Victory was a strange and unfamiliar flavor. It tasted of sweat, cheap ale, roasted boar, and the heady, intoxicating nectar of impossible success. We feasted that night in the grand dining hall of the West Wing, not as a clandestine group of fugitives, but as conquering heroes. The long, polished table was laden with food and drink, gifts sent from the royal kitchens by a clearly impressed King. Our dozen misfit recruits, who had watched the day's events with wide, disbelieving eyes, were celebrating with the wild, unrestrained joy of men and women who had just seen their hopeless cause validated in the most spectacular fashion imaginable.
Lyra was at the center of it all, a whirlwind of boisterous energy. She was arm-wrestling our new dwarven blacksmith, Borin, and laughing with a sound like a joyous rockslide every time she slammed his massive, calloused hand to the table. She was in her element, the alpha of a new, growing pack, reveling in the glory of the hunt.
Luna sat beside me, a quiet, radiant smile on her face. She had barely said a word since her victory, but she didn't need to. Her newfound confidence was a palpable aura around her. She was no longer the timid, fearful maid. She was Luna, the Arrow of the Silverstein, a champion in her own right. Her loyalty, which I could feel as a warm, steady presence in the back of my mind, was now mingled with a fierce, quiet pride.
Elizabeth, ever the strategist, sat at the head of the table opposite me, a glass of fine wine in her hand, her expression one of cool, analytical satisfaction. She watched the boisterous celebration with the detached air of a general observing her victorious, if unruly, troops.
"Do not get complacent," she said, her voice cutting through the din, meant only for me. "Today was a victory of asymmetry. Gareth underestimated us. He chose the battlefield, and he chose poorly. He fought us on our terms, in individual duels where our unique talents could shine. He will not make that mistake again."
"I know," I replied, taking a sip of the King's excellent wine. "He'll come at us with tactics and teamwork tomorrow. He'll try to overwhelm us with coordinated force."
"Precisely," she said. "The simulated environments for the skirmishes will be his advantage. His Iron Gryphons train in mock battles relentlessly. They are masters of small-unit tactics. Our... eclectic little group... is not."
She was right. Our strength was in our individual, impossible powers. But could we function as a true team in a complex, tactical battle?
As if on cue, a palace attendant entered the hall and approached our table, bowing low. "My lord Protector," he said, his voice hushed. "A message for you. Delivered by one of the kitchen staff. From an... anonymous source."
He handed me a small, folded piece of parchment. I opened it. The note contained a single, hastily scrawled sentence.
The Duke met with Gareth tonight. In secret. He was not happy. He gave Gareth a 'gift' to ensure victory tomorrow. Be careful. The Gryphons will have new claws.
It was unsigned, but I knew who it was from. Luna's network. The invisible army of servants who saw everything.
I passed the note to Elizabeth. Her eyes scanned the words, and her face hardened. "I knew it," she whispered. "My father does not tolerate failure. He is no longer content to pull the strings from a distance. He is intervening directly. A 'gift'... that could be anything. An enchanted weapon. A forbidden potion. A scroll of devastating magic."
[Or a System,] ARIA's voice was a sliver of ice in my mind. [The Duke has a proven history of distributing corrupted System fragments to his assets. Marcus von Adler was a precedent. It is a logical, if terrifying, possibility that he has given Sir Gareth a similar 'upgrade.']
The thought sent a chill down my spine. A duel against a skilled, honorable knight was one thing. A duel against a System-enhanced warrior, backed by the resources of the Duke and the fury of a humiliated guild... that was another matter entirely.
The next day dawned bright and clear, but the festive atmosphere of the tournament had been replaced by a palpable tension. The word of the Glitch Raiders' clean sweep had spread throughout the city. We were no longer a joke. We were a phenomenon. And everyone was waiting to see if the miracle could continue.
The Grand Arena had been transformed. The flat, sandy floor was gone, replaced by a dense, magically simulated forest. Towering trees, thick undergrowth, and a babbling brook created a complex, treacherous environment. The first skirmish of the day was announced: a two-versus-two 'Capture the Flag' contest.
"A forest environment," Elizabeth analyzed as we stood in the staging area. "It favors stealth, tracking, and ranged combat. This is a battlefield for hunters."
The choice was obvious. "Lyra. Luna," I said. "You're up."
Lyra grinned, cracking her knuckles. "A hunt in the woods? It has been too long."
Luna simply nodded, her hand resting on her elven bow, her expression calm and focused.
Their opponents were two of the Iron Gryphons' best trackers: a grim-faced human ranger named Falk and a massive, bear-like barbarian named Bjorn. They were experts in this terrain, and they looked at our two champions with cold, professional confidence.
The rules were simple. Each team had a flag, a silken banner bearing their guild's crest, located in a base on opposite sides of the simulated forest. The first team to capture the enemy's flag and return it to their own base would be declared the victor.
The starting horn blew, and the four combatants disappeared into the dense woods.
In the viewing box, Elizabeth and I watched on a massive, floating scrying mirror that showed a tactical overview of the battlefield. It was a chess match played with axes and arrows.
The Gryphon team was good. They moved like shadows, using their knowledge of the terrain to set up a series of clever traps—hidden pits, tripwires, deadfalls. They were trying to lure our team into a prepared ambush.
But they were hunting a wolf and a hawk.
"The ranger, Falk, has laid a snare near the large oak tree to the west," Luna's voice was a calm, clear whisper in my mind. Even from the stands, our 'Shared Senses' link was still functional, a perfect, undetectable communication system. "His scent is on the rope. He is trying to funnel us toward the ravine."
I relayed the information to Lyra through a series of simple, pre-arranged hand signals. It was a crude system, but effective. A closed fist meant 'danger ahead.' A pointed finger meant 'enemy spotted.'
Lyra received my signal and grinned, her feral instincts taking over. She did not avoid the trap. She used it.
She let out a loud, challenging howl that echoed through the forest, deliberately drawing their attention. Then she began a feigned, clumsy retreat, leading them on a chase directly away from their own flag.
Falk and Bjorn, believing their prey was panicked and fleeing, took the bait. They charged after her, leaving their flag with only a token guard.
That was the moment Luna struck.
From a high branch, she loosed a single, silent arrow. It did not fly at an enemy. It flew at the enemy's flag, which was perched atop a tall pole. The arrow struck the rope holding the flag, severing it. The Gryphon banner fluttered to the ground.
At the same time, Lyra, who had led her pursuers into a dense thicket, sprang her own trap. She was not the prey; she was the predator. She burst from the undergrowth with a roar, a whirlwind of strength and fury. The two Gryphons, caught completely by surprise, were overwhelmed before they could even mount a proper defense. Lyra disarmed them with contemptuous ease, ending the "fight" without drawing a single drop of blood.
Luna, meanwhile, had dropped from her tree, scooped up the fallen flag, and was sprinting back to our base.
The entire skirmish was over in less than five minutes. It was a flawless victory, won not with brute force, but with superior scouting, clever misdirection, and perfect teamwork.
The crowd went wild. The impossible was happening again.
Glitch Raiders: 4 - Iron Gryphons: 0
The war was won. According to the rules, we had achieved four victories. The contest was over.
The Arbiter, Grimgar Stonehand, stepped into the arena, his stone-faced expression looking slightly bewildered. "By the rules of the Guild War," he began, his voice booming, "the Glitch Raiders have achieved four victories. They are hereby declared the winn—"
"STOP!"
The voice was a roar of pure, undiluted fury. Sir Gareth stormed onto the field, his face a mask of purple rage. He was not alone. Flanked by his personal guard, Duke Theron von Crimson strode beside him, his expression one of cold, righteous anger.
"This contest is a farce!" Gareth bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at us. "They have used foul, unsanctioned magic! Their victory is meaningless!"
"Sir Gareth is correct," the Duke said, his voice smooth and authoritative, addressing the stunned Arbiter and the confused crowd. "The ancient and honorable rules of the Guild War are meant to be a true test of strength and skill. These... 'Glitch Raiders'... have relied on trickery and strange, chaotic powers. As a patron of this tournament and a member of the King's Emergency Council, I cannot, in good conscience, allow this mockery to stand."
He was changing the rules. In the middle of the game. Using his political power to invalidate our victory.
"The seven trials were agreed upon!" Elizabeth shouted from our box, her voice ringing with outrage. "They must be completed! To prove their worth beyond any doubt! The Glitch Raiders must face us in the final skirmishes! It is the only honorable way!"
It was a sham, a complete and utter abuse of power. But the Duke was the de facto ruler of the city. The Arbiter, Grimgar, looked torn, but he was powerless against the Duke's authority. He looked to the royal box. The King, looking weary and frail, gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. He had no choice but to concede.
"The Guild War will continue," Grimgar grumbled, his voice filled with disgust.
A wave of anger and disappointment went through the common folk in the crowd, but the nobles in the Duke's faction applauded, their faces smug.
The second skirmish was announced. A two-versus-two battle in a simulated urban environment. A maze of cobblestone streets, buildings, and alleys. The objective was simple: eliminate the opposing team.
"I will face them myself," Gareth snarled, drawing his sword. He would not trust his champions again. He would crush us personally. "And I will have our finest battlemage, Master Valerius, at my side."
The crowd murmured. Valerius the Younger, the foppish nobleman I had humiliated at the banquet, was also a battlemage of some renown, known for his powerful, if flashy, earth-based spells.
"It's our turn," I said to Elizabeth.
We walked down to the arena floor, the weight of the Duke's treachery heavy on our shoulders.
The simulated city rose around us, a maze of stone and shadow.
"He's angry," Elizabeth murmured as we took our position. "And he is a formidable swordsman. Be careful, Kazuki."
"I will," I said. But my attention was focused on something else. A strange, new energy emanating from Sir Gareth.
The starting horn blew.
Gareth and Valerius charged. But Gareth... he was different. The rage was still there, but it was cold now, focused. He was faster than he had been against Lyra. His movements were more precise, his eyes glowing with a faint, golden light, the same light I had seen in the Adjudicator's eyes.
[WARNING! SYSTEM DETECTED!] ARIA's alert was a piercing shriek in my mind. [HOSTILE SYSTEM USER IDENTIFIED: SIR GARETH.]
[Analyzing System... Type: 'Warlord's Command (Tier 2 - Gifted).'][Primary Functions: Provides user with a real-time tactical overlay. Enhances physical parameters (STR, DEX, CON) by approximately 75%. Grants the ability to issue 'Buff' commands to designated allies, increasing their power and coordinating their attacks.]
This was the Duke's "gift." A military-grade System, far more advanced, more stable, than Marcus's crude Berserker core.
"Elizabeth, he's a System User!" I yelled. "His commands can buff his ally!"
Gareth smirked. "Too late, glitch." He pointed his sword at Valerius. "COMMAND: ENHANCE_SPELL(TARGET="VALERIUS", SPELL="EARTHEN_PRISON")."
Valerius, who had been chanting, slammed his staff on the ground. The cobblestones around Elizabeth erupted, not as a simple wall, but as a complex, interlocking cage of stone, rising to trap her. The spell was faster, larger, and more powerful than it should have been.
Elizabeth cried out in surprise as she was forced to leap back, narrowly avoiding being imprisoned.
Gareth charged me, his speed now rivaling my own. Our swords met in a shower of sparks. His strength was immense, his technique flawless. I was immediately on the defensive, my clumsy swordsmanship no match for his System-enhanced perfection.
This was their strategy. Gareth, the enhanced super-soldier, would tie me up in melee combat, while Valerius, his spells buffed by Gareth's commands, would overwhelm Elizabeth. It was a perfect, coordinated assault.
We were losing.
I parried a vicious thrust, the impact sending a shockwave up my arm. I was stronger than a normal man, but he was an augmented warrior. I couldn't hold out for long.
My unorthodox tactics, my Terraforming, my greatest advantage... it was gone. Gareth's 'Warlord's Command' system gave him a tactical HUD. He could see the build-up of my mana. He could anticipate my commands before I even issued them. The moment I tried to manipulate the ground, he would simply sidestep or command Valerius to counter it with his own earth magic.
I was fighting a man who could read my mind.
"It's over, Silverstein!" Gareth snarled, his sword a blur of motion, forcing me back step by step. "There are no more tricks! No more loopholes! Just steel and skill! And you have neither!"
He was right.
My power, my unique advantage, had been nullified. I was out of options.
Except for one.
The one I had sworn I would never use. The tainted, corrupted, and monstrous power that slept in the depths of my soul. The ghost of my dead friend.
[Activating 'Berserker's Rage' is not recommended,] ARIA warned, her voice tight with concern. [The risk of soul corruption is 62%. It will disable your higher reasoning. You will lose control.]
I know, I thought back, as I barely dodged a sword stroke that would have taken my head off. But what other choice do I have?
I looked across the simulated street. Elizabeth was on the defensive, a wall of ice her only defense against Valerius's enhanced, relentless bombardment of stone and earth. She wouldn't last much longer.
It was a desperate, suicidal move. A plunge into madness. But it was the only move I had left.
I had to unleash the monster to save the pack.
Gareth saw his opening. He feinted left and then thrust right, his blade a perfect, inescapable line aimed directly at my heart.
In that final moment, I let go.
I opened the cage in my soul and embraced the tainted, screaming rage within.
COMMAND: ACTIVATE 'BERSERKER'S RAGE.'
The world did not go red.
It went silent.
And then, a new, terrible power, a power born of pain and hatred, flooded every cell of my being. A crimson aura, dark and thick as blood, erupted from my body. The faint, blue glow in my eyes was extinguished, replaced by a burning, hateful, and terrifying red.
My intelligence, my reason, my very self, was shoved into a small corner of my mind, forced to watch as a passenger in my own body. The thing that was now in control was not me. It was a creature of pure, undiluted rage.
Gareth's sword, which had been a hair's breadth from my chest, was stopped. Not by a parry. But by my hand. I had caught the blade in my bare palm. Blood welled up, but I did not feel the pain.
The world around me seemed to slow to a crawl. The roar of the crowd, the crash of Elizabeth's spells—it all faded into a distant hum. There was only my opponent, and the burning, all-consuming need to break him.
I looked at Gareth, and he saw the change in my eyes. His confident smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of genuine fear.
"What... what is this?" he stammered.
I did not answer. The creature that was now wearing my face simply smiled, a wide, feral grin that was all teeth.
With a flick of my wrist, I snapped the steel blade of his sword in two.
Then, with a roar that was not my own, a sound of pure, animalistic fury that echoed the ghost of my fallen friend, I lunged.
The system notification that flashed in my vision was stark, and it was a promise of the damnation I had just unleashed.
[WARNING: SOUL CORRUPTION DETECTED. SYSTEM STABILITY AT 35%. HIGHER REASONING DISABLED.]
[WELCOME TO THE RAGE.]