Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler[English]

Yakov sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Richard, if you’ve been hiding your real strength, don’t you think the others have too? Keep the showboating to a minimum. Finish fights fast, and don’t reveal more than you have to.”

Richard blinked, then smacked his forehead. “Right… yeah. You’re a genius, Yakov.”

Before anyone could add more, a deafening *whummm* ripped through the canyon—like a colossal gong being struck.

All five of them whipped their heads toward the sound.

Suspended above the abyss, a massive sheet of white rice paper unfolded, as wide as a basketball court. Ink bled across its surface, forming sixteen lines of text.

“The match list!” someone shouted.

No one breathed. The order was random, which meant luck could make or break a team before the first strike was even thrown.

One by one, the names of all sixteen squads began to appear.

Each bracket held eight teams, and Bloodstone Warfare School was drawn into the top half. Everyone immediately began scanning the names for who else had landed there.

Yakov knew her plan looked good on paper, but it demanded too much from both Yara and Umar. Sure, their opponent was a psychic—weak in close combat—but he was still a Level 4 Awakener. If they couldn’t smash through quickly and the fight dragged on, they’d both end up half-dead. That would mean total defeat.

As for Axel’s promise? Yakov didn’t buy it. Axel’s grin came from his healing ability, but pushing those skills on their level drained Force like water through a sieve.

“Alright,” Yakov muttered, resigned. “No perfect answer here. We’ll try it your way. If things go south, we switch on the fly. And if the battlefield’s good for an ambush, we don’t waste time on a frontal charge.”

Before anyone could argue, a line of glowing red text blinked under the battle table:

Countdown: ten seconds.

Everyone held their breath as the numbers ticked down. Axel’s fingers twitched against his gear—the Serpent King’s Scale Armor, a portable energy cannon. Now he had four C-rank Original Instruments. His compressed Force already exceeded two thousand.

When the world flashed white, the team was swallowed in a pulse of heat and damp air.

A heavy, sticky sensation clung to their boots. The moment they glanced around, their faces darkened.

“Shit,” someone muttered.

They’d been dumped in a swamp—dark, humid, ankle-deep in mud. Yara’s carefully laid plan collapsed instantly. No room for ambushes. No cover. Nothing but open ground. Worse, the Eagle’s Crest squad stood plain in sight across the mire.

Yakov’s Holographic Vision? Useless.

“Stick to the plan?” he whispered.

Yara’s knuckles went white as her fists clenched. “No. We run. Head for that high ground!”

Far off, a faint strip of dry land shimmered through the swamp haze. Out here in the muck, they were targets waiting to be picked off. Yara hadn’t thought the battlefield randomizer would fuck them this badly.

The group bolted, mud sucking at their boots with every step.

“Hollow Fortress Academy, Cavalier’s Honour Academy,” Yara read aloud.

Richard lit up like a kid at a festival. He hadn’t expected Stormwatch Academy or Eagle’s Crest Command Academy to be in the bottom half. That meant Bloodstone had avoided the two biggest monsters early on.

“Don’t celebrate yet,” Yakov cut in, arms folded, expression grim. “Look—here’s our first-round matchup.”

The full pairing list shimmered across the floating parchment. Bloodstone’s opening fight: Cavalier’s Honour Academy. The toughest clash of the round.

......

At the same time, inside the private viewing lounge of the Olympic Sports Center, the presidents of the major war academies studied the list.

The room erupted in low conversation. Tristan, Bloodstone’s president, frowned and stayed silent. His assistant’s lips tightened. If they lost to Cavalier’s Honour, the “weakest war school” label would be nailed to Bloodstone’s back for good. If they dropped to Hollow Fortress later too, Tristan’s career would be in trouble.

“Mr. Tristan,” a smooth voice drawled. “Didn’t expect us to meet so soon. Let’s enjoy the show.”

Imran, principal of Cavalier’s Honour, strolled over with a grin and sat right beside him. His mood couldn’t have been brighter. If they crushed Bloodstone, Hollow Fortress would be the only real hurdle left.

......

“The first round is Cavalier’s Honour,” Yara confirmed. Everyone except her and Axel looked sour.

Just then, a sharp figure in a wide-brimmed sunhat and black suit appeared floating above the cliffs. A man in his forties, exuding authority without even trying.

“I am the referee for this round, Bradley,” he announced, voice booming through the canyon like a speaker system. “Now, listen up. Rules.”

His next roar cracked like a whip: “Those of you still whispering—shut the hell up!”

Silence dropped instantly.

Axel studied him. No visible Force fluctuations. And yet he hovered effortlessly above them. Only a Level 5, upper-grade Awakener could manage that. Definitely not someone to underestimate.

“The competition is a team battle,” Bradley went on. “Battlefield terrain is randomized. You’ll be teleported straight to it once we begin. No combat restrictions—Original Instruments and Primogems are allowed. Restorative Potions, however, are banned. Drink one, and you’re out.”

That rule alone soured the faces of several students from the aristocratic schools. For their pampered kind, Potions were half their strength.

“We’re all from the War Academies, so let’s not pretend,” Bradley said flatly. “Friendship comes first, competition comes second? Bullshit. Here, we fight to the edge..”

A low ripple spread through the peaks.

“Die in the Landscape Scroll, and it’s a normal death. Push someone near death, and the scroll will take them out of the field immediately.”

“One last rule: the fight doesn’t end until one side loses all combat ability. Maximum time limit, two hours. If no one’s down by then, the team with heavier injuries loses. Five minutes from now, you’ll all be dropped into your maps. Get ready.”

And with that, Bradley vanished like smoke in a gust of wind.

“Five minutes? That’s barely any time.” Yara waved the team in close, her face set. “Listen. The battlefield is random—we can’t control that. But we can control how we fight. Eagle’s Crest has two ranked in the top ten, one in the top twenty, the other two in the top fifty.”

“On paper, we don’t win this,” Yara continued, voice sharp and fast. “So—we win by exploiting the rules. Three of their fighters specialize in ranged attacks: two psychics, one mechanical type. Here’s the plan. Yakov, you’ll scan their positions as soon as we land. Umar and I will charge directly. Richard, you’re on blocking duty—absorb as much fire as you can.”

She stabbed a finger toward the canyon wall, eyes fierce. “Two of their top ten are support-types. Buffing strength, boosting psychic output. The last is a psychic. None of them can hold me. We take them out immediately, then disengage. Once we’ve drawn blood, we fall back. Speed is on our side.”

Her gaze locked on Axel. “That’s where you come in. We’ll be banged up, no doubt. You’ll patch us up. If by the two-hour mark their damage is heavier than ours—we win.”

Axel felt a chill of admiration. Yara had built a workable upset strategy in seconds flat, squeezing the rules to give them a sliver of advantage. A true battlefield commander.

“Wait—Yara,” Yakov broke in, his voice strained. “Charging head-on? That’s three against five. If you take heavy hits and can’t pull out, we’re screwed.”

Yara drew a steady breath. “Trust me. I’ll manage.”

Though her frame was slight, her expression was iron.

“Umar, talk some sense into her.”

Umar wiped his blade clean with a cloth, eyes calm. “I can do it too.”

Yakov muttered a curse under his breath. He still thought the plan reckless, but when he glanced at Axel, he found only a smile.

“I’m in,” Axel said. “No problem.”

What a bunch of lunatics. But gods, their confidence was contagious.