Ryo ran steadily, moving his head back and forth, scanning the battlefield.

Because of his current condition, he had set for himself only one goal: to assist with killing off as many soldiers as he could, as they could.

'The artifact makes me reach only the mere level of a Mid-Grade soldier. I—I don't know how many I can kill off.' He moved past broken tents, the debris scattered all over the ground, and the bodies of soldiers—both allies and foes.

Even glancing downward made him uncomfortable. It slowed his speed, made him curl his toes, and gag several times. 'So, this is war. The—the blood, GUHHK—'

At times, he even felt like his chest was being crushed and his stomach was being twisted violently. He realized that even if this was a test, and only a simulation, it was able to perfectly simulate what war feels like.

Now, one might wonder... how does Ryo know what war feels like? How does he know that it was a near-perfect simulation of a battlefield?

Not even Ryo himself knew the answer to such questions. Put simply, that was how he felt, instinctively.

As he continued to move, he had to step on bodies in his way. This made a strange sensation well up inside him. It was something like pity, but not quite pity.

Slowly, however, as he grew closer to the center where Knox, Amir, and the rest of the high-ranking soldiers were, he began adapting. He was still feeling sick and uncomfortable, but his legs maintained a steady pace. He was still gagging, but not as much as before.

'How far are—klgh—the High-Grade—'' Before Ryo could find where the High-Grade soldiers were, he was met by a violent gust of wind, like a raging tornado. Turning around, he noticed a tall, bulked-up figure charging toward him.

"Look who it is." Weyr let out a cry of war. "It seems the hot-headed successor has decided to FINALLY join the battle!" He launched himself toward Ryo, thrusting his sword with its aim steadily locking onto Ryo.

It was a rapid barrage of thrusts—five, maybe even ten thrusts in a span of forty seconds. He wielded a sword, but his style was perfect for a weapon like the rapier or lance.

Most of the thrusts were dodged by Ryo, albeit barely, while some clashed or bounced off the artifact.

'This thing can—what even is this artifact made out o—kugh.' Another attack was parried.

'Something feels off. His entire fighting style is awkward. Judging from his build—kegh—I know it's Weyr. He shouldn't be using a piercing styl—kugh! Unless—' He came to a realization, as he vaguely remembered what he read about Weyr.

After parrying a few more attacks, he stepped backward, activating his artifact.

Since this is an artifact from the older times— He muttered, in a low voice, "Activate."

Instantly, sparks of green appeared near the artifact—from the artifact. It glowed in a bright shade of green.

Ryo launched himself forward, plunging his artifact-wielding fist into Weyr's core. This caught Weyr off guard, making him crash into the soldiers who were behind him.

Following this, Ryo darted toward Weyr, his fists flying. But before they could reach him, Weyr caught them, dropping the sword he had held. Following this, Weyr grabbed Ryo's neck, going from a loose grip to tightening it, making Ryo immobile—unable to breathe.

'KGHH! COUGH!! COUGH!! I CAN'T BRE— I NEED KNO— ANY HIGH KGHH! RANKING—' He could feel his windpipe being crushed. His blurred eyes rampaged everywhere.

He was being humiliated. Used like a rag to clean the bodies on the ground, and bring down all ally morale.

His eyes began to close. 'I—I CAN—' With all the power he could muster up in his current situation, he lifted his leg, hitting the nether regions of Weyr.

The very next thing heard echoing all over the battlefield was Weyr's visceral scream. "ARGHRH!!!" His grip on Ryo's neck loosened. Ryo's attempt to free himself had come to fruition.

He pushed Weyr to the side, a smile creaking up on his face as he stood up and muttered, "Activate, Stage Red."

The sparks of green slowly became yellow, then finally took on a shade of bright crimson red. The artifact began humming, like it was singing, or maybe even telling a tale. It seemed like blood itself covered Ryo's fists.

He quickly jumped forward to attack the downed Weyr, but it was dodged—barely.

Weyr hopped back, gaining distance. "This is getting a bit boring," he said as he brushed off all the dirt that his uniform had collected and adjusted it.

"Let's... go further—" His arm began to melt, glowing in a blinding shade of orange, with a glimmer of blue at the very tip. His flesh sizzled and dripped to the floor, deformed, twisted, pulling into a streamlined shape. Muscles wrapped, tendons snapped. The stench of rotten flesh overwhelmed all senses.

'This is—' Before Ryo could do anything, Weyr thrust his sword—barely dodged.

Weyr did not stop. He was relentless and ruthless. A barrage of attacks rained over Ryo, pushing him back.

The Red State can barely deflect these attacks. "KUGH." Another strike, deflected. 'Maybe fifte—no, maybe ten—Kgh! more—' The flesh blade pierced his stomach, almost melting it before it was deflected. 'THIS THING'LL FALL AP—' His eyes widened, in panic, shock, and fear.

The artifact began falling apart.

'I—I CAN'T FIGHT—KUGH!! WHY THE HELL DID I NOT GET SOMETHING OTH—KRAGH!' The blade's blazing heat could now be felt by him. The artifact barely had any effect now.

'W—WHA—' Something caught Ryo's eyes in the midst of fighting.

"Charles, are you seeing this?" Knox's blade swiftly moved, slashing his opponents. His eyes, however, focused on something else.

Charles shot multiple bullets, all piercing through his enemies while he screamed in excitement, "It's him!"

'Is this what he meant?' Ryo thought, parrying another attack.

It was Ashen. Fighting Kaits and Caesar. Alone, and winning.