Deacon blinked once and found himself and the Ravenlight Party standing before a wide table. Its surface glowed faintly, the map stretched across it not paper or parchment but a projection carved from mana.
It displayed the battlefield in harsh, yet incredible detail –detail that, with his years of studying strategy and maps at the academy, he was able to decipher. Lines of red and blue cut across plains and forests, jagged symbols marked a mountain range, bridges swarmed with soldiers whose lives were being snuffed out by the hundreds in seconds, and underground trenches crawled with skeletal figures.
He spotted the ravine from earlier, and to his surprise, there were now more than fourteen of them compared to the single one he'd seen before. Instead of just one bridge they'd crossed, the ravine was now lined with multiple crossings, each marked with symbols indicating squads positioned to defend or attack. Hills dotted with flags marked the locations of commanders, while blackened zones showed where the undead had seized ground.
Pulling his eyes from the map, Deacon was the last to notice they weren't alone in the tent. Shadowy figures – skeletons, zombies, vampires, and a dozen other undead races – crowded around the table. Medallions and badges gleamed on their chests, or in some cases, their many chests, as rotted or armored hands stabbed toward positions on the map while they muttered among themselves.
The only person who looked slightly out of place in the tent was the three-meter-tall undead gopher wearing a robe and holding a purple orb in its right paw as it stood up on two legs.
Deacon blinked and glanced down at himself and saw that a strip of black cloth was held in his left, closed palm. Glancing back at his Party, he noticed it was the same for Sam, Jass, and Esmerelda, but to for Bonehead.
The bandana itself shimmered faintly in his grasp while also carrying the reek of undeath to it, causing him and everyone else in the Ravenlight Party to Identify it.
Item Name: Bandana of the Undead
Type: Tool
Rarity: Unique
Description:
Created by an unknown Tier 2 Enchanted Seamster who wished for his family to be granted safe passage through a long-gone undead city and towards the new continents without having to risk their lives in the much more dangerous forests infested with the royal guards chasing them down. However, after he and his family had met their demise within the undead city, the Tier 2 Enchanted Seamster was revived by the Undead Pontiff and became a member of nobility after 300 years of servitude. Providing his service to the Undead Pontiff, he made these bandanas to be worn by mercenaries who fight for the Undead Pontiff in hopes of becoming a recognized undead when he graces the battlefield.
Effect: Grants you the constitution of an undead skeleton; you are no longer harmed by ambient undead miasma, but you take increased damage from holy power and holy-based attacks.
"Whoa," Esmerelda muttered with a sparkling gaze as she brought up her bandana closer to her face.
Bonehead eyed the bandanas in Sam's hand as though they were a philosopher's stone, but said nothing.
Deacon's gaze traveled from the bandana in his left hand to the very same wrist attached to it, where a band of deep black steel, etched with glowing silver runes, lay atop it.
Item Name: Tournament Band
Type: Tool
Rarity: Unique
Description:
[REDACTED].
Solo Tournament: Points are earned by defeating enemies based on their level and modifiers. Attacking or killing fellow cadets yields no points. Aggressors are marked with a bounty that increases with each cadet attacked; removing their band transfers the bounty in full and disqualifies the offender from both tournaments.
Group Tournament: Points are earned collectively by completing Floor Quests, recorded and tallied for the entire Party.
Duration: Active for the duration of the tournaments.
Effect: Tracks points awarded during both the Solo and Group Tournaments.
"Still redacted, huh?" Deacon muttered under his breath. He turned his wrist back and forth, watching the runes pulse as if mocking him. "I thought maybe after stepping into Floor Six, something would have changed. But nope. Still no clue how Iron Scale Guild managed to work with the System."
"Yeah," Sam sighed, the word flat as his gaze stayed pinned on his own band. "Even in my own family records, I haven't read of anything like this happening before."
"…That pisses me off," Sam said after a few seconds, letting out a sharp huff. "Because the way your uncle reacted, same as the rest of my family, it was like being told that a guild was able to interact with the Tower was old news to them."
"… Yeah, I couldn't agree more," Deacon muttered to himself as he lowered his hand. Exhaling slowly, he moved closer to the glowing war table. However, when doing so, a familiar chime rang in his ears, and a screen appeared before his eyes.
Floor Six – War of Kingdoms Event 2: Rush to Break the Stalemate
It has been one hundred and twenty-seven days since the war between the Holy Human Kingdom and the Tyrannical Undead Kingdom erupted in its entirety. The once-mighty banners of both kingdoms are now drenched in blood and decorating the grounds of the battlefield along with the corpses of thousands. Despite relentless assaults, neither kingdom has been able to gain ground.
The conflict has ground to a brutal stalemate. Both Pontiff Kings have suffered severe wounds, confining them to their castles under the constant care of their respective healers.
Key positions along the frontlines have collapsed, leaving the lines in shambles. As a result, both kingdoms have been forced to hire mercenaries to fight at their side. You are one such mercenary, a human who has turned coat and wishes to show loyalty to the Undead Pontiff to preserve your and your Party's living states.
Floor Completion Criteria:
▸ Eliminate the four Lieutenants of the Holy Human Kingdom: Christoff, Vitura, Elira, and Talaris
▸ Slay the General of the Holy Human Kingdom: Obi, the Impaler
Time remaining: — ∞ —
NOTICE: Upon completion of the Floor Quest, Floor Seven will merge with Floor Five and Floor Six, and begin immediately.
Deacon let out a low whistle, muttering, "I wonder how he got that title?"
"Probably by fucking the people he's killed," Bonehead replied without much thought or hesitation, causing the somewhat tense moods of everyone to vanish entirely and break out in light chuckles.
"How many did he have to fuck to get that name?" Deacon muttered with mirthful eyes and a smile.
"I wonder if his pecker was so small he had to use his spear to compensate," Jass followed up with an equally wide smile.
That earned a short bark of laughter from everyone; hell, he could even swear he'd seen the lips of the vampire official beside him quirk a smile despite her attempt to remain stern.
Deacon shook his head, smile fading as he refocused on the objectives hanging in front of him. With a thought, the prompt dispersed, leaving only the war map's glow filling his vision.
The battlefield was alive with shifting icons. Green soldiers blinked in and out of existence, their markers flashing once before fading into dull grey where positions had been overrun. Red swarms pushed forward like blood spilling through cracks, tightening the noose around the Undead Kingdom's hold.
Deacon exhaled slowly through his nose. "If we go frontal, we'll get bogged down," he muttered. His eyes followed the jagged mountain line near the border. Enemy defenses were weaker there – sparse patrols, supposedly stretched supply points, and only a handful of lieutenants stationed on the ridges.
But if they carved through and pressed in, they'd have a direct route into the central command lines where General Obi was bound to be directing troops, and on the way, they could meet one of the three lieutenants; Christoff, Vitura, and Talaris.
"The mountain outskirts," Deacon said at last, tapping the ridges with two fingers. "We drop in there, cut through, and pincer into the main front. If we're lucky, we'll be able to gank them before they even realize where we came from."
Sam leaned over the table, gaze narrowing at the projection, and remained that way before nodding in agreement, "It'll be a pain in the ass to maneuver on foot, but the plan is sound."
Esmerelda tilted her head, pale hair brushing against her cheek as her arms folded under her chest. "It works. Fewer enemies to draw attention at the start, more chance we can maneuver."
Jass shrugged and spun her bandana in one hand. "I trust ya, Deke."
"Same," Esmerelda said, already tightening the black cloth that was embroidered with a grey skull around her left arm.
Sam and Jass followed suit, pulling theirs on, and Deacon put his on just after. It was placed across his forehead, and just like everyone else's, as he tightened it, a membrane of mana flashed over his body for a second before fading away.
"Where's mine?" Bonehead asked as he was searching through his own robe's and sweatpants' pockets looking for his bandana.
"You're already dead," Jass replied flatly to Bonehead as she knotted hers tightly across her right bicep while Sam had his tied across his left arm. "You don't need one."
The moment the four of them wore their bandanas and had been covered in that thin membrane of mana, the Tournament Bands strapped to their wrists reacted. The dull grey sheen of their runes bled away, replaced with a shifting nebulaic swirl of violet, indigo, and faint traces of gold.
"Not bad," Jass muttered, turning her wrist back and forth so the colors caught the light. "Sucks that I'm not wearing any matching colors with it."
"Agreed," Deacon said with a nod, taking in one last deep breath before pressing his finger down on the blinking soldier icon at the mountain's border, and upon doing so, the hooded gopher activated its orb and snapped its short, free arm in their direction.
And like that, the quiet and dry war tent around them vanished in an instant, and in its place was a loud, chaotic, and wet battlefield.
However, Deacon saw none of that as his world slammed back into motion with a tackle that sent him crashing into the bloodied and corpse-filled mud that used to be beneath his feet.
And before the rest of his body could strike the ground, the back of his head was first and struck against the earth with enough force that it would have killed him immediately three and a half months ago.
His ears rang with the chorus of battle: the screams and shouts coming from all sides, the clash of steel on steel, war horns blaring in the distance, and beneath it all, the high-pitched ringing that drilled deeper into his skull with every passing millisecond.
His nose found itself flooded with the stench of blood, steel, ash, and burnt flesh, causing the immediate reflex of tears to well up within his eyes.
Wha-? Deacon confusedly thought as his vision was covered in stars, and he felt as though he was just now covered in molasses. What j…just 'append?
Blinking through the haze and sudden wetness of his eyes, his vision slowly sharpened, and he saw the cause of the oppressive weight that was atop of him.
A soldier, a live one, who was part of the Holy Human Kingdom, judging by the symbol of the sun embroidered across his muddied armor – practically the only thing he could see with his bleary vision.
He found himself pinned beneath the crushing weight of a soldier, mud seeping into his clothes, and a pressure at his throat so tight that black flecks began crowding the edges of his sight and his throat began to sting with the taste of rising bile.
His gaze snapped upward to meet the face of a grizzled man clad in battered and muddied leather armor, hands clamped like a vice around Deacon's exposed neck. Malice burned in the man's eyes, his lips moving in words Deacon couldn't hear. Then, as if realizing it, the man's grip tightened, cutting off what little air remained and forcing Deacon's lungs to claw desperately for breath.
Adrenaline cut the fog from his mind and practically rebooted his mind.
Deacon's right fist shot upward, smashing into the soldier's face. The man didn't so much as flinch; if anything, his grip tightened and pressed his weight deeper into Deacon's chest.
Snarling, Deacon struck again, this time with Ignis bursting from his knuckles. The blast of fire roared point-blank into the man's head, searing flesh and filling the air with the stench of burnt flesh.
But Deacon didn't stop there; his flaming hand plunged through the blaze, fingers hooking cruelly into the inside of the man's cheek. With a guttural snarl, he wrenched the soldier's head sideways, the sudden force ripping the man off balance and off of him.
In one fluid motion, Deacon reversed their positions. He was on top now, driving the man into the mud, knees pinning him down. One hand clamped onto the upper jaw, the other seizing the lower.
Spots still danced in his vision, as the man's grip was still wrapped around his throat, and just as Deacon could feel that the man's fingers dug into the flesh of his throat, the adrenaline rushing through him reached its apex.
With a roar that ripped raw from his throat, Deacon tore the upper half of the soldier's head clean from his lower half, covering his upper body in a splatter of blood as it gushed out of the man's neck.