The Oracle Paths

Time hurtled forward, and soon it was the turn of the feared Rank 16 Lieutenant Colonels to emerge. When the lower-ranked Players received the notification, their expressions darkened, and a knot of dread formed in their guts.

At first, the notification heralding the entrance of the higher-ranked Players was predictable, but as the ranks of the involved Players climbed higher and higher, those who appeared later began to harbor the hope they might be the top contenders of this battle.

The ones who faced the sting of disappointment the most were undoubtedly the Rank 15 Majors who'd arrived 36 hours prior. Much like the Rank 14 Captains before them, they'd clung to the fleeting hope that they held the highest rank among the participating Players, a position that would've bestowed upon them a significant advantage. Yet, their hopes had been brutally dashed.

Their only silver lining was the knowledge that encountering one of these titans on the battlefield would be a rare event, especially at the outset of the war. Arriving earlier had given them a head start over the rest.

Of course, these high-ranking factionless Players were actually in the minority. The majority, instead of anxiously awaiting their superiors and leaders, were quite composed about the idea. If anything, it comforted them, knowing that more competent allies had their backs.

The eyes of some Myrtharian Nerds, like Enya, Esya, and Will, gleamed with anticipation, knowing their trusted leaders would join them in battle soon. Sadly, for many faction members, the opposite sentiment rang true.

Not all faction members were knowledgeable to the exact Oracle Rank of their leading officers, and each new notification only deepened their unease. The more pessimistic and uninformed even believed that Jake, Lucia, and others were merely Rank 11 or 12.

Regarding these Rank 16 Players, save perhaps for the Oracles from both sides, no one knew their exact numbers. In fact, within the Myrtharian Nerds alone, Jake was in the dark about Lucia and Ulfar not being the only Lieutenant Colonels in his faction.

Some had played their cards close to their chest. But if one were to venture a guess, the more calculating and informed Players thought their number could be counted on two hands. Now, whether the one counting had three or eight fingers on each hand was an entirely different debate.

Thirty-six hours after the Players already present on Twyluxia received the last notification, a Rank 16 Player, who'd successfully kept his rank under wraps, made his entrance. Walking incognito amidst a mismatched procession of Underworld Barbarians, an elegant young man with jet-black hair opened his eyes.

Though dressed in rags like the other conscripts, his demeanor was eerie - calm and cruel. His eyes, dark as the abyss, seemed to create an illusory vortex around him, absorbing ambient light and erasing his very presence. At that moment, even if he'd unleashed his powers or transformed into a dragon like Jinlong earlier, it was plausible that even the nearest Soulmancer wouldn't have noticed.

This man with the stern and reserved aura was none other than Hephais Vist.

Many Myrtharian Nerds saw him as a reliable assassin, spy, and scout, as well as a master of precision when circumstances demanded, but few truly grasped the depth of his skills.

Jake had been more insightful about this ever since he had rescued Hephais from the Manastorm at the end of the Fourth Ordeal, realizing the latter was still lucid, battling to slow the relentless transformation of his body into Mana. Without Jeanie's assistance, he knew he probably wouldn't have fared much better - the dismal state he found Gerulf and Rogen in was testament to that.

Like Enya and Esya, Hephais was an Egaean, his black hair and eyes signifying his inherent affinity for the Dark and Shadow Elements. But unlike the two sisters, his upbringing was far from privileged.

Collected with hundreds of other abandoned newborns or war orphans from streets and orphanages, he was trained and indoctrinated to become a soulless assassin, a mere tool, a pawn to be readily sacrificed.

Hephais perpetrated his first kill at the tender age of seven and remembered it vividly. The victim? A corpulent baron, drenched in sweat and reeking of old rum, guilty of hoarding wheat during a famine to spike the prices.

Whether the accusation held truth didn't matter. As a child, Hephais didn't hesitate for a moment to slit the man's throat in his sleep after witnessing him brutally attack a maid who had dared to reject his advances.

By the age Tim is now, Hephais had more human blood on his hands than Jake currently had on his own. Even if he'd been a powerless Earthling, the cold rationale and resourcefulness gleaned from his experiences as an elite mercenary, assassin, and spy would've enabled him to outperform over 99.999% of the Players.

His lone Achilles' heel was his solitary nature and his inability to trust anyone. Before aligning with the Myrtharian Nerds, this personality flaw had caused him more trouble than necessary; some battles are unquestionably easier won in numbers.

It was in Jake that he found a kindred spirit and a truly dependable leader for his subordinates, compelling him to join. Initially, he thought of his involvement as temporary, planning to gain what he could and leave, but in time, he grew fond of the Myrtharian Nerds. Now, the idea of departing was far from his mind.

Upon awakening, Hephais stoically scanned his body, registering his new limitations just like the others.

"I can't even harness 1% of my true power, and the artifacts I had are now sealed in my Space Storage," he summarized grimly in his mind, then muttered sardonically, "Well, it's good enough..."

Moments later, he broke ranks, blending into a blur as he darted towards the battlefield—the destination of the conscripts—to gather intel. The overseeing Soulmancer and officers never perceived his absence. By the time one of them called roll to weed out potential deserters, Hephais had long since returned.

In another regiment millions of miles from Hephais's location, but part of the same draft wave, an angelic beauty with pale gray skin showcased a chitinous golden armor and matching flowing hair. She wore a sly, ominous smile, watching the brawny barbarians overtly salivate over her all-too-revealing torn attire, particularly her plunging neckline and curvaceous rear. The four pairs of folded golden wings on her back were all but overlooked in comparison.

This otherworldly lethal beauty was the Schwazen Virtue, spawned by Aurae, and coincidentally a born Digestor Trojan with a double-agent status.

Stretching seductively, her generous bosom pressed taut against the thin fabric shielding her modesty, drawing sharp intakes of breath and audible gulps throughout the regiment.

"Aaah! This is going to be fun," she exaggeratedly moaned, slipping her index finger into her mouth and suggestively beckoning the nearest barbarian with another.

Battle achievements and promotions aside, within the hour, she had the entire regiment ensnared around her finger. And unlike Aisling, seduction wasn't even her forte.

Between Hephais and Caphriel's regiments, another young woman was coming to grips with her new surroundings. Of all the Myrtharian Nerds at Rank 16, she had best concealed her true nature—even Jake and Will were oblivious to her real standing.

Maeve Gibson once embodied youthful exuberance. She moved with the grace of spring petals and had a laughter so infectious, it would light up anyone's day. Yet, tragedy morphed this young woman, and since then, the sole fire burning within her was an insatiable thirst for revenge.

Now, her raven-black hair, dark as a moonless night, cascaded in sleek waves just above her shoulders, framing a face so breathtakingly ethereal it seemed handcrafted by gods. But it was her eyes that held the unfathomable. They gleamed with a reddish hue, untouched by the influence of the Cosmic D Starfeyrves Body Passive, reminiscent of embers that never died out. These eyes told tales of power, pain, and retribution, revealing the lineage of a primeval demon pulsating through her veins.

Her skin, once soft and rosy, had transformed an opalescent white, almost translucent, displaying a subtle mesh of dark veins that slithered beneath like serpents. As she moved in sync with the other barbarians, a chilling aura cloaked her, frosting the air in her wake.

Her movements, though fluid and almost trance-inducing, radiated an underlying threat. Each step, each gesture seemed deliberate, as if she was perpetually on the edge, ready to unleash the demoniac tempest brewing within.

Despite her supernatural allure, rivaling even that of Caphriel, no barbarian dared lock eyes with her for more than a fleeting moment—a chilling sensation of impending doom gripping their cores. She was both irresistibly magnetic and deeply unsettling, a creature forged by anguish and power in a volatile fusion. Malice and frigidity seeped from every pore, and though her quest for vengeance was not yet sated, it was evident nothing would deter her.

Unlike Hephais and Caphriel, her hostile aura imparted visceral discomfort throughout the regiment, immediately drawing the attention of the overseeing Soulmancer—a cold, foreboding man with sharp, angular features and a chiseled jaw.

"What do you think you're doing, outsider?" The Soulmancer growled menacingly, trying to assert dominance as he summoned a peculiar object. "If you wish to live, you'll follow me, willingly or otherwise."

Far from daunted, Maeve's demonic face darkened, her already cool demeanor plummeting. Eyes fixed on the Soulmancer's object, she retorted venomously, her killing intent palpable,

"I had plans to spare you, but you had to brandish the one thing I abhor before me. You might not know, but I hate lanterns…"

Moments later, blooldcurdling screams echoed through the regiment, then silence. Minutes afterward, quivering barbarians hastily buried what remained of the once-feared Soulmancer, marking the beginning of a reign of terror under an enigmatic force: Maeve Gibson, their new general.