The battlefield lay in the heart of Castore’s desert — a hundred square kilometers of sand, rocks, and ravines beneath the milky light of Galeo.
A massive square, its corners aligned with the four cardinal points.

To the north, the white base — Finde’s.
South, the black.
West, the red.
East, the blue.

The ground vibrated, scorching hot, as if the desert itself wanted to swallow them whole.
Every step kicked up dust — and doubt.

As the group ran toward their position, May naturally took command.

“Alright, guys. It’s simple: those who conquer, win. Those who don’t… pack their bags.
Gill, Ancer, Luke and I will go on the offensive. Katrin, Solus, Winny and Finde — you’re on full defense.”

Finde clenched his jaw.
He didn’t like it.
That point system reeked of deception.

“I don’t know, May. Oku never said how many points were needed to be promoted or eliminated from the Arena.”

May shot him a sideways look, that usual arrogant grin on his lips.
“Who cares about the points? Just capture the other flags. That’s all that matters.”

Katrin spoke, calm but sharp.
“Finde’s right. The point system is meant to test teamwork, not just strength. We should figure it out before moving.”

May snorted.
“No time for your paranoia.”

Twenty minutes later, they reached their base — a flat expanse dotted with boulders and cracks.
Perfect for an ambush.

Finde crouched, grabbed a dry branch, and drew lines in the sand.

“Let’s recap.
+2 points for capturing a flag, –2 if we lose it.
+1 if the capture is done solo, right?”

Katrin nodded.
“Yes. And –1 if we lose it because of a single opponent’s offensive.
Recapturing your own flag: +4.
The team that loses it: -4.”

Finde scratched his forehead.
“And the five-point rule?”

Winny, timid, whispered,
“Whoever captures a flag from a team that had previously stolen it from another earns +5 points.
The team that loses it receives -5 points.”

Finde lifted his gaze.
Drones floated above them, buzzing like metal flies around a corpse.
A chill ran down his spine.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this. He thought.

A sharp signal cut through the sky.
The tournament had begun.

“Gill! Ancer! Luke! Move!”
May and his strike team vanished into the desert.

Silence.

Only the desert wind remained — and their troubled thoughts.

At the Red base, Jhoanna watched her squad, eyes like a predator’s.

“Melkior, I want you to go out on reconnaissance.
Sweep the battlefield far and wide and keep me updated.
Everyone else, hide behind that ridge over there.”

She pointed to a small rocky promontory, a natural hiding spot 200 meters from that point.

“Fermil, you watch the southeast.
Suzan, you watch the northeast.
Report anything you see. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The red flag fluttered in the wind — a crimson tongue amid the silence of the desert.
Jhoanna smiled.
A sharp, dangerous smile.

Far south, at the Black base, Gozen and Yano whispered apart from the others, then they approached together with the rest of the team.

“We’ve decided you’ll stay here to defend our flag.
The two of us will take care of scoring points.”

With that, they set off — each in a different direction: Yano toward the northwest, and Gozen toward the northeast.

Guster wasn’t happy.
“I don’t like it. If they capture flags alone, the team gets fewer points.”

Woolk laughed coarsely.
“Better for us. They do the work, we win anyway.”

“And what’ll Oku think? That we’re parasites?” Guster barked, anger boiling in his throat.

The voices grew louder — until they turned into roars.
Judit silenced them with a scream.

“You idiots! It’s a tournament, not a chicken coop!”

“Go to hell, bitch!” Guster snapped.
“I’m not sitting here rotting. Whoever wants glory, come with me.”

Nefer stood. “I’m in.”
Bulk followed. “Me too.”

Guster spat on the ground and glared at the others.
“Stay here and play cowards if you want.”

The three marched north.
Behind them, only wind and silence.
Ester, Woolk, and Judit stayed where they were.

To the east, the Blue team.

Serbice gathered his comrades.
“Alright, guys — to the south we’ve got the Blacks, to the north the Whites, and to the east the Reds. If they all attack us at once, we’re screwed.”

Lugrek threw up his hands.
“Great. Sounds like a conspiracy already.”

Kleus nodded.
“But Serbice might be right.
Let’s wait it out. Hold defense, let’s keep track of the points on our bracelets, then decide when to strike.”

Serbice closed the briefing with a firm tone.
“If nothing happens in thirty minutes, half of us go on offense.
Target: the White base. They look like the easiest pick.”

Everyone nodded.
No one smiled.

Fermil, the Reds’ lookout, yawned.
The desert was still. Too still.

Then he noticed something moving on the horizon — a lone figure wrapped in dust.

He touched the bracelet and whispered,
“Yano. Alone. Approaching from the southeast.”

The metallic voice reached Jhoanna.
Her grin widened.
The trap was ready.

Yano ran.
He was keeping a light trot to avoid wasting too much energy.

After fifteen minutes, he spotted the red flag waving among the rocks.

He stopped.

“Where the hell did everyone go?”

Silence.
Only the hiss of wind.

Too easy. He thought.

How many opponents could he handle on his own? Five?
Maybe.
But if Jhoanna was among them — then no.

That witch is damn strong, he thought.

“What the hell do I do?”
He spoke aloud, just to cover the sound of the silence filling his ears.

Gozen had trusted him.
Gozen — the strongest fighter in the arena.
He had to prove himself worthy of that trust.

In the best case, there will be no more than five Reds hiding down there.
I tear them apart, grab the flag, and get out.
Worst case, Jhoanna’s there.
I take red flag and run northeast. Lead them straight to the Whites. In the chaos that will erupt... I’ll grab their flag too.

The thought made him grin.
He pictured Gozen at the end of the tournament, patting his shoulder.

“Good job, Yano. Brilliant as always.”

With that dream printed across his face, he started running again.
The wind howled.
The red flag drew closer.

And above him — silent and unseen — the trap was about to spring.

(Continues in Chapter 9 — The Tournament, Part III)