens, then hundreds of them.
He tried to shout, but could only manage muffled groans before Xiao Ran A. kicked him into the snow.
"Alright, brothers," Xiao Ran A. said casually, drawing his longsword. "With me — charge!"
He dashed forward, blade gleaming in the pale dawn, and in front of hundreds of watching players, drove his sword straight through an unsuspecting logistics player's chest.
"Kill them all!" Xiao Ran A. roared.
"OOOHHHHHH!!!"
The Holy Knight Federation players raised their weapons high and stormed into the Troll's camp, slashing and burning as they went.
Kalei spotted the enemy trebuchets in the distance. Frosty blue light flared in his palms — before the spell had even fully formed, he released it. A sharp blizzard howled forth, tearing through the trebuchets' bone plating. Within seconds, they were riddled with cracks and collapsed under their own weight.
"Charge!" someone shouted.
"Take out the trebuchets first!"
"Leave none alive—strip their gear if you have to!"
Chaos erupted across the field. The once-calm center of the battlefield now boiled over like a lake hit by an explosion.
In his camp, Shroud was chatting idly with his stream when the sounds of shouting and explosions suddenly rose behind him. He grabbed his rifle and shoved open the door—only to freeze in disbelief.
A massive wave of Holy Knight Federation players had appeared in his rear courtyard, advancing fast and furious.
Before the assault on the Federation's fortress, Shroud had split his forces in two to cover all exits, keeping pressure on both flanks while the main army held the front. So how—how had these players slipped behind them without anyone noticing?
'Behind us?'
A chilling thought crossed his mind. Don't tell me… they dug a tunnel?
There were fewer than two thousand players left in the camp now — all veterans, but clearly outnumbered by the three thousand charging in.
Still, Shroud refused to give up. He shouted at the top of his lungs, rallying his men.
"Only three thousand of them! Hold formation! Defenders up front—don't let them break through!"
"Trust me, we can win this!"