Two hours earlier...

“Hey, come here!” shouted Gra - an officer of protection squads - to one player. “What unit are you from?”

A twenty-three years old, skinny, frightened guy came over, took off his gun, pulled out the magazine and a round from the chamber.

“Second Machine Gun Company under Ghoton and his deputy Perstes, sir.”

“Where is your firing position?”

“On the north wall.”

“Did you check the machine gun?”

“Twice.”

“Good. Where are you headed now?”

“To the barracks,” the player continued to answer with a worried look and an incomprehensible sense of guilt. “I want to rest before the fight.”

“What happened to your personal weapon?”

“I haven’t had the time to clean it, sir,” he answered, his lips pressed together.

“There’s rust and dirt on it.”

“My bad,” he replied, not believing it himself.

Gra stepped closer, took the weapon and twirled it in his hands.

“You don’t think you’d need a regular rifle to fight a dragon, do you? I can see you think so. What if your friend turns out to be a traitor and kills you in the heat of the battle? Would that be your defense?”

“But...” the player paused and could find nothing to say to the complaint.

Gra threw the weapon back to the player and said with a stony expression on his face,

“You know that only the best deserve to fight here, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So be it. Next time I catch you and see any fault again, you’ll be replaced.”

The player saluted and ran away. Gra and his wife stopped the soldiers of various units and pelted them with questions for about ten more minutes, then amused themselves by assigning everyone they met to protect this or that building and sending them to an eight-hour duty. Everyone spat and cursed behind their backs, but they followed orders. Then the two officers of the attack squads approached Gra.

“You mind reminding me of your plan, hmm? Buddy.” Ghoton asked with an exasperated look.

“Of course, my dear friend. When the enemy appears in the sky, the first one of us who sees it will fire a signal flare into the sky and call for help from Bernavi in the eastern fortress and Lettarongan in the western fortress. We’ll force the dragon to come to us, and at the right time, the protection squad will draw its attention to themselves. Then, Zeeaa,” he turned to her, catching her arrogant smile and nodding at her in greeting, “your squad will create a protective dome at my command and fire the first salvo of cannons. We’ll disorient the dragon that way. Then your units will join the fight, Ghoton...”

“My units?” The officer of the attack squads interrupted him with growing anger in his voice. “My units? You sent me mages from the Top Secret guild. Which, if you remember, we have a fucking huge suspicion that they’re trying to fuck everyone over. And you, instead of kicking them out of the fortress walls and replacing them with other reliable people, send them to me in fucking full force. They take up 80% of the seats in the attack! These sly-ass bastards will stab me in the back at the first opportunity on orders from Vvy or Latludiuos, and then everyone else as well.”

“Ghoton, with all due respect,” began Gra, looking first at his wife and then at him. “Their guilt has not yet been proven. That’s why we have no reason to kick these brave Top Secret guys out. Besides, you heard Yleen put me in charge of the operation.”

“Top Secret won’t dare to kill us all at the beginning of the battle,” Gra’s wife spoke in a low voice. “If we die, they die. The dragon will not discern who is on which side and will burn everyone indiscriminately. And when we are victorious, under my husband’s guidance, of course,” she leaned her huge head on Gra’s shoulder, smiled, and continued. “They’ll be under the constant supervision of our guild.”

“That would be a huge mistake. You underestimate them.”

“Listen to the smart woman, friend.”

“I’d rather trust my inner voice.”

“Sexist,” she barked, but no one paid any attention to that and continued the conversation.

“Have you ever wondered why Yleen didn’t appoint you?” Asked Gra in an arrogant tone.

“Every time I talk to you.”

“Because you’ve led nothing. You’re level nine, man. Be glad they gave you some responsibility. All you’ve been doing for a year is politics.”

“As if you did something else?”

“No. Tough Rise has gone through several dungeons under my leadership. The Lord of the Vanguard trusts me more. Just accept it.”

Ghoton came dangerously close to Gra, feeling his stinking breath and gritting his teeth.

“I’ll lead my boys. The ones I trust. And get us out of here alive. You’re gonna have to deal with this shit on your own.”

Gra laughed in his face, squinting his eyes at his wife.

“I don’t care. Do as you please, but remember, if you disobey, you’ll lose everything you’ve worked so long for. If you do what I tell you to do, you’ll be all right. If you prove yourself, maybe next time, Yleen will put you in my place. But for now,” Gra changed his voice to a more serious and confident one, “you will obey and lead both your men and those of the Top Secret guild. Do you understand me?”

Ghoton took a step back and spit under his feet, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Stop!” Gra commanded. “You haven’t heard the rest of the plan. Since you asked, I’ll tell you the whole thing.”

The officer of the attack squads stopped and looked at him, turning halfway around.

“I’m listening.”

Zeeaa watched the two high-ranking men squabble and laughed her mouth off with her hands at her sides.

“You guys should have more confidence in yourselves.”

Gra cleared his throat and continued,

“After a volley from the cannons, a squad of mages led by you, Ghoton, will use tactical class spells, and along with them, the machine gunners will open fire from the large-caliber weapons set up around the perimeter of the fortress. We’ll hold the dragon until Lettarongan appears, who will stab the monster in the back. That’s where we’ll swat it like a flea.”

“I still can’t believe that our military commander fought along with the others,” Zeeaa said. “He’s always alone, and now the prodigal son has returned, no kneeling, no apologies for his long absence, no baldness, no rags, and surrounded by three musketeers and a strange lady.”

Everyone fell silent and stared at her with questioning eyes, mixed with surprise and incomprehension. Zeeaa became embarrassed and continued,

“I just remembered Rembrandt’s painting.”

“I wonder why he came back in the end...” said Gra.

“Probably afraid of what people will think of him, so he buckled under the pressure,” said Zeeaa.

“Men!” Gra’s wife laughed. “So predictable!”

“Is that all?” Ghoton asked.

“We’ll communicate via voice chat, and you can also add your deputies and deputies’ deputies there. Orders and commands, if possible, duplicate in writing. Not all players can hear. Let’s disperse. Today or tomorrow, we will have to fight. We must preserve our strength. We cannot lose. The reputation of all senior officers and the success of the scouting mission, for which we have prepared so long, is at stake.”

Ghoton left, saying nothing. His cloak was waving like a bloody pirate flag. Zeeaa saluted, summoned a pair of players, and ordered them to carry themselves to her favorite chair next to the cannons. The two officers of the defense squads were alone with each other. Looked at her and laughed.

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“A hell of a girl, isn’t she?” said Gra. “Well... Everyone seems to have gone about their business, so it’s time for us to go, too.”

“What are we going to do, darling?” asked his wife, running her index finger down her husband’s swollen cheeks.

“I suggest we go to that...” Gra put out his index finger and started looking for the right place. “That tower over there!”

“What are we going to do there?”

“Have some tea, take a rest.”

She poked him in the side with her elbow, winked and said,

“Come on, let’s get some rest.”

They walked past the players of the protection squad sitting on the ground, chatting among themselves and shouting strange vulgar jokes. When the two officers entered the tower, the wife asked,

“When did you come up with a plan and tell it to everyone?”

Gra laughed and answered,

"A couple of hours ago. I quickly thought of everything from experience and sent a memo to all the officers."

***

Zeeaa was brought to her luxurious chair. She dismounted and with a graceful gait, like a model on a catwalk, took a couple of steps and stopped before she sat down and she surveyed her team. Many of the male players were not taking their eyes off her, and others were openly flirting, and she did not mind. Over there were the guns, too, with their uncomplicated and gaudy barrel designs and small wooden wheels.

“Darling,” she said to one player who was carrying her. “Is there a pea in this chair, by any chance?”

He smiled and became embarrassed.

“No, Mistress. We won’t do that, knowing that you’ll feel it right away.”

Zeeaa ran her finger along his cheek and his lower lip, gently and playfully, and plumped down on the soft seat and crossed her legs, straightened her back, lifted her chin a little, put her hands on the armrests.

“All right, boys, are you ready? Does everybody know what to do?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with her palm, and raised her head and stared at the gray clouds.

“Can we get you some tea, coffee?”

“No, thanks guys, I’m good.”

“Then how about a massage?” asked one. “I have twenty years of experience in reality.”

“Oh!” she clapped with delight. “I’d be the dumbest girl in the world to turn down such an offer.”

“You flatter me, ma’am!”

“All right. Show me how professional you are, and if all goes well, maybe I’ll appoint you my personal masseur,” Zeeaa replied with a wink.

“Always at your service, ma’am.”

***

In the meantime, Ghoton ordered all his subordinates to assemble at once in the king’s hall. Half an hour later, at least a thousand players crowded the place. It became jam-packed with people.

“Listen up, everyone,” he said into the microphone as he sat on the edge of the stage with his legs overhung. “From this moment the magic squad will be on guard for the next twenty hours, non-stop, on the east wall, away from where the dragon is supposed to arrive. The machine gunners, two for each weapon, will be on guard on the rooftops of the towers and on the north and south walls in fifteen hours shifts, then a three-hour break and so on until the enemy arrives.”

Discontent swept through the room. Everyone started looking at each other and rubbing their heads and noses, whispering and texting. Indignation filled some who just got on the walls to close a couple of quests.

“Anyone who dislikes this arrangement, you may leave the fortress before the battle and inform me personally. Others will take your place, those who are not strangers to sitting still and long for a glorious cause. I will, like you, stay on guard in the ranks of the mages. The machine gunners will receive their orders through the alliance chat room.”

The players fidgeted but did not resist.

“Can we keep the machine guns after the fight?” asked the one in the front row.

Ghoton sensed nervousness, hesitated, and fell silent. He saw hope in the players’ faces. They waited for his answer, quiet.

“Try it,” he answered and took a deep breath and continued on the exhale, “if the AI will let you do it.”

“Thank you, sir! That’s our man!”

Ghoton followed several of the players out the door. To the others he said:

“Soon we’ll make history in this game. We’ve spent an entire year walking around this world, exploring it, and sharpening our skills for this moment.” He fell silent again and bowed his head, staring at the floor and feeling the right palm of his hand holding the microphone get all sweaty. The officer lifted his gaze and glanced sideways at his men and continued, “I can see how scared you all are, just like me. Nevertheless, together, united, we’ll put up a decent resistance. Fight with honor, but do not sacrifice yourselves in vain. Your lives aren’t less important than defeating the dragon. I won’t let my men die. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” shouted the others.

The mages from the Top Secret guild were unresponsive to his speech. They crossed their arms over their chests and did not even say a word.

“Now go to your posts.”

When the last player left and closed the door behind him with a slam, Ghoton exhaled and felt nauseous. Sweat dripped down his back, legs, and stomach. His breathing quickened. The officer slapped himself several times in the face, mercilessly and forcefully, shouting, “Come on! Come on! Cheer up!” Then he got up and pulled his back and walked out.

***

Lettarongan (public profile [GM1] : level 12, 98% exp, rank: military commander, rank: below 30,000), scratching his bald head and eagle nose now and then, paced the battle course of the defensive wall, trying to fit his foot on the stone without hitting a crack. As he reached the bartizan positioned on the parapet of the curtain wall and corrected the supreme officer’s clothes around his huge belly and Scarl-L on his back and stopped between the merlons and crossed his arms and leaned them on the cold, stone embrasure and surveyed his surroundings: the clouds merged with the texture of the barren black soils and obscured the formidable and majestic peaks of the mountain range of Orodrim Eoul; dwarf trees, green and fuzzy, grew at the approach to the castle and bowed their crowns in worship; a mountain river of dark blue flowed into a small rocky gorge that filled the fog behind, a flock of birds, like little sculptures of black metal, perched on the domed and conical roofs of the main castle; below, in the streets, players were walking, chatting, singing bardic songs and playing guitars; and ten miles ahead, surrounded by undulating and Grassy hills, stood on a plateau in all its beauty, the fortress of Varnasosto.

Lettarongan heard footsteps and turned his head slightly. Three players approached him, all in classic field uniforms, perfectly ironed and clean. Faces fresh, eyes clear, triangular chins, and short haircuts. The first one - Jack (level 3, 13%) held a Kalashnikov rifle in his arms, the second - Dora (level 3, 12.5%), holding an SVDK with the signature of its creator Doffersnoah and smiling, the third - Ramzai (level 3, 12.2%), a 7.62 mm caliber Kalashnikov machine gun was hanging on his back.

“What are you doing, Lor...?” Jack wanted to ask, but the AI stopped him and blocked his vocal cords and issued a warning about not using players’ real names, and reminded him that the rules of the user agreement required players to dive fully into their role-playing component. For the first time, the AI issued a warning as forfeiture of half of his accumulated CP, and for the second time, he would receive an eternal account block.

Jack froze as if he’d been electrocuted. Dora and Ramsay put their hands on his shoulders and brought him to his senses.

“I see the game works out for you guys, huh?”

They nodded. Jack approached the military commander, and looking at the gloomy yet mesmerizing view ahead, asked:

“Yes. He was right. Thank you for taking me to your team and teaching me everything.”

“You’ll thank me every time we meet, hmm? There’s little you can do without a mentor right now. So, you’re welcome. Spare me any further forms of appreciation, okay? How do you like your new weapon?”

All three of them smiled. Ramzai asked:

“Are you kidding?”

“No. It’s different from what you’re used to...”

“It’s perfect! There were times humans knew how to make weapons, not the crap they use now.”

There was a brief chuckle from Lettarongan. He turned away and continued to stand in silence.

“What are you thinking about?” After a minute of waiting, asked Jack.

The military commander closed his eyes and listened to the noise of the wind and the homage of players from the streets.

“It’s an interesting feeling. You’re standing alone, and all around the noise of people blends with the silence.”

The trio stood between the merlons with narrow embrasures and listened.

“Yes, you are right, sir. You and I have known each other for years, and when a friend worries, it’s as if an unknown magic connects them. Tell me.”

“Okay,” Lettarongan replied with a satisfied grin on his face. “I’m worried about how feelings control the mind. About why we, when we’re aware of a problem, cannot control our emotions, and why we cannot erase the memories that prevent us from living. Man is a strange creature, as if nature had created him that way on purpose, imperfect. Now I am experiencing Déjà vu, fear, and admiration, and I can’t figure it out at all.”

“Good timing, sir. Right before the fight.”

“An old habit. When you are in mortal danger, you involuntarily think about such things, as if you are summing up the last line of your life, time after time.”

“In this game, you are not in mortal danger,” began Dora. “I can assume that you have such feelings, because on a subconscious level you are afraid of a fresh wave of public condemnation because of a wrong decision.”

Lettarongan turned around and raised one eyebrow:

“You’re making progress in your analysis.”

“All thanks to you.”

“Then I won’t be sneaky. You’re right. There are too many doubts in my head.”

Ramzai went up to him and looked him in the eyes and said:

“Rightly so. Doubt is an indicator of a leader.”

“But not at the decisive moment of the battle.”

“Maybe so. Don’t forget: we’re on the wall of the fortress now, not in the heat of battle. When the battle begins, I know the right decisions will come to your mind.”

Lettarongan took a pipe out of his pocket and smoked and offered it to the others. They agreed and took one puff at a time in a circle.

“How is Bellona?”

“She’s socializing. She made a couple of friends. What are their names again?”

“Camerc and Onzaa.”

“Weird kids.”

“Yeah, but she likes their childlike naivety and cheerfulness.”

“There they are, look!”

Bellona walked down the narrow street ahead of Camerc and Onzaa and sang, and they made music for her with their tongues, lips, and voices. An ambiguous composition, thought Lettarongan.

“Foolish happiness turns out to be contagious,” Dora remarked.

“Contagious?” Jack inquired and smiled. “I wouldn’t mind catching such an infection.”

Everyone laughed.

“If there is foolish happiness, then what is intelligent happiness?” Ramzai asked.

“There is hardly any ‘intelligent happiness’,” said Lettarongan, “nor do we need it.”

***

Lettarongan was alone, immersed in his own thoughts. He was thinking about this battle, though he did not know what to expect from it. After a while, his thoughts boiled down to one phrase: “This time I will not repeat the mistakes of the past.”

***

“Did you inform Gra?” asked Hebanyac. “There’s something weird about no one in the fortress being in a hurry. I’m a little uncertain about this kind of general equanimity.”

Mercyaa cursed and replied:

“No fucking reply, that dumb fuck. Why are you being sarcastic about, huh?”

“Contact Ghoton or Zeeaa and have them take over.”

Rdrag, worried and tense, spat and said:

“Are all of them under a mass blindness spell or something?”

***

Ghoton climbed the western walls and surveyed the battle preparations from above. The officer of the attack squads was satisfied with the way the players were carrying out his orders, but the bacchanalia in the central square infuriated him. The wind was getting stronger, running waves through his moustache and hair. Ghoton took out his binoculars and looked at the western fortress, where Lettarongan’s army was located, then at the field.

Three messages from Mercyaa popped up on the HUD in a row. The officer lowered his binoculars and selected the read button:

Message number one:

The fucking dragon!

Message number 2:

There’s a dragon coming!

Message number 3:

Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

Ghoton almost choked on his own saliva. He looked up at the clouds and saw an enormous dragon flying towards them, black, majestic, terrifying. Its imposing gaze alone gave the officer a frightening sense of dread. The creature was about five minutes away from them.