Fans and Supporters of the Zombie Dragon often mock Hyrios, “a discounted Craxus without Craxus’ cunning.” In a way, they were not wrong. I could not bother to argue because every word was true.
Craxus possessed the two game broken abilities
When comparing the Might point different between the Hyrios and Craxus, there was a massive 145 Might point separating the two when they are at max level.
Craxus was a shrew warrior with a sense of honor. Hyrios was too honorable of a man that he often fall victim to his sense of honor.
Craxus fought with might, wit and instinct. He died a hero, a conqueror, an emperor, a king among kings. Hyrios fought with honor and bravery. He died a traitor, betrayed by his own men, loathed by the kingdom and the people he has defended.
Most of URLOX’s 63 warlords met a tragic death in the canon history. But Hyrios’ death was arguably the most tragic of them all. He was known as a traitor who died from loyalty.
I was no fan of tragedy. I have seen enough and known enough of tragedies. But I could not help myself from replaying Hyrios’ campaign over and over again. There was a Good Ending in his campaign, but I considered that was the Worst Ending for man like Hyrios. As the result, there are only the Canon Ending and the Bad Ending and the Worst Ending in Hyrios’ Campaign. Still I played the campaign again and again. I had no idea what I was trying to prove. But I kept playing, and once the credit rolled, I restarted. It was a masochistic experience through and through. I had no idea what I wanted to see.
Whenever I looked back at that time, I thought, I became good at playing Hyrios and is faction over something like that… What an idiot I am! I could not help but realize.
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Zard was chosen as the map for this 15, 000th match, one of the eleven maps where the Dark Occultist faction could summon their Demon Lords. The entire kingdom of Zard, from the Golden Triangle to the Southern wetland, from the western disputed territory to the rocky height of the Spine Range, became our battlefield.
Picking the dark occultist as usual, Pride’s faction randomly spawned at the northern Golden Triangle. Playing to my strength, Sasengun picked Hyrios as the warlord as our faction arbitrarily spawned at the Southern Wetland.
There are two Demon Lord summoning sites in the Zardian map. First there is the entire city of Etá Délador in the western frontier, and then the Tomb of Naharis located inside the heart of the Mangora forest. The fact that Pride’s faction has spawned at the northern Triangle made it impossible for me to deny her contest for one of the summoning site.
The Triangle or the Golden Triangle conferred Pride with more gold mines. The Zardian Wetland allowed me to begin my campaign with more stockpiles of harvest and provision to plan out the late game. Playing to the geographical advantage of the Triangle, Pride had an early lead. Aside from mercenary and occultist units being the staple of her faction, Pride had the option to recruit a bunch of neutral bandit, slave armies and generals for cheap, without worrying much about food. The Golden Triangle of Zard had an abundance supply of such units. Those units and generals only cost gold to hire in bulk without fearing about any provision burden. These units would secure their food and provision through successful raids.
On my side, all of the units associated with Hyrios are very expensive, but immensely powerful. As a result, I have to build the bulk of my army with cheap militia and slave units in the early game to contest for map dominance with Pride. By picking Hyrios, I have already secured my access to the unique and expensive late-game Cat Tamer units and the renowned Chimaera, Hyrios’ most prestige retinue.
The map was the entire Kingdom of Zard. Over 50% of the battlefields are plains and grassy terrains. Thus, the side that managed to conquer and pacify more neutral nomadic settlements to his side would gain a huge lead. All Zardian nomadic units living inside the Great Plain gained huge buffs in movement, stamina, and combat strength when moving and fighting on grassy terrain. They are the best raiding units, in term of prowess and economy, to be employed for the contest of Zard. By conquering these neutral settlements, the player would be able to recruit these unique nomadic tribes into his army. Thus, the conquest of these neutral nomadic settlements was one of the biggest objectives in the Zardian map. If this was the multiplayer mode, by picking Hyrios, I could swiftly bring these tribes over through diplomacies.
But the only diplomacy and politic option available in a One vs One mode is an iron fist. Thus, an iron fist it is.
While Pride was building and advancing her army south, Sasengun distributed a set of troops and provisions among us. I grabbed our faction’s warlord and a hundred of nomadic riders with me, spearheading the march. After me, Ember, Isonos, Searek ushered their respective troops north. And so, the wrestle for the control of Zard began.
I commanded my little war band to make a beeline toward Pride’s advancing army and ignored those neutral settlements on the path, leaving the conquest to my staffs. Most of Pride’s early game units are better than ours. Those slave and conscripted militia units that made up the bulk of our force would not stand a chance in a direct confrontation with Pride’s mercenaries and bandits. Therefore, my mission was to create space for our side to operate and build time for Sasengun to collect resource to hire better units.
Under my command, Hyrios and his small raiding band conducted their famous hit-and-run tactic. I could not stop the advance of Pride’s massive army. But I could slow and wear them down with repeated harass attacks.
A discounted version of Craxus Hyrios is. But by possessing
But, “A sword is only as good as its master. A gift is only as good its possessor. Therefore, cultivate yourself first, your weapons and your gifts second,” Meireen, the leader of my Baku Division, has always reminded her students. Granting these superhuman gifts of a trained warrior like Hyrios, hundreds of Acrẽa’s elder vampires made no different from a pack of wild wolves, trophy candidates, accolades, easy merits.
As soon as Pride’s south marching army entered the Zardian Great Plain from the north entrance, they had a taste of Hyrios’ legendary black bolts. Among the whistling eagle feathered arrows, the infamous black bolts impacted with horrific result.
In the lore, each of these black bolts that Hyrios effortlessly shot weighted at least 3 kg, approximately three times heavier than a normal spear. Hyrios has been shooting them with the force of a dwarven-made arbalest. No unenchanted, mortal-made shield or armor is ever thick enough to protect a mortal man from such horrific projectiles within their range of maximum impact. A titanite-made armor would protect its wearer from the puncture wound but not the blunt trauma that the black bolt wielded. Adding Hyrios’ godlike accuracy to the combination, every time Hyrios releases a black bolt, an army would find itself without a leader or banner.
In the game, Hyrios could only shoot the black bolts through
While I lacked the accuracy, the precise control and visual aid to guide the black bolts at Pride’s general units, what made Hyrios so deadly, I could just drop the bolts at the middle of Pride’s marching army to wreak havoc and chaos every 40s in the conjunction of Hyrios’ normal projectiles. Pride could only march her army and generals behind the constant moving walls of her archers, crossbowmen, and other range units. I commanded my small raiding band of 101 nomadic riders to circle around and find openings among the formation of Pride’s advancing armies. My mounted archers drained their stamina fast with the constant movement around the map, but not as fast as Pride’s archer units, formations of footmen that were trying to catch up with the mobility of horsemen.
Making volley counted, just like that, I grinded down Pride’s army.
Haste makes waste. As planners, both Pride and I understood that philosophy well. If we have one hour of free time to think, we must. If we have one second to be prepared, we must. If we don’t have time to think, we must buy time to think.
While we were exchanging blows, we were constantly thinking of the next steps and making the next best move.
My faction conquest of those neutral Zardian nomadic settlements would be a slow, consuming process. It was only logical for Pride to make that logical assumption. By combining her sighting of my 100 nomadic riders and my original spawn point at the southern wetland, Pride could work the math to calculate the amount of resources that my faction possessed, and how I could maximize that small amount of resources by hiring cheap units. I had taught Pride playing this analytical part of the game in the same manner that Misery and FY had once taught me and Phúc. That made them Pride’s grandmasters in this craft. Sentimentally, I wished that they could see how their torches were passed down and polished furthermore.
The Alliance’s MO is often described as, “A well-oiled machine that runs on the fuel of logic until the second inauguration.” Esports writers had their way with the words, often change the truth of things and make them more beautiful than they appear, and more confusing.
Our games are cold and calculating, running on FY’s design and system until I say, “Fuck that.” This is the uncensored truth. The cost of this uncensored truth is $666.
The best analysts in the pro-league of ROC are the most observant and skilled in arithmetic and logics. They were like the Sherlock Holmes of the Reign of Chaos. They moved and fought with the force of logic backing them. Similarly, we operate like that, a car running on four wheels of logic. Logic is strong, a nigh unstoppable force, a most reliable weapon. Over a decade, we played ROC without a division of analysts working for us. We are the analysts, forecasters, players, critics and our team’s coaches, all five of us. The world could only see us as gamers and players. Thusly, a major part of our games was invisible and unappreciated to the world.
From the same school, Pride’s game was also built like that, cold and solid with the invisible backing of logic.
I communicated to Sasengun my battle forecasts, let her spread our faction’s force accordingly.
The bulk of my faction’s force was built with early, cheap units. Against those neutral Zardian nomadic units, it would be a very slow conquest. Therefore, with that logical deduction in mind, Pride marched her armies giving more priority to caution than speed. She endured my relentless harass attacks with precise, disciplined control, while mapping out her traps and ambushes for my Hyrios. She kept her formation tight, range units at the foremost to trade arrows with Hyrios and his nomadic riders. There were openings in her formations, but most of them were lures to for Pride’s army to swallow my faction’s warlord.
As powerful as Hyrios is, it was easy for a player to forget that he is not considered as a super-unit in the game or a game-breaking unit. Super-units are like those Demon Lords, giant golems, the current generation elven Sword Saint, or that spade and hoe wielding general. They each possess more HP and armor rating than Hyrios. There damage output exceeds Hyrios. And if those super-units can fall, Hyrios, too, can fall, much faster and easier.
And when Hyrios falls, it’s my defeat.
Constantly move in and out of the fog of war, my small raiding band repeated their tactics to a deadly effect. I only trade arrows when my side has an absolute advantage. The mobility of Hyrios and his nomadic riders gave me a great wealth of flexibility to initiate a fight at my liberty. I controlled the “when, where, and how,” factors of every skirmish. I could initiate combat and disengage from combat whenever and wherever I wanted. When to strike, where to strike, and how to strike, a man who could control these factors at will is often a winner in his battle.
But every now and then, I extended the combat situations, trading HP, baiting Pride to go after my Hyrios for the killing blow.
A unit’s mortality is both a detriment and a gift in disguise. The fact, that Hyrios could be killed through some well-aimed volleys and well-executed attacks, made him a terrific hook to lure Pride into committing judgmental mistakes.
I was a gambler, before and now. Put my own heart and staking my life on Lady Fortuna’s hands, I played ROC and lived. That’s why most of my most picked warlords are those who lead their troops on the field and their troops are often glass-cannon type of units. My warlord’s fragility is a hook. My troops’ little HP are the lures. My pre-game trash talk is the sinker. The “how, when and where” factors, the mobility of my warlord and troops is the trusty line. According to the casual analysts, my game is just that simple. My highlights are that simple. When my competitions take a bite, I reel them in for the kill. If my opponents have more weight and strength than I am, I get dragged, simple.
When casual analysts tried to break down my games to their core elements, “He reuses this one trick again and again, and got lucky,” they said. It was baffling to see just how many people actually believed in that nonsense. The chance that a one-trick-pony could repeatedly climb to the top of the world for a whole decade is zero. People are not that stupid. Pro-gamers, coaches, analysts are not that stupid. If there is a strategy, there will be a counter-strategy. If there is a trick, there will be a counter. But explaining simple philosophy over and over again is too tiring.
Thus, “Simple and obvious of a trick, yet I have become the Houdini of the league through this simple trick,” I would counter such stupid arguments with an equally stupid argument of my own.
Casual, self-proclaimed analysts said that I can only hit-and-run. I countered, “I hit-and-run my way to the Hall of Fame seven times.” ROC has never been a simple game. Flimsy, single layered logic alone is not enough to win matches at the highest level. No single used strategy or one-trick system is ever sufficient to carry a team to the top of the mountain. Those, who could climb over the body of their competition to stand at the top of the world, are the most versatile people in their craft.
Every illusionist knows that the most obvious facts in the world are often the most deceptive and difficult illusions to perfect. In Holmes’ words, “There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.” The obvious titles like “Best One on One player,” “Best Raider,” “Best Ender,” “Best Supporter,” “Best Team Player,” “Best Witch-picker,” “Best Garuda-picker,” are deceptive covers to hide a person’s versatile skill set. No player has ever won the “Best Supporter” award by simply being a Supporter. The “Best Garuda-picker” is not just a “Garuda-picker.”
For that reason, I had never trained Pride to be great at one aspect of the game. I trained her to be versatile and be great at one skill. Pride baited. I lured. Arrows clashed against spells and bolts. The force of logic met the work of ill-logic. Invisible plots blew up against layered schemes. We played a game within a game within a game, trying to outdo each other at every game.
Casualty was mounting on both sides, but neither Pride nor I fell for the other’s traps, knowing each other too well. We read each other’s mind as we were trading blows.
I shaved a good seven hundreds men off Pride’s massive army. Though, no general was fallen, but foreign or local bandits, expensive mercenaries or cheap slaves, occultists, the eagle feather arrows made no discrimination about their affiliation and background, undid them all.
Pride cut my 100 nomadic riders to 35. Those mercenary crossbowmen of hers did most of the damage. My Hyrios was at half health. My war band exhausted of projectiles and stamina.
With her fingers tapped the code on my shoulder, Sasengun silently signaled my retreat for healing, provision and reinforcement while shouting the command for her own unit. I agreed with her decision. There was nothing else I could do but resupply and heal my units. Melee was not an option.
I let Sasengun take over the control of our faction’s warlord. In return, she handed me one of Hyrios’ many cousins for the general and a ragtag band of 700 conscripted militia bowmen and some fifty nomadic riders recruited from the Eagle tribe.
In the lore, the Eagle tribe was one of the great tribes among the Zardian nomadic tribes. Just like the other Zardian nomadic tribes, the nomads of the Eagle tribe spent most of their lifetime on horseback and placed their faith on the fertility of the Great Plain.
While they are known for their husbandry of sheep, goats and mares, the Zardian nomadic tribes are more akin to the elves than human in term of faith and lifestyle. Believing in “The Will of the Green Sky,” these Zardian nomads would constantly migrate to different parts and corners of the Zardian Great Plain, living their nomadic lifestyle by their belief and not by necessities. The Zardian nomads call themselves “The Children of the Green Sky,” and they live accordingly. Sometimes, much of the frugality of their life condition is self-imposed, evidenced by some of their mobile settlements on the barren parts of the Great Plain instead of the more abundant and greener parts. It is believed that their self-imposed nomadic lifestyle serve to lessen the burden on Great Plain by return a plot of land to Mother Nature when Mother Nature wills it.
The Eagle tribe, like their name suggested, is known for their masterful breeding and taming of the Zardian eagles. While other tribes have their share of bird tamers, the bird tamers of the Eagle tribe are held in a more prestigious light. Their tribe name is a reputable brand to be recognized in the field of bird taming. It is said that an eagle bred and trained by a bird tamer of the Eagle tribe is much smarter and stronger than other eagles trained elsewhere.
It is still a fans’ speculation that those fatbirds and the bird beacons, which the Empire of White Winter has employed to a harrowing effect in their conquests and expansions, are the inventions and works of a defected or excommunicated lineage of bird tamers of the Eagle tribe. Since the timeline of the introduction of the fatbirds and bird beacons came after Prince Lanxer’s trip to Zard, fans speculated that the ingenious prince must have scouted and recruited his bird tamers since.
In the game, the Eagle tribe is just one of the many variations of the Zardian nomadic riders. Their damage, armor rating and movement speed is identical to the other nomadic riders, saves for a different, more colorful and glorious Skin design and their unique ability. These Eagle tribe nomadic riders could summon a flock of war eagles for 45 seconds to scout the battlefield or drop a hail of smoke pellets on their enemies. Once the 45 seconds time limit is up, these war eagles would return to their owners, waiting for the 75 seconds cooldown timer to end for another flight.
Among the different variations of the Zardian nomadic riders, the Eagle tribe’s nomadic riders are among my top favorites. First, I approved their glorious appearance design. Second, I valued their ability to scout the map over their combat prowess.
Different people value different aspects of life. I valued mobility over armor rating and HP rating. I valued the invisible “where, when, and how” factors that a unit possessed over its raw, displayed combat potential. Thusly, the war eagles summoned by the riders of Eagle Tribe are more useful to me than they are to most people. Through these eagles, I could track multiple units’ condition, movement and whereabouts at the same time. Every dog has its day. Similarly, every piece of wisdom, no matter how useless it appears, has its use. And the map information provided by these scouting eagles is huge.
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Knowing my tendency and strength, Isonos and Searek have expended much of their slave armies and militiamen to pacify the Eagle tribe first. Ember and Sasengun, on the other hand, were building their forces and fortifications.
I immediately deployed the war eagles to gain an understanding of the wider picture.
No longer being checked by Hyrios and his annoying war band, Pride unleashed her tight lease on her dogs of war, her most useful pawns for this great raid. An avalanche of sacrificial slaves and bandits broke through the ranks of Pride’s army and howled in savagery.
They raced through the ocean of reeds and tall grasses, heading toward their objectives in double time. Behind them, Pride’s other major chess pieces loomed, the real source of headache.
“I need some vanguard,” informed I, in a loud voice, moving my new army to meet Pride’s south marching units.
Needless of my belated affirmation, Isonos and Searek were already on the same page with me. They sent their conscripted militia units back to Sasengun for healing and resupply. Searek transferred the remnant of his slave armies to Isonos for a new assignment from Sasengun. Isonos combined a bunch of riffraff slaves into two armies of three thousand. It was a logical choice that Isonos would commit all of them to this battle to slow down Pride’s progress of conquest. There is no point to keep these slave armies into the mid or the late game. Once the beginning phase of the game is passed, these slave armies are but an economic burden to our provisions and resources. Therefore, we would trade their lives with Pride’s soldiers while their value is still high.
I communicated the battle plan base on the information provided by the war eagles. Isonos looked at my direction and signaled a complete rout in four minutes with his taloned hands while barking his orders to his helpers. Just like that, we nodded our head at the same time. “Let them come.” In harmony, we spoke.
My new archer unit, both mounted and foot archers, stood on an uphill, waiting for Pride’s army to arrive. 6000 unarmored, emaciate slaves stood in three lines with only crudely made weapons and rusty chains to protect themselves. The slaves formed a large V shape before my range units. Their leading generals, slaves just like them, third class, cheap, possessing the kind of Might attribute that made even a non-fighter like me look like a professional fighter, having more faults than merits. The list of their faults just never ends. The only reason Isonos and Searek had hired these generals were their cheap hiring and upkeep cost. One possessed a perk that made him prone to a panic attack every time 20% of his maximum force is gone and another perk that gave him a minus 5 points across his already abysmally low attributes. The other general shouted for more gold, foods and privilege than the service he could offer for him to give his utmost effort. And his utmost effort still did not worth the resource.
If this is a reality, not a simulation, I would shed a thousand drops of tear for these fools and their followers, for their death are beyond hideous. I thought.
One of my helpers started a countdown in her suave but emotionless voice.
My eyes should not be able to see that image. But my imagination painted a vivid picture of a living hell. Pride’s dogs of war flooded the plain, from hill to hill, from land to land, with their filthy presence a ruinous promise.
The dogs of war closed in, howling, barking, gnarling from the distance. The bandit ravagers slapped the bit of their two handed axe against their strapping shield. The slaves advanced, crude weapons of war leading, chain whirling in the air. War is before them, on the way, the invisible vice of fear tightened around the neck of Isonos’ unfortunate slaves.
It was absolutely horrible for a man to find himself caught in the middle of this business. Holding steel inside their hands made a man felt like he could become steel itself, numbed to his own fear. Standing in a tight formation made a man braver. But middle line, back line, front line, it does not matter. My reasoning and instincts agreed on this subject. On a battlefield, this battlefield especially, nowhere is safe; a man’s instinct knows that but is silenced.
I had no wish to stand there myself or see any good man standing there. I took a deep breath to calm my nerve, telling myself, “What will be, will be.”
Dion snickered and asked me if I was visualizing the real carnage that I would make Escana endure in the future. I told it to zip its mouth.
My helpers kept counting the shrinking distance. My archers, long bow and horse bow in hands, loosed their arrows upon my signal for maximum impact. 750 arrows took flight. My helpers still counted the shrinking distance, but in two separated countdowns this time. Again, another volley of 750 arrows arced, thinning the advancing savages and northern slaves. But the savagery of Pride war dogs could not be deterred with that mere amount of feathers.
Then came the third volley, the fourth, the fifth volleys, casualty was mounting fast on Pride’s side. Her bandit ravagers were falling at an alarming speed, but her thousands of unarmored slaves were dropping faster. But once the tenth volley was loosed, I ordered my archers to backpedal in double time. A rain of bolts, arrows and grimy occult spells mowed the back lines of Isonos’ slave army and where my archers were previously standing.
My helpers breathed a sigh of relief. They correctly gauged the distance correctly. I, without an error, calculated the moving speed of Pride’s range units through the war eagles. Pride’s reformed archer units took an immediate potshot at my archers the moment they were in range and missed.
I withdrew my archers deeper into the other side of the slope, the dark side on Pride’s overview camera angle, the place where the leaden fog of war was rolling, where none of her units had a direct line of sight. Covered the fog of war, I commanded my archers to shoot some, move some and retreat some, remaining outside of Pride’s arrow range for the moment. There, I planned a surprise party for Pride if she decided to enter without vision, half expecting that she would not make that kind of decision.
Pride’s range units tested their projectiles on my constantly moving archers. My archers retaliated with a bunch of cheap shots at her archers from the rolling grey fog of war, making every volley count. I relay my order to them to not be greedy with their damage output and put more focus on their survival.
Pride’s range units had the number, but fatigued from their earlier mettle with Hyrios and lack a direct line of sight toward my archer unit. My archers were fresh and had a clear vision from the war eagle’s scouting, but was lacking in number and firepower. We were even. But the 45 seconds ended sooner I would like, my war eagles returned, with them, a crucial battlefield update. My helpers informed me of the three units of Pride’s bandit riders and light cavalries were circling, moving at canter pace to flank my archer units.
Pride’s range units soon switched their priority at Isonos’ army. A quick, but heavy squall of crow feathers and occult spells dropped on Isonos’ V shape formation, compelling Isonos to move them backward to minimize the casualty. Riding the momentum, Pride’s dogs of war fell upon Isonos’ unarmored slaves with unadulterated savagery. Bandit ravagers swung their two handed axes and side arms in bloody whirlwinds. The northern slaves fought with whatever they held inside their hands. Isonos’ lines were slowly being pushed back. For every one bandit ravager fell, three unarmored slaves on Isonos’ side were decapitated and one more wounded.
The left wing and right wing of Isonos’ formation were being pushed back a dizzying speed. But while the right wing still held, the left wing of Isonos’ formation bent backward as their general had his repeated panic attack and ignored Isonos’ command, allowing a small detachment of Pride’s bandit ravagers to trickle through their lines, swallowing the formation from the rear.
I was expecting them to go climb the hill, to get the vision of my archers for Pride’s range units to work their volleys. But Pride, perhaps, has foreseen the trap and opted to speeding the process of dismantling Isonos’ army, going for the slave generals.
This battle was a loss cause. We understood that from the beginning, but Isonos and I had intended to milk the most value out of it. Buying more time and space for our side, making a best trade from this life trades life battle.
Pride’s armored units started coming to view. Mercenary in heavy armors advanced in tight formation, their shields above their head to protect them from the threat of projectiles. A single rank echelon of heavy armored horsemen started trotting. There was nothing I could do to slow down their march. Thus, I decided to double down on what I could do instead.
From the other side of the hill, my archers retreated further while adapting to their new priorities. The footed archers thinned the back lines of Pride’s ragtag vanguard while retreating to stay out of the projectile range of Pride’s range units. I handed the control of these 700 archers to Isonos to concentrate my attention on the fifty mounted archers.
My fifty-man mounted archers led by a distant cousin of Hyrios quickly galloped to their position, hoping to slow down Pride’s cavalry while they still could. Fifty Zardian nomadic riders against a couple of hundreds cavalries was a fair game.
My mounted archers of the Eagle tribe reached their position in time, stood and nocked their arrows. They gave the arrowhead of Pride’s cavalries my second greeting of the day with a rain of eagle feathers.
While not nearly as impactful as Hyrios’ greeting, but still, a Zardian nomadic riders’ greeting was as annoying and frustrating as it could get. After three cheap volleys to put small scratches in the arrowhead of Pride’s cavalries, my mount archers bolted in the same direction as Pride’s galloping horsemen before they were locked in a melee.
With around forty to thirty meters in the between of our cavalries, led by one of Bloodbeard’s lieutenants whose name I could not bother learning, Pride’s mercenary cavalries broke out of their canter and galloped, racing against time to reach my mounted archers before they could accelerate to their top speed. There was a small gaping window of opportunity. Keenly aware of the damage I could wreak with a small band of fifty nomadic riders, Pride decided to seize up her chance. Her light cavalries rushed in and a loosed a blanket of flying javelins. With a blazing sense of vengeance, the javelins arced and pierced the unspoiled green pasture, but took none of my mounted riders.
Neither the wonder of physics nor the work of math was on Pride’s side. I got both the physics and the math from the beginning. I am a known liar, an illusionist. That small window of opportunity was a lie, an illusion that I conjured. The galloping speed of my nomadic horsemen whiffed Pride’s horsemen. Neither sorrowful short arc of the bandit riders’ tomahawks nor the limping arc of the mercenary riders’ javelins could cover more than twenty meters. There was nothing Pride could do to hit my retreating mounted archers.
Being safely escorted away by a wall of logical reasoning, my mounted archers retreated. I communicated my order to my mounted archers to retreat and maintain their distance from Pride’s cavalries and being as much the sore in the asses as possible. The Zardian nomadic horsemen were retreating, but still their horse bows arched, and still their eagle feathered arrows nocked, and still their arrows loosed.
A single volley of fifty one arrows was but a scratch against a moving army of hundreds. But if I had learned from my experience of dealing with Ira, when I scratch someone hard enough and many times enough, eventually that person would bleed. As soon as they redeployed their war eagles elsewhere for my staffs to read the larger battlefield, my mounted archers matched their movement and speed with Pride’s cavalries. Pride’s cavalries turned left, mine made a left detour, matching the movement. Hers stopped, mine stopped as well. Hers slowed down; mine matched the speed while slowly exhausting their quiver on their practice target. In the lore and the game, the Zardian nomadic riders are a constant source of frustration to their opponents for their ability to quickly exhaust a quiver full of argument. But it is the ability to rain down a blanket of dead and destruction while retreating that often tilt people out of their coolness.
Playing against me when I decided to play to my strength, it was as frustrating an experience as things could possibly be. Pride knew, and I knew that her force could overwhelm and crush my puny fifty men unit in a direct combat. But I denied that direct combat, ran from the fight and treated her to a delightful all-you-can-eat feathery buffet. It does not mean my horsemen should fight a melee just because they wear their Zardian horse saber at their hips.
Pride was micro-controlling her giant armies, fighting a total of six battles, small and large, at the moment. She could win elsewhere. She could win the other five, but not here. That, I have to make a statement. Standing in my corner and listening to the battle updates, I disrespectfully raised my arm high and gave Pride a giant middle finger, half-hoping that my lovely Demon Lord would not look at my direction and be tilted out of the game yet again. That would be yet another boring conclusion.
Everything I have done, I did them to frustrate and bully Pride out of her coolness.
Whenever I stop playing around and get serious, I am the most hated man for anyone who is unfortunate enough to be my competition. God gives me a talent, making people angry, and I have never shied away from not using this talent of mine.
Due to the branding and media’s cover, most diehard fans believed that among our royal circle of six, three mastered the art of manly combat, the melees, and the other three perfected the cowardly art of guerilla combat, the hit-and-run. Orithyia, Nightmare, Superior were legendary for their mechanical skills in the art of manly combat while FY, S0rr0w and I were notorious for our cheap and sneaky hit-and-run.
While I was not the only master of the hit-and-run tactic in the league, I was the best, even better than Phúc.
Cold and mechanically solid it is, back by logic, calculation and preparation, but Phúc’s hit-and-run has too much niceness and good manner in his style. FY was responsible for that. FY’s hit-and-run was too clean, too good natured. His strategies are about outwitting his competitions, not giving them a psychological wedge. Both Phúc and FY had never tried to embarrass or bully or toy with their opponents in the game. Neither of them had tried to impair the confidence and psychology of their competitions. But I always did. I frustrated my competitions out of their coolness, toyed with them and bullied them to submission. That has been a staple part of my game, and it still is.
There is no shame in bullying the weak in a game like ROC when it is a simulation of war. After all, war is all about bullying.
“War is all about bullying the weak. Only by picking a fight with a weaker opponent and punishing his opponent’s weaknesses that a person’s victory is assured, that is the definition of bullying. Therefore, the Generals and Commanders with the most illustrative career and records are the most successful bullies in the history of humankind.” This is the opening paragraph of my graduation thesis paper until my lecturer told me to scrap it.
ROC is just simulation of war, my competitions always lived for another matches and another games. Therefore, only by completely shattering their confidence and psyche in first battle against me through trash talk and bullying, that I would easily make my opponents submit in the subsequent matches. A player with an impaired confidence and shattered psyche can only play their game passively and confusedly. They forgot their strength and their style. They played the game like a husk of themselves. A person like that is not a threat. He is easily beaten around, an easy target to pick on, a burden for his team. That is something I have learned from being whooped in the asses by S0rr0w. It is something I have picked up that experience. If I could not beaten the spirit of my competition through the first match, rinse and repeat until I do, and those who withstood this mind game commanded my utmost respect. What does not kill you only make you stronger. It is more satisfying to fight a truly strong, worthy rival than raining a pummel on some beaten pulps or some pretending-to-be-strong opponents.
S0rr0w’s hit-and-run, operated on a similar philosophy, equally nasty, brutal and ill-mannered as mine, but was unfortunately dampened by his handicapped hand’s speed. For such reasons, during the time I was playing, I am the undisputed best among the masters of the hit-and-run.
My style is unashamedly nasty. Mine is unshackled from good manner or slow hand’s speed. Mine made people rage-quit more often. Therefore, I gave Pride my salute for being able to keep her emotion in check this time around, without truly care if she could see it or not.
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It was a protracted battle for map dominance. The tides of the combat raged and turned over a dozen times, back and forth between Pride’s side and mine. Three times, I had tried to ride the tide to victory. Three times, Pride stopped my momentum cold. Five times, Pride decided to test her chance, going for the kill. Five times, I broke the point of her attacks clean. As a result, we used every advantage to build our momentum for the late game.
No Demon Lord has been summoned into this 15,000th game, not yet. Until Pride has established map dominance, she would not summon a Demon Lord. Learned from her previous losses, Pride employed her armies and generals wisely. Though, her execution of tactics and strategy has left me confused.
One of Pride’s scouting forces was being caught in between her range units and Ember’s raiding party. Still, her occultist units standing behind launched their spells and arrows without caution. The projectiles hit both her ally scouting units and Ember’s units. Clumsy, accidental, ugly, and purely chaotic, “messy” was the only word to describe such a combat situation, the kind of combat situation that no trained pro-gamer could love when they are not on the losing side. By the will of logic, only when a pro-gamer is clearly losing the fight and the war, he would seek chaos praying for an unlikely miraculous victory. It is a desperate strategy for a desperate time.
But a prayer for victory was not how our game is shaping into. That’s not Pride’s personality. That’s not her style. Knowing that, I kept racing my mind for an answer.
As I raced my mind for an answer, the map was being filled with one messy combat situation after another. Then suddenly, everything could become messy, did, at the same time.
Fuck you, Murphy’s Law, I inwardly cursed, rolling the coins between my fingers at a higher speed.
Chaos swept the battlefield like the flood in the Genesis, bending and breaking every working cogwheel of logic to recreate a new world’s order. Archers traded punches with occult spell casters. Crossbowmen drew their side arm fighting a melee with a bunch of conscripted bowmen. It was hot-mess of new world order. Heated skirmishes and melee engagements happened across the wide map of the kingdom of Zard.
I have trained Pride to play her game with clean control and precise mechanical skills. I knew her play style because its uncanny resemblance toward mine. Chaos only happens when we will it to be.
Amidst that hot mess of pure chaos, it took me a moment too late to deduct what Pride was trying to do. Divide and conquer, it was the oldest trick in the book of military art. It was an old tactic, but never outdated. Instead of fighting a team of Isonos, Sasengun, Searek, Ember and me, Pride fought us individually. Instead of fighting an army of thousand, she fought ten armies of one hundreds.
Sasengun logically shouted orders for us to disengage our fights and skirmishes. But Pride pre-empted, thrusting her all of her combatting units into melee engagements. This chaotic mess was Pride’s game plan. She would not let us turn it around so easily. If we commanded our troops to disengage from the heat of melees, we would accumulate losses.
I reimagined the entire battlefield from the bird’s eyes camera, from Pride’s POV.
Good job hiding this trump card until now. I can only praise my student for her excellence.
Pride was demonstrating a godly micro skill, controlling at least seventeen armies at the same times, fighting seventeen battles. Until now, Pride preferred fighting with a giant, unified army, slowly pushing the scenario into a conclusive battle. But now, she fought in small skirmishes. She cut her armies down to their smallest units, fighting for small objectives. For a moment, I sweated and recalled how dominant Orithyia was in her MVP year with this play style.
Orithyia was my usual competition for the annual Top Ender of the Year award. But at the same time, she was always battling with S0rr0w for the Top Raider of the Year award. She could control an army of over 20,000 men as many small armies of 1,000~3,000 with unity, skill and precision. It was often described that playing against Amazon Electronic and their Amazonian Queen was like playing ROC against ten pro-gamers at the same time. Orithyia’s micro-control skill and concentration was godly which result in Amazon Gaming’s renowned map-control dominance.
Orithyia, when she was in her top form, was a force to be respect. “Chaos is Order,” revealed she, giving a very short summary to the secret of her dominance.
What Pride was doing at the moment gave me flashbacks of Orithyia. I immediately shook my head, focusing on the battle at hands. Dion disrupted my concentration and sarcastically asked me if I needed its help. I taciturnly gave it a mental middle finger.
My current force was being split into three, being locked in three separated engagements. The naked curve of my Zardian horse sabers sang a metal choir with the tapered black steels of Pride’s mercenary units. Her bandit ravagers howled and crashed into the front of my militia spearmen with the unadulterated savagery of their bloodied long axes. Amidst the heated chaos, a 300-man unit of Pride’s occultists offered their soul to Ira and Wrath, gaining beastly strength and movement. Their body framed by a swirling black aura of Wrath’s and Ira’s magical essence. These men turned beasts raced across the killing field on four limbs, slamming into the flank of my militia spearmen in a hammer and anvil tactic, while exposing their back like target practices to my Hyrios.
I could calculate how fast that my militia spearmen were booking their trip to the black moon. It was just a matter of time. Pride’s men-turned beasts unit and bandit ravager units would sustain heavy casualty. It was a losing battle, but a trade that Pride would gladly accept to keep my Hyrios contained. We, each, won one half of this giant mess.
But Ember’s units were being overwhelmed too fast for my liking. Ember was not the most adapting person. He operated well in a systematic environment. Break the system, turning order into chaos, Ember would lose half of his usual wit. I could see that once Ember’s unit was routed, Searek’s personal army was next on Pride’s menu.
Do I trust Ember to pull through this mess? Do I trust Isonos to come out of his engagement fast enough to aid Ember? Do I trust Sasengun to come up with a counter-strategy from this mess? Yes, I do. I trust them, because I have no other option, so I must. I gritted my teeth, my fingers fiddling with the invisible coins, simulating the current situation ahead and predicting the movement of Pride’s warlord across the map.
Pride’s control over her troops and armies are much sharper and faster than ours. That’s more than enough to allow Pride to overcome most of her disadvantage as long as her concentration and control is in top form.
I mentally weighted the cost. I recalled Pride’s taunting mind trick in the pre-game. Do I trust this new The Alliance as I would trust my old brotherhood? No, I don’t. After all, war is their business and calling. They were not pro-gamers. I did not recruit them to play games.
A, trust my teammates. B, do not trust them. How about C, FUCK YOU?
Could not hold it in any longer, “FUCK THIS SHIT,” I heatedly aired out my rage. I have always loathed being asked to make choice base on the options provided to me by someone else. I hated doing MCQs. I hated filling those stupid psychology checklists to my psychiatrists. I knew that my rage was the work of Pride’s mind game. But I cared not. I am a person with anger issues. I am used to play ROC angrily. I am used to live my life angrily.
I shouted my orders to Sasengun, telling her to shift the gears of her strategy accordingly.
You want chaos? I show you the real chaos. I quietly breathed out my rage. A game within a game within a game, we are playing. I am trading one loss for one win.
I gave up on my militia spearmen units, but commanding them to drag out their melee with Pride’s bandit ravagers for as long as possible. I wanted to keep those brutes busy for as long as possible.
Just for the briefest of a moment, I saw Pride took her eyes off her screen. If that was an act, I am so screwed, I thought, but staked my life on Fortuna’s hands. My Hyrios and his small band of nomadic riders were bolting, but not to Ember’s rescue, away from the smothering, corpses strewed contention for map dominance.
In the heat of combat, Sasengun shouted, alerting me of one of Pride’s nomadic cavalry units were moving away to intercept my west moving Hyrios and his retinue.
“Which unit?” I asked.
Hearing Sasengun’s answer, I licked my lips, readying my troops for combat. Dion internally accuse me of map-hacking and cheating. What I have just done was outside of its calculation. I have correctly guessed the whereabouts and movement of Pride warlord.
ROUND 2, the dark art of stupidity and ill-logic, I answered Dion’s accusation with an accusatory reply.