"This is unbelievable!" Imperator slammed his fist onto the war table, seething.
Kael’s sudden ambush had completely derailed his strategy.
Twenty minutes earlier.
Imperator and the ten raid leaders elected by the Orc player faction were holding a war council in the watchtower.
"Our harassment tactics are paying off. The enemy has lost a massive chunk of their miners, tanking their resource gathering rate," Imperator said. "We've also forced them to waste time and materials researching stealth-detection tech. As of right now, they haven't managed to construct a single combat barracks. Gentlemen, Phase One is a resounding success."
The raid leaders broke into applause.
Imperator cleared his throat. "I just received a system prompt. We've unlocked the capacity to deploy up to 40,000 DP worth of Orc NPC troops. The enemy only has about 20,000 DP worth of combat-ready players. The power gap between us is at its absolute peak right now."
He leaned forward. "High risk, high reward. I've decided to launch an all-out assault. Ten thousand players and forty thousand NPC troops, moving as one to crush them. They think we're still in the skirmish phase. Their forces are scattered across the mining nodes, leaving their main camp vulnerable. We strike hard, fast, and wipe them off the map."
The raid leaders exchanged uneasy glances.
"Commander, isn't that a massive gamble?" one asked.
"He's right. If they hold the line, our ten thousand players are going to wipe."
"Shouldn't we stick to raiding the mines?"
"Yeah, we sent in a few hundred stealth units and crippled them. We should just keep bleeding their economy."
"I vote for sticking to small strike teams."
The consensus was clear: an all-out attack was too risky.
Imperator didn't lose his temper. This was a pug raid, a temporary alliance; lack of trust was part of the deal.
"I hear your concerns," he said calmly. "But think about it. Can skirmishes and guerilla tactics actually deal a fatal blow? Have their player numbers dropped? Has their tech tree stalled? No! Meanwhile, every unit we lose is gone for good. If we don't push now, if we let them dig in and counterattack, we're finished. We're just frogs in a boiling pot. If we sit here, we die."
His words hit their mark. The leaders' hesitation shifted to visible doubt.
"But what if the players just ignore our orders?"
"Exactly. We're a ragtag army, not a unified guild."
"I only know a dozen guys in my raid. I can't guarantee the rest will follow my lead."
Seeing them waver, Imperator relaxed. "Ask yourselves, why is everyone participating in this event?"
The leaders blinked, caught off guard.
"To protect Village 9139?" one guessed.
Imperator shook his head.
"To win?"
Another headshake. Imperator locked eyes with the group, emphasizing every word. "It’s for points. Leaderboards. Loot."
He paused to let it sink in. "Do you think the average player gives a damn if the village falls? As long as they rack up points and climb the rankings, they get better gear and better rewards. You just tell your grunts we're charging out to farm points, and they'll rush the enemy lines like starved wolves. You won't even be able to pull them back."
The raid leaders nodded in agreement.
Imperator stood up, slamming his fist into his open palm. "Who actually cares about the victory screen? We do! The commanders! Imagine having this on your gaming resume: Conquered Starlight Town, Defended Grom'kar Outpost. Whether you want to start your own guild or get recruited by a top-tier one, that title is a golden ticket."
"Alright! Commander, give the word."
"We're with you."
Imperator let out a quiet breath. The last thirty minutes hadn't been a waste. "Good. All raid groups, prepare to receive orders—"
Just as he was about to issue the commands, a frantic message popped up in the faction channel.
Dawnbreaker is attacking the West Village!
Players started spamming screenshots and short clips. The footage showed Kael, flanked by a squad of simulacrums, on an absolute rampage. He completely ignored the West Gate. Instead, he was aggressively targeting the production facilities, questing players, and worker NPCs outside the walls.
In mere minutes, he had destroyed a windmill and leveled two food production and storage depots. The casualty count for players and NPCs was already in the hundreds.
"This is unbelievable!" Imperator slammed his fist onto the table, seething.
The other raid leaders winced at the footage. While the Orc faction's DP cap was static, their overall power scaled with their tech tree—and a huge chunk of their research facilities were located in the West Village. Essential resources like food, fruit, and fresh water directly impacted the "Morale" buff of The WarChief's troops, which governed their accuracy, critical strike chance, attack speed, and movement speed.
If Dawnbreaker wiped out the West Village, he would permanently cripple the faction's combat readiness.
"Commander, what's the play?"
"Do we still push the enemy camp?"
"We have to deal with Dawnbreaker first!"
"What do we do?!"
Panic was spreading through the room until Imperator's voice cut through the chaos. "Quiet!"
He stood up, forcing the raid leaders to silence. As they looked at him, they saw a vicious smirk spreading across his face.
"Dawnbreaker, Dawnbreaker... I was just agonizing over how to catch you separated from your main force. I didn't think you'd deliver yourself right to my doorstep."
Seeing his surging confidence, the raid leaders calmed down, waiting for his orders.
Imperator analyzed the situation, his mind racing. "We all know the event rules. If a player dies and isn't resurrected within one hour, they automatically Release Spirit and are permanently eliminated from the battle."
The leaders nodded.
"In a massive team fight, even if we burn everything to kill him, someone will manage a combat rez. But out here..."
One of the leaders caught on. "You're saying we gank him right now?"
"And then we camp his corpse for an hour..." another added.
The realization hit the room. "And then Dawnbreaker is out of the event!"
Imperator nodded sharply. "He is their anchor. If he dies, we've practically won."
He walked to the edge of the watchtower, glaring toward the west. "He dug his own grave."
"Hold on. I have a question." A female Fox-kin raid leader raised her hand. "How exactly do we kill him?"