Chapter 19

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The base pilot transported Gasti and her team to the Bispensay district. After dropping them off, he turned back, promising to return after the competition ended.

After facial recognition, the sixteen of them entered. Gasti wore a dark navy officer’s uniform, while the others donned gray military attire, all wearing their caps neatly.

Fifty-two teams participated in total. Upon Gasti’s arrival, many eyes were fixed on her group—especially the seven men behind her, whose striking appearances made them stand out.

Teams unaware of the news cast suspicious glances; those who had seen the footage scrutinized them, unable to find any information about these mysterious individuals.

Everyone sat in the lounge with an hour to the start of the competition. Rules required them to change clothes and surrender their belongings.

In the hall, all teams stripped and changed into training uniforms. Each team stood beneath scanning devices. The first team triggered an alarm with a beeping warning—contraband detected.

The inspectors proceeded to frisk them.

Aks quietly asked Gasti, “Commander, what if those cheating by hiding things aren’t caught?”

Gasti’s reply was cold, “Then they’re on their own.”

Having such detection measures was already a fairness safeguard.

When it was Meris Base’s turn, no alarms sounded; fifteen green lights lit up simultaneously.

The inspectors rewarded each member with a water pouch, about the size of a toothpaste tube, saying, “You may bring these in.”

Gasti and her team smiled, while others widened their eyes in surprise—they hadn’t known water was allowed.

This rule was devised by Louis and Markum after reviewing the previous ten competitions’ regulations. Since no team had complied before, the water allowance was no longer explicitly mentioned.

Meris Base was assigned the last number. After their inspection, they were about to enter the competition zone.

Gasti had two bags at her feet—one for the team, one for herself.

Pudiva looked at Gasti, “Commander, could I have a hug for courage?”

Tolan stepped forward, “I’ll give you a hug.”

He wrapped his arms tightly around Pudiva, who struggled to breathe, waving her hands wildly.

Others laughed, the tension easing.

When time was up, fifty-two vehicles carried the teams away from the command building.

Gasti wore the key to her assigned room on her wrist and carried the two bags to another building.

She stayed in the room briefly, removing her cap and running her fingers through her hair before stepping out again.

In the corridor, she met Avery, who accompanied her back to the command building, his gaze unabashedly fixed on her.

Gasti’s jacket was open, the top two buttons of her shirt undone, her belt cinched tightly around her slender waist, her legs long and straight.

Her height was impressive—standing at 1.85 meters in military boots.

Her golden short hair was smooth against her ears, her face more mature than before. Avery’s tone was plaintive, “Can’t you go on a date with me just once?”

“Please, I wouldn’t dare cause trouble at your place.”

They reached the command room and sat down together; being friends suited them well.

They watched the screen as the teams gathered at their designated spots.

With the starting gunshot, the command room fell silent.

For a chaotic minute, the teams scrambled, alliances clearly visible.

Bucky, with two sniper rifles slung over his shoulder, five pistols at his waist, and a long clip of bullets, scanned for Meris Base members but found none.

Distributing weapons, he asked his soldiers, “Where’s Meris Base? Where did they go?”

Everyone, including Eric’s team, said they hadn’t seen them.

Aks and his group had a clear goal: they grabbed three bags of compressed rations each and ran. The whole maneuver took only fifteen seconds, and no one noticed which direction they took.

Eric led his team away; the two cooperating teams did not act together.

Avery asked Gasti, “If you don’t grab a single gun, how do you expect to survive?”

Gasti smiled, “At least we survived for now.”

Frustrated, Bucky’s anger was evident on the screen.

Arthur approached; Gasti and Avery saluted him.

“Gasti, what are you playing at?”

“Just trying to survive.”

“Survive without even grabbing a weapon? What are you planning?”

“Secret.”

Of the fifty-two teams, only Meris did not seize weapons and vanished from sight.

Many teams were tracked from the start; strong teams would eliminate weaker ones first, taking their weapons and food, accumulating individual points.

Colfa’s technicians searched for locations. Bucky asked about Meris’s whereabouts.

The technician replied, “Their channel is encrypted; we can’t get in.”

Bucky’s anger flared. Dante and Jasper urged calm, “Bucky, they’ll show up eventually. Our priority is to win.”

“Exactly, Bucky, let’s not worry about them now.”

“Captain, we have a detection.”

The technician gathered everyone, “Captain, our opponent, Damian Base, is moving east.”

“What terrain is over there?”

“Mountainous.”

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Bucky calmed, setting aside thoughts of Meris for now.

“First Base, where is Manwester?”

The technician shifted the search, his face odd.

“Captain, they’re still at their original position, no movement, no changes to their communicator.”

It was as if inviting them to find them.

Expressions among the group shifted; after a long silence, Bucky said,

“Avoid them; don’t engage.”

Manwester Base’s members were openly grilling fish by a lake, their commander’s face dark with displeasure—an unruly group.

Despite their blatant exposure, no one approached them; teams avoided and circled around them.

Others praised their commander’s unconventional wisdom, though the man’s smile was forced.

On the first day, three weaker teams were eliminated.

The buffet dinner was abundant. Gasti sat with Avery, chatting. She asked,

“Why is everyone afraid of Manwester?”

Avery cut a steak, “That team is full of monsters. The person they protect in the middle is General Serfin’s son.”

“That infamous failure?”

“Exactly.”

Gasti stirred her soup, “If he wins first place, General Serfin will remember him, right?”

“No, there are several high-born contestants this year.”

Avery’s voice lowered, “I heard at last year’s Holy Spirit Festival, General Serfin publicly said if that failure doesn’t get first, his inheritance will be revoked.”

“Being a general’s son is tough; being a soldier isn’t the only path.”

“True, but that failure’s mother is backed by Count Yulie; they all hope he inherits General Serfin’s military resources, which will retire in five years.”

Gasti sighed, “Born with a silver spoon, and yet so wasted.”

“Who says not? Others would have made colonel by now.”

More teams were eliminated during dinner.

Though commanders did not compete, their moods were tense; they sat in the command room through the night.

The competition was broadcast live; military personnel logged in to watch.

At the Nanfu La warzone, Rochie studied photos of Meris Base team members, searching their records. His brow furrowed tighter than for the battle’s dangers.

How had Gasti assembled these people? Could they withstand scrutiny?

As he dug deeper, he saw the names of Professors Ross and Lane and hesitated; these two had vouched for the outsiders.

But then he pondered—Gasti had no connection to them. What was she up to?

At Bispensay command room, someone sought Gasti.

It was late night; only a few commanders remained watching screens.

Gasti donned a communication earpiece, asking Rochie,

“What’s the matter this late?”

“Nine unknown arrivals—you’re bold.”

“Not bold, just smart.”

“You’ll get investigated.”

“What’s to fear? Those two professors guaranteed us; someone on the team is their son.”

“Who?”

“Secret weapon; can’t reveal.”

“Gasti, I really want to have my way with you right now.”

“Go to hell.”

Gasti hung up, casually returning to her work as the operator watched.

Rochie smiled despite being hung up on—clever and brave, just as he expected.

On the seventh day, Gasti was questioned. Facing her superiors, she said only,

“I want to contact someone.”

Two minutes later, the Empire Security Minister’s voice echoed,

“Who do you say has a problem?”

Those listening outside darkened their faces. Gasti’s superior said it was a misunderstanding.

“Let’s not have misunderstandings like this again.”

“Yes.”

Gasti left unscathed; the others sent word not to investigate Meris Base further.

They simply assumed Gasti’s team had inside connections, hence their sudden rise.

The competition was over halfway through, with twenty teams left. Except for Meris missing and Manwester present, all others had suffered losses.

Early on the last day, Gasti’s door was knocked. Avery stood outside, dark circles under his eyes.

His voice hoarse, “Gasti, come have breakfast with me.”

“On my way.”

Five minutes later, the door opened. Gasti joined him in the dining hall.

It was early; some were already eating.

Avery hadn’t slept all night,

“My heart’s pounding with nerves. Only three teams remain. Where are your people hiding? Not even drones have found them.”

“You’ll see soon. Eric’s good; trust him.”

“I do, but if it’s tenth place again, there’s nothing to celebrate.”

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“Isn’t that collaboration with Colfa useless?”

“We just avoid firing at each other when we meet; no one’s really helping anyone improve their rank.”

“Hurry up and eat; we’re going to command room.”

Avery finished in a few bites; Gasti ate quickly. She was nervous too—the end was near.

A few minutes apart, the commanders of the remaining ten teams gathered.

Individual rankings were almost settled—Meris had zero points; the rest ranked accordingly.

At eight o’clock, the command room doors opened; several were escorted in.

Base commanders stood and saluted, then yielded their seats. Among the arrivals were generals, colonels, and officials.

Gasti stood watching the screen, counting down to the Holy Grail’s appearance, her breath slowing and deepening with tension.

At 8:15, a beam of light appeared; all teams surged toward it.

Meris Base members finally appeared on screen, spreading out.

At first, no one understood when they saw fifteen people picking up empty bullet shells and various nitrates scattered on the ground.

But when the first assembled explosive was seen, someone gasped,

“Impossible!”

Drone footage from above showed Meris Base members encircling the Holy Grail site with explosives, constant clashes inside, but no one paid attention.

Viewership of the live broadcast soared.

Avery stared unblinkingly,

“Gasti, you’re so devious.”

Not yet victorious, Gasti’s face tightened, silent.

The Meris team measured distances, stacking explosives; each calculated their range precisely.

Commanders inside raged silently, wanting their players to emerge, seeing the external danger that would wipe them out.

But those fighting for the Holy Grail couldn’t notice, fully engaged in eliminating enemies.

When the fifteen ignited the fuses, even the operators in the command room focused intently.

Silence reigned, broken only by breaths and heartbeats.

Explosions roared on screen—flames and smoke billowed. Three minutes passed; no one survived or escaped. Calculations showed they either died from the blast or suffocated from the smoke.

Gasti broke free from a grip,

“Avery, you’re all second place now—progress.”

Other base commanders glared at her—damn her!

The competition ended at 11:53:21 a.m.

The screen announced first place: Meris Base. The remaining nine teams all tied for second.

The dignitaries watching left with sullen faces, already knowing whose son was on Meris’s team.

All fighting for the Holy Grail were stunned by the sudden explosion, unable to believe Meris would do such a thing.

Trapped in the flames, unconscious from smoke inhalation, after three minutes alarms and manual firefighting began. They were rescued, carried out, instruments cleared the smoke; breathing clean air, they opened wide eyes, unable to believe the reality.

Pudiva immediately informed her father,

“Dad, we won! First place!”

Lane’s voice was cold,

“Noted.”

That was all before hanging up. Lane smiled; Frank, bombarded by calls, cursed him for not informing them and backing the wrong team.

Frank stopped answering and said to Lane,

“You owe me one.”

Lane stood,

“Your son wants a mentor—I accepted.”

Frank smiled, escorting him to the door.

Gasti welcomed her team, applauding them. Aks excitedly tried to rush forward to hug her but was held back by Sandra.

Each was disheveled, faces grimy with sweat streaking down, but every pair of eyes shone brightly.

“Go shower; lunch is the celebration banquet.”

The fifteen cheered and dashed off to wash up.

Avery comforted his team; losing wasn’t shameful, but they still looked dejected.

His words were consolation, while other commanders were stern—especially Manwester’s.

Damian and Belud weren’t any better.

Arthur, known for his severity, offered no scolding—just praise for their effort.

The team burst into tears; they had never slackened in training, yet the loss was undeniable, making it all the harder.

Arthur patted their shoulders,

“Losing isn’t shameful. Hold your heads high and go shower.”

“Yes, sir.”

Meris’s team, victorious, encountered no congratulations in the public bath—only the sound of water, no conversation.

Had they won deceitfully, they would not have been spared—but their victory was honorable.

After Meris left, Bucky punched the wall,

“Damn it, damn it!”

Others vented too, bleeding knuckles unnoticed.

Eric stood under the shower, expression blank, no joy from placing fifth individually.

Meris Base showed no personal brilliance; they endured ten days and shone only on the last.

What was he so proud of before?

“Damn it.”

Eric punched the wall as well, unwilling to accept defeat. But from strategy to execution, they made no mistakes—Meris took first place.

“Damn it, damn it!”