Zeeaa was brought to her luxurious chair. She dismounted and with a graceful gait, like a model on a catwalk, took a couple of steps and stopped before she sat down and surveyed her team. Many of the male players were not taking their eyes off her, and others were openly flirting, and she did not mind. Over there were the guns, too, with their uncomplicated and gaudy barrel designs and small wooden wheels.

“Darling,” she said to one player who was carrying her. “Is there a pea in this chair, by any chance?”

He smiled and became embarrassed.

“No, Mistress. We won’t do that, knowing that you’ll feel it right away.”

Zeeaa ran her finger along his cheek and his lower lip, gently and playfully, and plumped down on the soft seat and crossed her legs, straightened her back, lifted her chin a little, put her hands on the armrests.

“All right, boys, are you ready? Does everybody know what to do?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with her palm, and raised her head and stared at the gray clouds.

“Can I get you some tea, coffee?”

“No, thanks guys, I’m good.”

“Then how about a massage? I have twenty years of experience in reality.”

“Oh!” she clapped with delight. “I’d be the dumbest girl in the world to turn down such an offer.”

“You flatter me, ma’am!”

“All right. Show me how professional you are, and if all goes well, maybe I’ll appoint you my personal masseur,” Zeeaa replied with a wink.

“Always at your service, ma’am.”

***

In the meantime, Ghoton ordered all his subordinates to assemble at once in the king's hall. Half an hour later, at least a thousand players crowded the place. It became jam-packed with people.

“Listen up, everyone,” he said into the microphone as he sat on the edge of the stage with his legs overhung. “The magic squad will be on guard for the next twenty hours, non-stop, on the east wall, away from where the dragon is supposed to arrive. The machine gunners, two for each weapon, will be on guard on the rooftops of the towers and on the north and south walls in fifteen hours shifts, then a three-hour break and so on until the enemy arrives.”

Discontent swept through the room. Everyone started looking at each other and rubbing their heads and noses, whispering and texting.

“Anyone who dislikes this arrangement? You may leave the fortress before the battle and inform me personally. Others will take your place, those who are not strangers to sitting still and long for a glorious cause. I will, like you, stay on guard in the ranks of the mages. The machine gunners will receive their orders through the alliance chat room.”

The players fidgeted but did not resist.

“Can we keep the machine guns after the fight?” asked the one in the front row.

Ghoton sensed nervousness, hesitated, and fell silent. He saw hope in the players’ faces. They waited for his answer, quiet.

“Try it,” he answered and took a deep breath and continued on the exhale, “if the AI will let you do it.”

“Thank you, sir! That’s our man!”

Ghoton followed several of the players out the door. To the others he said:

“Soon we’ll make history in this game. We’ve spent an entire year walking around this world, exploring it, and sharpening our skills for this moment.” He fell silent again and bowed his head, staring at the floor and feeling the right palm of his hand holding the microphone get all sweaty. The officer lifted his gaze and glanced sideways at his men and continued, “I can see how scared you all are, just like me. But together, united, we’ll put up a decent resistance. Fight with honor, but do not sacrifice yourselves in vain. Your lives aren’t less important than defeating the dragon. I won’t let my men die. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” shouted the others.

The mages from the Top Secret guild were unresponsive to his speech. They crossed their arms over their chests and did not even say a word.

“Now go to your posts.”

When the last player left and closed the door behind him with a slam, Ghoton exhaled and felt nauseous. Sweat dripped down his back, legs, and stomach. His breathing quickened. The officer slapped himself several times in the face, mercilessly and forcefully, shouting, “Come on! Come on! Cheer up!” Then he got up and pulled his back and walked out.

***

Lettarongan (profile open[GM1] : level 12, 98% exp, rank: military commander, rank: below 30,000), scratching his bald head and eagle nose now and then, paced the battle course of the defensive wall, trying to fit his foot on the stone without hitting a crack. As he reached the bartizan positioned on the parapet of the curtain wall and corrected the supreme officer’s clothes around his huge belly and Scarl-L on his back and stopped between the merlons and crossed his arms and leaned them on the cold, stone embrasure and surveyed his surroundings: the clouds merged with the texture of the barren black soils and obscured the formidable and majestic peaks of the mountain range of Orodrim Eoul; dwarf trees, green and fuzzy, grew at the approach to the castle and bowed their crowns in worship; a mountain river of dark blue flowed into a small rocky gorge that filled the fog behind, a flock of birds, like little sculptures of black metal, perched on the domed and conical roofs of the main castle; below, in the streets, players were walking, chatting, singing bardic songs and playing guitars; and ten miles ahead, surrounded by undulating and Grassy hills, stood on a plateau in all its beauty, the fortress of Varnasosto.

Lettarongan heard footsteps and turned his head slightly. Three players approached him, all in classic field uniforms, perfectly ironed and clean. Faces fresh, eyes clear, triangular chins, and short haircuts. The first one - Jack (level 3, 13%) held a Kalashnikov rifle in his arms, the second - Dora (level 3, 12.5%), holding an SVDK with the signature of its creator Doffersnoah and smiling, the third - Ramzai (level 3, 12.2%), a 7.62 mm caliber Kalashnikov machine gun was hanging on his back.

“What are you doing, Lor...?” Jack wanted to ask, but the AI stopped him and blocked his vocal cords and issued a warning about not using players’ real names, and reminded him that the rules of the user agreement required players to dive fully into their role-playing component. For the first time, the AI issued a warning as forfeiture of half of his accumulated CP, and for the second time, he would receive an eternal account block.

Jack froze as if he’d been electrocuted. Dora and Ramsay put their hands on his shoulders and brought him to his senses.

“I see the game works out for you guys, huh?”

They nodded. Jack approached the military commander, and looking at the gloomy yet mesmerizing view ahead, asked:

“Yes. He was right. Thank you for taking me to your team and teaching me everything.”

“You’ll thank me every time we meet, hmm? There’s little you can do without a mentor right now. So, you’re welcome. Spare me any further forms of appreciation, okay? How do you like your new weapon?”

All three of them smiled. Ramzai asked:

“Are you kidding?”

“No. It’s different from what you’re used to...”

“It’s perfect! There were times humans knew how to make weapons, not the crap they use now.”

There was a brief chuckle from Lettarongan. He turned away and continued to stand in silence.

“What are you thinking about?” After a minute of waiting, asked Jack.

The military commander closed his eyes and listened to the noise of the wind and the homage of players from the streets.

“It’s an interesting feeling. You’re standing alone, and all around the noise of people blends with the silence.”

The trio stood between the merlons with narrow embrasures and listened.

“Yes, you are right, sir. You and I have known each other for years, and when a friend worries, it’s as if an unknown magic connects them. Tell me.”

“Okay,” Lettarongan replied with a satisfied grin on his face. “I’m worried about how feelings control the mind. About why we, when we’re aware of a problem, cannot control our emotions, and why we cannot erase the memories that prevent us from living. Man is a strange creature, as if nature had created him that way on purpose, imperfect. Now I am experiencing Déjà Vu, fear, and admiration and I can’t figure it out at all.”

“Good timing, sir. Right before the fight.”

“An old habit. When you are in mortal danger, you involuntarily think about such things, as if you are summing up the last line of your life, time after time.”

“In this game, you are not in mortal danger,” began Dora. “I can assume that you have such feelings, because on a subconscious level you are afraid of a fresh wave of public condemnation because of a wrong decision.”

Lettarongan turned around and raised one eyebrow:

“You’re making progress in your analysis.”

“All thanks to you.”

“Then I won’t be sneaky. You’re right. There are too many doubts in my head.”

Ramzai went up to him and looked him in the eyes and said:

“And rightly so. Doubt is an indicator of a leader.”

“But not at the decisive moment of the battle.”

“Maybe so. Don’t forget: we’re on the wall of the fortress now, not in the heat of battle. When the battle begins, I have no doubt the right decisions will come to your mind.”

Lettarongan took a pipe out of his pocket and smoked and offered it to the others. They agreed and took one puff at a time in a circle.

“How is Bellona?”

“She’s socializing. She made a couple of friends. What are their names again?”

“Camerc and Onzaa.”

“Weird kids.”

“Yeah, but she likes their childlike naivety and cheerfulness.”

“There they are, look!”

Bellona walked down the narrow street ahead of Camerc and Onzaa and sang, and they made music for her with their tongues, lips, and voices. An ambiguous composition, thought Lettarongan.

“Foolish happiness turns out to be contagious,” Dora remarked.

“Contagious?” Jack inquired and smiled. “I wouldn’t mind catching such an infection.”

Everyone laughed.

“If there is foolish happiness, then what is intelligent happiness?” Ramzai asked.

“There is hardly any ‘intelligent happiness’,” said Lettarongan, “nor do we need it.”

***

Lettarongan was alone, immersed in his own thoughts. He was thinking about this battle, though he did not know what to expect from it. After a while, his thoughts boiled down to one phrase: “This time I will not repeat the mistakes of the past.”