The sky above Geneva was a steel-gray canvas, the kind that weighed heavy on the soul—fitting for what was about to unfold beneath it. Inside the Grand Assembly Dome, a hush had fallen over the elite gathered in the stands, their eyes locked on the glowing digital map that pulsed at the center of the arena. One hundred ninety-five dots flared to life, each one representing a country, a future battlefield, and a new ruler.
This was the beginning of the new cycle of Rise of Nations.
The announcer's voice, laced with calculated pomp, echoed through the chamber. "Today, we welcome the 195 chosen—selected not merely for their intelligence, but for their ruthlessness, their adaptability, their strategic genius. These are not politicians. They are not soldiers. They are Players."
In a private chamber beneath the Dome, Player #143 adjusted his black tactical coat and looked at the screen displaying his assignment: Romania.
Name: Kael Vasil
Age: 21
Background: Ex-War Orphan, Grandmaster Strategist, Survivor of 8 Trial Gauntlets.
Status: Confirmed.
Sponsor Ranking: Underdog Tier.
AI Forecast Win Rate: 2.7%
Kael didn't blink. He didn't need odds. He needed opportunity.
He stepped into the elevator, the cold hum of the steel box descending toward his deployment chamber. He had been bred for this moment—not in luxury, but in blood and fire. Where others were raised in academies, Kael had studied in basements. While other candidates practiced on simulations, he played real games with consequences, games where losing meant starvation or watching your only ally get dragged away.
The doors opened. A swarm of cameras caught his first step into the light, broadcasting his face live to billions of spectators. The sponsors watching saw a wiry, sharp-eyed young man with haunted eyes. Some scoffed. A few leaned forward.
He's not favored to win. But he won't give up either.
---
Two Weeks Later — In-Game
The Rise of Nations cycle had begun. Kael's Romania was surrounded by chaos. Hungary and Ukraine were already pressuring his borders. Bulgaria had launched a surprise naval invasion from the Black Sea. Serbia and Moldova had just signed a coalition pact. Five fronts. Five simultaneous threats.
Most would fold. Most had.
Kael sat alone in his underground command center beneath the rebuilt capital of Bucharest. Holographic maps swarmed before him. Intel feeds buzzed. But he was still. Focused.
"Status?" he asked.
His AI assistant, HALIX, responded coolly. "Territory loss at 12.3%. Military reserves at 38%. Civilian morale at 54%. You are advised to negotiate surrender and retain vassal status under the Eastern Bloc Coalition."
Kael smirked. "Negative. Re-route all economic output into clandestine rail mobilization. Pull defensive units from the Carpathians and dig in along the Danube. And send a fake peace offer to Serbia."
"Serbia is unlikely to accept—"
"I don't care if they accept," Kael said. "I want their confidence. I want them to advance. Then I'll collapse their flanks with mountain units and cut them off from Hungary."
HALIX paused.
"Understood."
---
It worked.
Within 48 hours, Serbia had overextended. Kael's units swept through the treacherous mountain terrain, using old Soviet-era tunnels he had reconstructed in secret. Supply lines were shredded. The coalition began to fracture.
Kael had turned a multi-front assault into a pincer trap.
Streams exploded online. Viewers who had once dismissed him began whispering his name. The Underdog Tier shivered. The Top 1% looked again.
He still had fewer troops. Less money. Smaller land. But he had something they didn't.
The will to keep moving. And the mind to make it matter.
---
He stood over a command table days later, half his forces spent, fuel reserves dwindling. But the map looked different now. Serbia had collapsed. Bulgaria was in retreat. And now Hungary and Ukraine hesitated.
Kael's eyes glowed with fire.
"They wanted to watch me break. Instead, I'm teaching them how a man without a safety net learns to fly."