The Arena Of Ideologies
Date: August 3, 980 GD. Time: 23.00 (Continuation of Strategy Meeting). Location: The Nexus Hall.
The strong black coffee served by the golem attendants had gone cold, forming an oily layer on its surface. Physical fatigue was starting to show on the Suzerains' faces—red eyes, slumping postures—but their egos only swelled further as the topic shifted to symbolic power.
We moved into AGENDA IV: ACADEMIC CALENDAR.
In Zero Point City, the curriculum wasn't about learning in classrooms. It was a series of Mandatory Events (Joint Operations) where the four academies were forced to compete to prove whose ideology was superior. The winner gained Prestige, budget priority, and bragging rights before the Sovereign.
"This year," I began, opening a blank holographic calendar floating above the obsidian table. The blue light of the hologram became the only illumination, making our faces look like digital ghosts. "The Sky is bored of seeing us brawl aimlessly. They want to see a system. They demand we simulate different doomsday scenarios."
I looked at them one by one.
"This table is not a place for peaceful negotiation. It's where we decide who holds the narrative reins this year. Please, propose your 'Arts of War'."
The debate immediately exploded, not about dates, but about Philosophy.
DEBATE 1: MODERN VS. TRADITIONAL WARFARE CONCEPTS
"Valdor demands the opening slot!" declared Titus, slamming the table with his metal hand. "War is about physical domination. We must start with 'The Iron Crucible'. Throw all the students into an arena, give them blunt weapons, and let the strongest stand last. That's natural selection."
Vianna laughed, a cold, dismissive sound. "Natural selection? That's barbarism, Titus. You want to send freshmen to the hospital in the first week? Think of the Cost of Investment. Training one student costs thousands of Lux. If they get maimed on day one because of your ego, that's an asset loss."
"Pain is the best teacher!" Titus argued. "Your troops are soft because they sit in simulators too much!"
"My troops are effective," Vianna retorted sharply. "Future wars aren't won by muscle, but by Data. Aurum proposes 'The Proxy Protocol'. Remote warfare. Drones. Hacking. Strategy. We don't waste lives, we waste ammunition. That's efficiency."
"And where's the honor in that?" Titus fumed. "Killing the enemy from 5 kilometers away while sipping coffee? That's a coward's job."
"It's the winner's job, Imperator."
I let them claw at each other for a moment longer, then tapped the table.
"Enough. Titus wants blood, Vianna wants data. We'll take Vianna's path first."
Titus was about to protest, but I raised a hand.
"Hear me out, Titus. If your soldiers can't operate drones, they'll be shot by enemy drones before they can even draw their swords. Adapt or die. This isn't an insult, it's evolution."
I turned to Rian. "Put it in the schedule."
1. MONTH 3 (Early Game): AURUM EVENT - "THE PROXY PROTOCOL"
Focus: Strategic Battle & Electronic Warfare (Magitek).
Concept: The entire Neon Harbor district will be turned into a giant chessboard. Students are prohibited from entering the field physically. They will be confined to Command Centers, remotely controlling Drone, Golem, and Turret units.
DEBATE 2: PURIFICATION VS. ANNIHILATION CONCEPTS
"After technology, we need recovery," Silas interjected softly. His voice was like cold water on hot iron. "Aethelgard proposes 'The Withering Vigil'. We open a small Rift, let some corruption seep out, and task students with purifying it."
"Purifying?" Titus snorted roughly. "A waste of time. If there's corruption, you burn it out. Scorched Earth Policy. Napalm never fails."
"Fire only spreads toxic ash, Imperator," Silas replied calmly, his eyes gleaming fanatically. "Valdor's method only displaces the problem, doesn't solve it. Prayer and natural resonance can neutralize that poison to its roots. We wish to teach students that the enemy doesn't always have to be killed; sometimes they must be healed."
Vianna rolled her eyes. "And how long does this 'healing' process take? Three days? A week? Time is money, Silas. Burning a forest takes one hour."
"The cost of regeneration takes ten years," Silas countered. "Our method preserves assets."
I saw an opportunity here. Silas was overconfident in his 'holy' methods.
"We'll take Silas's proposal," I decided. "But on one condition: If within 24 hours your 'prayers' fail to contain the corruption, Titus has full authorization to burn the entire area."
Silas gave a thin smile, accepting the challenge. "Our faith will not fail."
2. MONTH 6 (Mid Game): AETHELGARD EVENT - "THE WITHERING VIGIL"
Focus: Biological Containment & Rift Handling.
Concept: Students must "tame" Aether corruption without killing the host. (I will use this to audit whether their magic is truly holy or just an energy parasite).
DEBATE 3: MENTAL VS. PHYSICAL RESILIENCE CONCEPTS
"And at the end of the year," I said, looking at the still-sulking Titus. "When logistics are thin, when drones break and prayers run out... what remains?"
Titus raised his head, his eyes gleaming sadistically. "Bone and iron."
"Exactly," I replied. "We run Valdor's scenario. 'The Iron Crucible'. Pure physical Battle Royale. No ranged magic. No tech support."
"This is insane," Vianna protested, massaging her temples. "Health insurance premiums will rise 300% in the fourth quarter. Who will pay for permanent disability compensation?"
"The market loves blood, Vianna," I replied coldly. "Viewership ratings will explode. You can sell the broadcasting rights for ten times the price. That will cover your insurance costs."
Vianna fell silent, the calculator in her head whirring. "Hmm. Exclusive broadcast rights... Pay-per-view for the nobility of Zenith-Zero... Alright. I agree, provided Aethelgard's Medical Team is on full standby at the sidelines."
"We will not refuse to treat the wounded," said Silas, "even as we condemn the violence."
3. MONTH 9 (Late Game): VALDOR EVENT - "THE IRON CRUCIBLE"
Focus: Gladiatorial Combat & Endurance.
Concept: Survive in a closed arena against waves of monsters and other students using only physical weapons. (A perfect stage for Kara to crush her former commander).
ADDITIONAL AGENDA: DEADLINE & SURPRISE EVENT
"And one more thing," I added, displaying a hologram of the city sewers. "A Fourth Event. Mandatory. Immediately."
"Why in the sewers?" Vianna asked disgustedly. "It's filthy."
"Because we have a deadline," I answered sharply. "The Sky has given us 7 DAYS to show tangible results from the Under-City Pacification mandate we discussed earlier. Before the Grand Tournament begins, the rat-runs down there must be cleared."
"We don't have enough personnel to comb through that labyrinth in a week," Kael stated realistically.
"That's why we use the students," I explained. "We create an Event called 'The Verdict Run'. We release a fugitive down there. We send thousands of students to chase them. Unknowingly, they will become free tracking drones for us. Their movement data will map out the actual rebel nests."
"Labor exploitation disguised as competition," Vianna murmured, impressed. "I like the way you think, Praetor."
4. SURPRISE EVENT (Wildcard): ARBITER EVENT - "THE VERDICT RUN"
Focus: Investigation & Non-Lethal Capture.
Objective: Mass mapping of smuggling logistics routes using student labor.
GRAND FINALE: THE JOINT ASCENSION
"And finally," I displayed a hologram of The Great Tether.
"If you all survive through all that... we close with 'The Joint Ascension Protocol'. A total defense simulation."
Valdor: Defensive Walls (Shield).
Aurum: Eyes/Communications (Intel).
Aethelgard: Field Medics (Support).
Arbiter: Military Police (Order).
"This isn't a competition," I said, looking at them sharply. "This is an audition. The Sovereign doesn't need solo heroes who are only good at home. They need a functional unit. If you fail to cooperate here, no one ascends to Zenith-Zero. Understood?"
Four heads nodded. They hated each other, but they loved their ambition to ascend to the Sky more.
"Schedule ratified," I said, closing the hologram.
I stood up, looking at each of them.
"One final thing. You may feel powerful during your respective events. But remember... the only report that reaches the Sovereign's desk in Zenith-Zero is the one I write."
"If Titus wins decisively, but I report his victory as 'wasteful', Titus fails. If Vianna dominates, but I report her system as 'vulnerable', Aurum's stock falls."
"I am your mouthpiece to the Gods. So, my advice: Make me happy. You have seven days to clean the sewers before the Sky asks again."
I turned and walked out of the Nexus Hall, leaving the four most powerful people in the city in silence, realizing that this calendar wasn't their stage, but a cage I had just created.
Location: The Nexus Hall -- Main Council Chamber
Time: 23:45 (Post-Meeting)
The meeting did not end with a firm gavel strike. It ended with the sound of a crack.
On the shiny black table, the newly agreed-upon strategy documents lay abandoned. But no one cared about the papers anymore. The attention of the five people in the room was drawn to one thing: Temperature.
The air in the room changed drastically. Not just cold from the AC being too high, but a cold that pierced to the bone, as if winter had suddenly invaded the enclosed room. Temperature sensors on the wall flashed red, their numbers plummeting from 24°C to 8°C in mere seconds.
At the head of the table, Wynter Ash sat motionless.
His face was flat, expressionless. But inside him, a war was raging.
(Hold on... Don't tremble... Don't let them see you weak...)
Wynter's mind screamed, trying to command his body. But his nerves rebelled. The cold wasn't coming from outside; it was coming from inside his own bone marrow. It felt like thousands of ice needles were piercing every blood vessel, freezing his bloodstream inch by inch.
(It hurts... This hurts so much... My fire circuits are dead... My body can't generate heat... I'm just losing it... Am I... dying?)
Every time he exhaled, a thick white vapor came from his mouth, clouding in the air. The water glass in front of him suddenly made a crack sound. The water inside was slowly freezing, expanding, pressing against the glass walls until they cracked.
(Stop drawing! Stop it! You're freezing the room!) his mind screamed at his own heart.
But his body didn't care about etiquette. His body only cared about staying alive. It was hungry. It needed heat. And in this room, there were four other people radiating tempting body heat.
TITUS (Imperator of Valdor)
Titus was the first to react. His mechanical armor hissed loudly, its automatic heating system activating at maximum.
"Ash!" Titus roared. He stood up so roughly his chair toppled over. "What the hell is this?! Are you trying to siphon my energy?"
Titus stared at Wynter warily. Not the usual dismissive look, but the look of someone aware of danger nearby.
"You're just sitting there, but it feels like I'm standing next to a living corpse sucking the life out of me. Turn off your spell, or I'll crush you before you freeze my heart!"
Wynter stared at Titus. His eyes were fixed on Titus's neck, slightly exposed above the armor.
(Heat... He's so hot... That armor... the reactor on his back... it's hundreds of degrees... If I touch it... just one touch... this pain will go away... I could be sated... I could live...)
A primal instinct in Wynter's brain howled, urging him to leap and embrace Titus, absorbing the big man's body heat until he was dry.
(NO! That's Titus. That's an ally. Don't eat him. Use logic, Wynter! Speak!)
VIANNA (Director of Aurum)
Vianna didn't yell, but her face was pale. She saw her transparent tablet screen starting to lag and error.
"Temperature dropping below safe limits," Vianna hissed, hurriedly switching off her expensive tablet and hiding it under her robe. "This isn't a bluff, is it, Wynter? This is... you're broken. You're leaking. You're a hazard to your environment."
Vianna's voice sounded distant in Wynter's ears, as if echoing underwater.
(A hazard? Yes, I'm a hazard. I'm a time bomb. Why aren't you running? Run, you fools! Before my control snaps. Before I accidentally kill you all just because I'm cold.)
SILAS (Pontifex of Aethelgard)
Silas took a deep breath, sensing the cold air. He looked at Wynter with a pained, pitying gaze.
"Empty," Silas whispered. "Your soul is screaming to be filled, Wynter. You're trying to steal our warmth because you have no fire of your own. How pitiful... Our leader turns out to be nothing but a cracked, leaking vessel."
Those words cut sharper than the ice. Silas was right.
(I am empty. I am a fake. The real Wynter could probably control this. But me? I'm just a parasite in this body. I don't deserve to lead them. I don't even deserve to live.)
KAEL (Justiciar of Arbiter)
"Focus on the law," Kael said flatly, though his hand tightened on his staff. "Environmental Health Statutes. Get yourself under control, or you are removed this very night."
Law. Rules. Logic. All the things Wynter had clung to suddenly felt ridiculous.
(Law? You're quoting statutes at someone freezing to death, Kael? Screw the law. Screw the Senate. I need HEAT!)
His mental defenses crumbled. Physical pain overrode everything. The mask of the "Calm Leader" shattered to pieces.
Wynter tried to clench his fist, but his fingers were stiff, hard to move. He lifted his face. His eyes glowed red—not from anger, but from his body's desperate search for energy.
WYNTER: (His voice hoarse, weak but sharp)
"You think I'm doing this on purpose?"
(Speak. Tell the truth. There's no point lying anymore. They've seen the monster.)
He placed his trembling hand on the table. Frost instantly formed on the surface of the black table, spreading like roots of a crystal tree.
WYNTER: "You're right. I'm broken. I'm leaking."
Wynter looked at them one by one. His gaze was no longer that of a politician, but of someone with nothing left to bet.
WYNTER: "You demand leadership, demand promises... yet the person sitting before you is fighting half-dead just to keep his blood from freezing in his veins."
He let out a soft chuckle, a hollow, pathetic laugh.
WYNTER: "Titus is afraid of running out of ammo. Vianna is afraid of running out of money. But me? I'm afraid of closing my eyes tonight. Because if I sleep... my heart might forget how to beat because its temperature is too low."
The room fell silent. The Suzerains were quiet. Fear began to creep onto their faces. Not fear of Wynter's power, but fear of his instability.
WYNTER: "This is my condition. I am Ground Zero. My body is like a black hole. I absorb energy not because I want to attack you, but because the laws of nature force me to. I have to consume energy, or I die."
Wynter reached for the wooden meeting gavel in front of him. He wanted to bang it to formally close the meeting. The remnants of his pride wanted to end this with dignity.
But his hand couldn't measure its strength. The wood of the gavel was brittle from the extreme temperature.
CRACK.
The gavel shattered in his grasp into frozen wood dust.
Total silence. The gavel fragments scattered across the table. It wasn't a show of strength. It was proof he couldn't control himself.
(Damn it. I can't even hold a gavel. I'm a complete monster now.)
Wynter looked at the fragments, then at his four colleagues. His shame vanished, replaced by bitter reality. If he was a monster, then he would be a useful monster.
WYNTER: "So, listen carefully. I don't need your respect. I don't need your loyalty. I need you to work."
Wynter stood up, his body swaying slightly. He held onto the table to keep from falling.
WYNTER: "Keep this city running. Make sure the power is on. Make sure there's food. Because if this city dies... I will die first."
His eyes gleamed red, staring at Titus's neck, then at Vianna's heart.
WYNTER: "And believe me, before I freeze to death, my survival instinct won't care about any 'Ceasefire'. I will suck the heat from your bodies until you're ice statues, just so I can breathe one minute longer."
He looked at them with the gaze of a cornered, starving predator.
WYNTER: "That's not a threat of war. It's a biological fact. So, don't make me hungry."
Wynter turned around. He had to get out of here. This room was too clean. Too cold.
(Get out. Fast. Before you faint in front of them. Don't let them see your back trembling.)
He walked quickly towards the exit. As the automatic glass door opened, the night wind from outside hit his face.
He looked down. To the city's depths. To The Under-City.
Down there, among leaking steam pipes, clashing industrial machines, and thousands of bodies crowded in poverty... there was heat.
Dirty heat. Rough heat. But real heat.
His wrist vibrated. A message from The Weaver.
[WEAVER: You're freezing in your ivory tower, Wynter. Politics is cold. Conflict is hot. Down there... there's the fire you seek. The rebellion isn't just a security issue. It's your fuel.]
The message made Wynter realize.
(He's right. I tried to be a King sitting quietly on a throne, and it's killing me. I'm not a King. I'm a machine that needs fuel. And my fuel is war.)
Wynter no longer saw the unrest in the Under-City as a task burden. He saw it as a Feast.
The fear in his chest slowly faded, replaced by a dark anticipation. A faint smile appeared on his bluish lips. A genuine smile for the first time that night.
WYNTER: (Muttering into the night wind, his voice trembling with restrained, strange euphoria)
"Alright then. If it's too cold up here... let's descend to hell. I hear it's warm down there."
Wynter stepped out into the night, leaving the identity of the "Political Student" behind, and embracing his new identity: "A Predator Seeking Prey".
Behind him, inside the freezing council chamber, the four Suzerains stared at each other in horror. They realized one thing: They no longer had a leader. They had a parasite that needed to be fed "conflict" so it wouldn't eat them.
And in the distance, the lights of the Under-City flickered, unaware that something hungry was descending towards them.
(END OF ARC 1)