Chapter 298: Kill the Midnight Lord

Cold wind swept across the top of the fortress tower, carrying the damp scent of ancient stone and the forests beyond the wall. Luke leaned on the parapet, eyes fixed on the horizon, with Evangeline and Eleanor at his side. From up here, the world looked smaller, yet the weight pressing down on them grew with every heartbeat.

“You were actually thinking of going all the way over there?” Eleanor asked, a faint laugh slipping out even as her narrowed eyes measured the distance.

Luke didn’t answer right away. Ever since the second barrier mechanism had been triggered, something had been gnawing at him. The first time he’d approached the magical limit, only one device had been active. Now he needed to know if the structure had shifted.

He took the bow from Eleanor’s hands. It wasn’t just a weapon; its enchanted sight worked like a precision scope, letting him see farther than naked eyes ever could. He drew the string without an arrow, aligning the magical visor.

“The barrier’s cracked… looks like shattered glass,” he murmured. Jagged fractures ran through the blue light, sparks fading into the air.

He handed the bow back to Mason, who was watching him closely. “How long did it take you to walk from here to the barrier last time?” Mason asked, eyes still fixed on the horizon.

“About twenty minutes in a straight line,” Luke replied.

“But when we trigger the barrier,” Eleanor said, her tone turning serious as she adjusted her cloak against the wind, “what if the castle we’re seeing is just a mirage? The path could be much longer than it looks.”

Mason lowered the bow and carefully returned it to Eleanor. “We have to factor in every possibility.”

***

The dining hall lay in silence, lit only by the trembling glow of torches fixed to the stone walls. On the central table, a map sprawled open, covered in hastily drawn lines, symbols for enemy positions, and notes scrawled in dark ink. The smell of leather, iron, and fresh ink mingled with the scent of cold food forgotten in the corners.

They gathered around the map, each carrying their own shade of apprehension. More than ever, they knew the entire plan had to be reworked.

“Forget the siege strategy,” Ronan said, breaking the silence with a steady voice.

He was the first to speak after the latest information had dropped. Luke caught the trace of unease behind it, but couldn’t help admiring the man’s realism. Military blood ran in his veins, cold strategy came naturally to him.

“I have to agree,” Mason added, leaning over the map. “Waiting for the Midnight Lord’s army to reach this fortress before we react is wasting precious time. And who’s to say the enemy will even come right away? We’ll have to go full offensive. Station part of the army closer to the fortress for immediate support.”

Allison stood with one hand tracing a line across the map. “For the event to trigger, 51% of the tutorial’s population has to be inside this fortress. That leaves 49% at the front line, with reinforcements taking 20 minutes on foot, and that’s assuming everyone moves fast. We’re talking over 1,000 people. Every second counts.”

Luke felt the weight of her words. Every minute of marching, every delay had to be accounted for. The six-hour deadline hung over them like a blade.

“You think people will go along with this?” Eleanor asked. She sat on the floor against the wall, staring at the ceiling as if it might give her answers.

“What do you mean?” Jack frowned.

“She means,” Allison said with a sigh, “will they still accept the final mission after hearing about the 6-hour window?”

“They already knew they’d risk dying in the invasion. What’s changed?” Mason shook his head. “Death’s still guaranteed either way.”

“But not everyone agreed with our plan in the first place,” Allison countered. “And now, with this news, Bartholomew’s got plenty of ammo to convince people not to go.”

Evangeline drummed her fingers against the table, eyes narrowing. “As long as 51% agree, it doesn’t matter. Majority wins.”

Ronan stepped forward, fists tight. “That’s just as bad as Bartholomew tricking everyone.”

Allison met his stare. “Haven’t we been counting on the majority all along? Or did you think we’d give up on going home just because a handful of people refused? You forget we were ready to go to war with Bartholomew.”

Ronan drew a deep breath and turned back to the map. “Even so, everything’s changed. I’ll still do my best, offer strategy, help however I can, but before, I believed we could win the long game. Fortify this place, store food, grow crops. Two weeks under siege, maybe more, and we could hold.”

He pressed his fingers against the map. “Mages and archers raining fire, enchanted quivers, infinite arrows as long as mana lasted. Teach people to shoot, manage stamina, a strategy that, if flawless, wouldn’t cost a single life. But with only six hours? All of that collapses.”

Ronan lifted his gaze, sweeping over the faces around him. “What happens when five hours have passed and we’re still neck-deep in the war? Did no one think of that? Chaos. The formation breaks, people rush toward the castle, scattering everywhere. That’s it. I’m counting on five hours of fighting, but honestly, the panic will probably start in the first hour, when they realize we haven’t even broken through yet and monsters are still clogging the path. We can’t just think in terms of logic; we have to factor in human behavior, or we lose.”

His words hit like a stone tossed into still water, ripples of silence spreading across the hall.

“The war doesn’t have to last that long,” Luke said finally, breaking through the hush. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough to pull every eye to him.

He stepped closer to the map. Torchlight cast long shadows over the paper and across their faces. For a heartbeat, he didn’t see lines and symbols but a living battlefield, a chessboard with pieces waiting to be moved.

“Not everyone in the tutorial is a fighter,” he began. “Out of nearly 2,000, maybe we’ll be lucky to get 1,200 willing to fight. The rest are civilians. You’ve seen it yourselves, some in the tutorial haven’t even reached level 2 in their class. They killed a creature or two and never touched a weapon again.”

He paused, measuring their reactions. “But we don’t need the war to last 6 hours. We only need to eliminate the main threats before the clock runs out.”

They exchanged puzzled looks.

“What do you mean?” Mason leaned over the table.

“The same way I killed the Beast Lord and drove his beasts from the city. The same way you killed the Orc Lord and shattered his army. It’s possible to end the war during the event itself, fast.” Luke straightened, eyes locked on the map.

They all sensed what he meant, but he said it anyway: “We only have to kill the Midnight Lord.”

The silence returned, heavier than before. Luke turned to Ronan. “It’s a solid plan, right? We strike down the Midnight Lord in the middle of the war, while his army is busy fighting ours. When that monster falls, his army breaks. Same logic we’ve seen with Captains and Generals, always.”

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A few exchanged tense glances. Jack was the first to voice it. “You said yourself the Beast Lord didn’t have an army. He was the army. What if killing the Midnight Lord doesn’t stop his soldiers?”

“Even so, an army without a leader tends to crumble. Especially undead, they don’t talk to each other,” Mason said carefully. “The Wardens at the second fortress operated in coordinated strategy, seeming to obey mental commands from the Warden Captain. If the same holds true for the Midnight Lord, killing him would leave the army vulnerable.”

Luke leaned over the map, a small smile curling at his lips. “The final challenge… it’s starting to look more like an assassination.”

***

The next few hours were a whirlwind of debates, scribbled notes, and worn-out voices leaning over the map. Everyone was exhausted, but little by little, the noise settled into a rhythm. The news of the final challenge had blindsided them, yet Luke’s new perspective lit a spark. Instead of draining their resolve, the idea of a direct strike reignited their will to fight.

They knew it was possible with the right planning, preparation, and levels. They had crawled through battles with orcs barely alive, but up to this point they had already brought down two Lords. The reasoning was simple: they had done it before, they could do it again.

But killing the Midnight Lord would take more than courage. As the group sketched their risky plan, Allison traced a line on the map. “When we fought the Orc Lord, it wasn’t a frontal charge. Every time a big group got close, he used his orcs as a living wall. We had to split the army to get our strike team through. It’ll have to be the same now.”

Heads nodded. The goal was clear: build an elite team capable of cutting through the chaos and reaching the Lord, while the rest kept his army distracted and bled it dry. Like the Warden Captain in the second fortress, it would have to be done with absolute precision. Every one of them needed to reach the peak of their rank, their epic abilities sharpened to perfection. And if the plan was assassination, there was one name no one could avoid thinking about: Erza Grimhart.