The Legendary Method Actor

Chapter 220: The Board is Set!

Next was the Beast Taming Event.

"Bring out the wild beasts!"

Bruce commanded, pointing to the massive iron gates.

The heavy doors groaned open, and sixteen reinforced steel cages were wheeled onto the sand by nervous-looking handlers. Inside each cage was a creature of nightmares: Dire Wolves.

These weren't just large dogs. They were the size of warhorses, with fur that shimmered like steel wire and eyes that burned with a predatory, intelligent red light. They threw themselves against the bars, snarling with a sound that vibrated in the chest of every student in the front row.

"No bonded pets allowed for the main act!"

Bruce announced, his voice echoing over the growls.

"These beasts are fresh from the Deep Woods! Untamed. Hungry. And very, very angry!"

He held up a hand.

"The goal is Subjugation. You have 1 hour to pacify the beast. You can use magic to soothe, you can use food, you can use aura. But if you kill the asset... you fail! And you pay for the wolf!"

Bruce explained to the participants.

"Time starts... NOW!"

The handlers pulled the levers and sprinted for safety. The cage doors clanged open.

Chaos erupted instantly.

In the third cage, a cocky Rank-2 Iron Aegis student from the College of Valor tried to intimidate his wolf by shouting and banging his shield.

The wolf didn't blink. It lunged, snapping the student's spear like a toothpick and swatting him into the mud with a paw the size of a dinner plate.

"Ooh! That is a rejection!"

Bruce shouted, wincing.

"Candidate 3 tried to out-bark the dog and got bit! Healers to Cage 3, please!"

In the fifth cage, a Rank-2 Pathfinder student from the Minor College of Ranges (Valor) took a different approach. He didn't draw a weapon. He dropped to one knee, making himself smaller. He began to hum a low, resonant throat-song, a Beast-Soother Melody.

The wolf charged, jaws wide, but slowed as the mana-infused sound hit its ears. It skidded to a halt, shaking its massive head, confused by the sudden lethargy washing over it. The Pathfinder slowly extended a hand, palm up. The wolf growled low in its throat, but it didn't bite. It sniffed the hand, then sat down, its tail thumping once against the sand.

"Beautiful technique on Cage 5!"

Bruce crooned.

"The melodic approach! Turning a killer into a puppy!"

But the real spectacle was in the eighth cage.

A 3rd-Circle Ironwood from the Minor College of Druids (Arcanum), a petite girl stood her ground as her wolf circled her, saliva dripping from its jaws. She didn't sing. She didn't kneel.

She flared her mana.

It wasn't a spell; it was raw Intent. A wave of green Alpha Aura exploded from her small frame, projecting the psychic weight of an apex predator.

The Dire Wolf froze mid-step. It looked at the small girl, then looked at the spectral image of a massive bear that flickered briefly behind her aura. The beast whined, tucking its tail between its legs, and lowered its head to the sand in total submission.

"DOMINANCE!"

Bruce roared, pumping his fist.

"Candidate 8 didn't ask nicely! She demanded respect and she got it! That is how you handle a predator, folks! You look it in the eye and dare it to blink!"

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As the Beast Taming event concluded with half of the participants getting eliminated in the 1st Round, a significant portion of the crowd began to stand up.

"Break time,"

a student muttered, stretching.

"Next is War-Gaming. It’s just nobles pushing toys around."

"Yeah, wake me up when the next round of the Dueling Event starts."

The stands began to empty. The commoners and the action-junkies had no interest in logistics. Within minutes, the arena was half-empty, leaving only the die-hard strategists, the faculty, and the curious.

Bruce Doyle sensed the energy dropping. He frowned, adjusting his lapel pin.

"Going somewhere?"

Bruce challenged the departing crowd, his voice dripping with mock disappointment.

"You think you’ve seen everything? You think War-Gaming is just maps and strategies?"

He laughed.

"Think again! The Academy has spared no expense! In preparation to host the Azure Cup, we have acquired specialized artifacts for this event.

The ground rumbled deeper than before.

From the center of the arena, twelve metallic monoliths rose from the sand. They were sleek, silver obelisks, each the size of a small room, humming with ancient, high-density mana.

The crowd paused.

"Behold! The Echo Chambers!

Bruce roared.

"These are not board games,"

Bruce explained, his voice echoing.

"These are Astral Immersion Conduits! Our twelve participants will not be moving pieces. Their consciousness will be transported!"

Above the arena, the air shimmered as massive ‘Scrying Panes’ materialized, floating curtains of hard-light mana. They flared to life, showing twelve distinct viewpoints one for each participant's perspective inside the illusion.

“Here are the rules for this round of the War Gaming Event!”

Bruce stated his voice low.

"The Scenario: Capture the Flag! The Assets: One Hundred Troops. Blind Selection. The Stakes: Total Elimination. If you lose your flag, you are out. If your squad is wiped, you are out. And here is the kicker..."

Bruce grinned, pointing at the pods.

"Your consciousness is projected into the simulation. You are the Commander on the field. You can give orders... and you can fight! Your Academy Rank, your spells, your skills, they all come with you!"

The departing students stopped in the tunnels. They turned back.

"Wait, so it's a battle royale with armies?"

A student asked.

"That... actually sounds cool."

Slowly, the crowd began to sit back down. The allure of seeing the high and mighty nobles potentially panic when their perfect strategies hit the chaotic reality of the simulation was too good to pass up.

"Will the War-Gaming participants please step forward!"

Bruce announced with a smirk as he saw the crowd filtering back in.

The twelve participants walked onto the sand.

Most were exactly what the crowd expected: High-born scions from the College of Statecraft. Luke Herington, a Tier-3 Magistrate from the College of Statecraft, looked bored, adjusting his silk gloves. Marie Isolde, a Tier-2 Iron Key from the Minor College of Codes and Detection (Statecraft), looked sharp and calculating. Eliza Vance, a Tier-1 Scribe from the College of Statecraft, walked with a confident stride, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Eliza glanced at the other competitors. She had spent the last week memorizing every possible map configuration, but the 'Blind Selection' rule added a thrill of genuine danger. She calmed herself, her mind already calculating the odds.

And then, there was Ray Croft.

A 1st-Circle Novice from the College of Arcanum. The only participant not from the College of Statecraft.

He walked calmly, his hands in his pockets, looking like an engineer inspecting a machine.

"Looking forward to battling you, Ray,"

Eliza whispered as they approached the silver monoliths.

"See you on the other side. Try not to get eliminated in the first five minutes."

"Just watch your flank, Eliza."

Ray replied softly.

"The terrain could be treacherous."

Ray stepped up to his designated chamber. The door hissed open, revealing a chair surrounded by runic arrays that glowed with a soft blue light.

He sat down. The door sealed shut, plunging him into darkness.

[SYSTEM INTERFACE DETECTED]

[EXTERNAL NEURO-LINK ATTEMPTING CONNECTION TO HOST]

[ANALYZING... SAFETY PROTOCOLS ACCEPTABLE]

[ALLOWING CONNECTION.]

Flash.

The darkness shattered.

Ray blinked. The smell of the arena was gone, replaced by the scent of pine needles and wet earth.

He was standing on a grassy ridge. The wind ruffled his hair. Below him, a valley stretched out, dotted with dense forests and ancient ruins.

Behind him, standing in perfect formation, were one hundred soldiers. They were faceless, mana-constructs, awaiting his command.

A holographic window appeared in his vision.

[COMMANDER: RAY CROFT]

[TERRAIN: TEMPERATE HIGHLANDS]

[TROOP SELECTION: CONFIRMED (BLIND)]

[OBJECTIVE: CAPTURE THE FLAG]

Ray smiled. It felt just like the Tactical Replication Protocol.

He looked at his troops. While the other participants had likely chosen balanced formations of heavy infantry and archers, expecting a standard open-field engagement, Ray had chosen something specific. Something designed for mobility and information warfare.

His unit wasn't wearing plate armor. They were clad in lightweight, mottled grey leathers. They didn't carry pikes or heavy shields. Instead, they were equipped with short-bows, climbing gear, and dual daggers. He hadn't chosen an army; he had chosen a strike force.

"Infantry is reliable,"

Ray murmured, looking at the light armor of his chosen unit.

"Cavalry is fast. But information is lethal."

Outside, in the arena, the giant screens showed Ray’s character standing on the ridge, surveying the battlefield. The audience murmured, confused by his lack of heavy hitters. To them, it looked like he had brought a knife to a siege.

Headmaster Andrade, watching from her box, leaned forward.

"The board is set,"

she whispered.

"Show me how you play, Artificer."

Ray adjusted his Theorist Gloves, a virtual copy of his prop glove that felt perfectly real, and turned to his army.

And the War-Gaming Event had begun.