Chapter 7: The Flames of War

The sun had barely risen, yet the battlefield was already alive with the sound of war. Explosions echoed across the plains, smoke rising from burning vehicles, and the screams of soldiers filled the air. Every inch of land was fought over like it was the last, and in the Warmongers Tournament, there was no time to rest.

Kang TaeHoon stood at the edge of a ridge, watching the battle unfold below. His squad had been moving through this area when they spotted two enemy forces colliding in a brutal fight. He could see the familiar uniforms of the American Eagle Division and the Brazilian Jungle Operatives. The fight was fierce, with neither side giving ground.

TaeHoon’s lieutenant, Sergeant Kim, stepped up beside him. “What’s the plan, Captain? They’ll tear each other apart down there.”

TaeHoon smirked. “Let them. We’ll strike when they’re weakest.”

As they waited, watching the chaos below, something caught TaeHoon’s eye. Among the Brazilian soldiers was a familiar face—Captain Arman Delgado, the same man who had been betrayed by the Japanese a few days earlier. TaeHoon had heard of his struggle, how Arman’s forces had been decimated, and how the captain had somehow survived.

“Change of plans,” TaeHoon said, his tone sharp. “We’re going in. But not against the Brazilians—against the Americans.”

Sergeant Kim looked surprised but didn’t question the order. TaeHoon wasn’t sure why, but something told him Arman could be useful. Maybe it was the way the Brazilian captain fought—desperate, but with a fire that refused to be put out.

TaeHoon’s squad moved silently through the trees, preparing for their assault. They knew the battlefield well, and TaeHoon had a knack for striking at the perfect moment. As the Americans pushed the Brazilians back, TaeHoon gave the signal.

"Now

His soldiers moved like shadows, cutting through the American lines with brutal efficiency. Caught between two forces, the Americans had no time to react. It was a slaughter. TaeHoon himself moved like a ghost, his rifle and blade working in deadly harmony. Within minutes, the battle had turned in favor of the Brazilians.

Arman looked up from where he was fighting, surprised to see TaeHoon and his men cutting down the Americans. He wiped the blood from his face and moved toward TaeHoon.

“You could’ve taken us out,” Arman said, panting as he reached him. “Why help?”

TaeHoon shrugged, his face calm despite the chaos around them. “Maybe I need you alive for now. Maybe I just hate the Americans more.”

Arman smirked. “Fair enough. We’ll settle our debt later.”

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TaeHoon nodded. “We will.”

While new alliances were forming, far to the east, the aftermath of Jaegal Taek’s betrayal by the Russians still echoed in the minds of the survivors. Taek had lost nearly all of his squad in the ambush, and those who remained were barely holding on. The once-proud Dragon Strike Corps had been reduced to a handful of men, and Taek himself had become even colder, more distant than ever.

But Taek wasn’t one to lie down and die. He was already planning his revenge on the Russian Iron Guard. For now, though, he had to regroup and regain his strength.

As they moved through the ruined landscape, Taek’s second-in-command, Lieutenant Wei, approached him. “Sir, we’re low on supplies. We can’t keep going like this.”

Taek stared ahead, his jaw tight. “We’ll make do. We always have.”

Lieutenant Wei hesitated. “But the men—”

“They can either follow, or they can die here,” Taek interrupted, his voice cold and final. “We’re not stopping.”

Wei nodded, though his eyes showed doubt. The men were loyal, but even loyalty had limits. And in this tournament, those limits were being pushed to the breaking point.

As they marched, the tension within Taek’s remaining squad grew. The men whispered when they thought he wasn’t listening, and even Wei seemed unsure. But Taek didn’t care. He had one goal—revenge. And he would stop at nothing to get it.

As night fell, TaeHoon’s squad and the Brazilians set up camp in the ruins of an old military outpost. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, and the distant sounds of fighting still echoed from the far-off sectors. TaeHoon and Arman sat around a fire, each lost in thought.

“So what’s your next move?” Arman asked, his eyes reflecting the flames.

TaeHoon glanced at him. “Keep moving forward. No point in stopping.”

Arman chuckled darkly. “Ain’t that the truth.”

But as the night deepened, something unexpected happened. Without warning, shots rang out from within the camp. TaeHoon jumped to his feet, his instincts kicking in. He saw a group of mercenaries—a small band that had apparently been hiding in the outpost—ambushing the camp from the shadows.

Chaos erupted. The mercenaries were well-trained, striking at weak points in both TaeHoon’s and Arman’s forces. Soldiers fell, caught off guard by the sudden betrayal.

TaeHoon drew his rifle, taking down two mercenaries with precise shots. But as he fought, he realized something—this ambush wasn’t random. Someone had sold them out.

Arman was pinned down behind a wall, firing back at the attackers. “We’ve been set up!” he yelled over the gunfire.

TaeHoon’s mind raced. Had someone in his squad betrayed them? Or was it Arman’s men?

He caught sight of one of the mercenaries—Sergeant Kim, his own lieutenant, standing among the attackers. TaeHoon’s blood ran cold.

“You traitor!” TaeHoon shouted, his voice filled with fury.

Kim smiled wickedly, his rifle aimed at TaeHoon. “Sorry, Captain. But I’ve got a better offer.”

Before TaeHoon could react, Kim fired. The bullet grazed TaeHoon’s arm, and he ducked behind cover, heart pounding. His mind raced, trying to process the betrayal. He had trusted Kim—had fought beside him for years.

But now, trust was a weakness. And weaknesses didn’t last in the Warmongers Tournament.

Despite the betrayal, TaeHoon wasn’t ready to give up. With blood running down his arm, he rallied his remaining soldiers, moving through the camp with deadly focus. He caught Kim off guard, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Kim’s eyes widened as he fell to the ground, clutching his throat, blood pouring from the wound.

TaeHoon stood over him, his face hard as stone. “You should’ve stayed loyal.”

As the mercenaries fled into the night, the camp was left in ruins. TaeHoon’s squad had taken heavy losses, and Arman’s forces were barely hanging on. But they had survived—again.

As the fires burned low, TaeHoon stood alone, staring into the darkness. He knew more betrayals would come. The tournament was far from over, and the real challenges were still ahead.

But no matter what came next, he would survive. He had to.

The Warmongers Tournament demanded everything, and TaeHoon was ready to give it all.