The Legendary Method Actor

Chapter 272: History Repeats Itself

"I don't need the horse to defeat you!"

Luke snarled.

Luke triggered one of his trump skills: Action Surge.

A massive, terrifying burst of pure, unadulterated adrenaline and energy flooded Luke's nervous system. The heavy Magistrate armor suddenly seemed weightless. At the exact same moment, Luke channeled his mana.

“Scutum!”

He cast the 1st-Circle spell: Shield

A shimmering, translucent barrier of calcified magic flared to life, overlaying his physical kite shield.

He became an impenetrable, high-speed tank.

Luke charged on foot, moving twice as fast. The mud flew from his boots as he closed the distance instantly, launching a terrifying, rapid-fire flurry of heavy broadsword strikes designed to batter Ray’s agile defenses into absolute submission.

Luke’s broadsword swung in a lethal horizontal arc aimed at Ray's neck.

The crystal of his ‘Theorist Glove’ suddenly flared with a brilliant gold light as it reacted to Ray’s activation of his primordial aether. To the world, it looked like a high-tier magical focus activating.

“Velox Overload!”

Ray used his innate Aether-Infusion technique skill as he cast the 1st-Circle spell: Zephyr Strike.

Ray didn't just boost his speed; it completely removed him from local spatial friction. The air around him warped. To Luke, and to the millions watching in the arena, Ray simply vanished.

The broadsword cleaved through empty air.

Ray reappeared a fraction of a second later, stepping effortlessly inside the massive reach of Luke’s broadsword, completely bypassing the vanguard's lethal zone.

Panic flared in Luke’s eyes. He aggressively shoved his left arm forward, attempting to smash his kite shield with a shimmering barrier directly into Ray's face to create space.

Ray didn't dodge the shield. He punched it.

Ray's fist collided with the magic Shield barrier. His fist then glowed as his innate Null-Breaker passive skill ignited. The dense, physical weight of Ray's fist ignored the magical barrier in Luke’s kite-shield dampening field entirely. The Shield barrier shattered like cheap glass, dissolving into useless sparks of light.

Before Luke could even register the destruction of his magical barrier, Ray pressed the palm of his glowing fist flat against the center of Luke’s heavy steel breastplate.

"Fulmen Overload!"

Ray roared.

Ray used his innate Aether-Infusion technique skill again as he cast the Cantrip spell: Shocking Grasp.

In that terrifying fraction of a second, as the blinding golden light gathered in Ray's palm, a memory flashed through Luke's mind. He had seen this exact, concentrated glow before. It was on the massive scrying panes in the arena, during the highlight reel that explained how Ray had secured a bypass after Round 1 straight to the Grand Finals of the Strategic War-gaming event.

It wasn't a standard cantrip jolt of lightning. The Aether condensed the spell into superheated, white-hot plasma. The spell completely ignored the physical density of the heavy armor. Instead, it weaponized it.

The Magistrate Plate became a massive super-conductor.

A blinding, localized flash of golden-white lightning detonated point-blank. The apocalyptic voltage dumped directly into Luke's nervous system. The heavy armor absorbed none of it; it only amplified the current, frying his motor functions instantly.

Luke’s body seized violently, his muscles locking in agonizing paralysis. His sword slipped from his rigid fingers. The concussive force of the plasma detonation blew him backward off his feet.

He hit the mud hard, his heart violently stopped by the sheer electrical trauma.

Luke lay on his back, the rain washing over his paralyzed face. His eyes were wide with absolute shock, staring up at the pale artificial sun. He hadn't just been beaten; he had been dismantled.

As his vision began to dim, the final piece of the memory clicked into place. This was the exact same spell Ray had used to execute Gunther Draven, the very first commander who was eliminated during Round One of the Strategic War-gaming event. Luke vividly remembered watching that replay from the arena stage, scoffing at how utterly pathetic Gunther had looked, lying in the muck with his eyes wide in frozen, helpless shock.

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With a bitter, agonizing twist of irony, Luke realized he was now wearing the exact same expression.

The gap between them wasn't a matter of training; it was a chasm of absolute fundamental understanding.

Because the Shattered Citadel was a hyper-realistic illusionary simulation, the safety protocols registered the lethal cardiac arrest.

Luke Herrington's body glowed, a second later, the Magistrate’s body shattered into countless floating blue motes of light, dissolving into the wind and leaving nothing behind but an empty patch of scorched mud.

Outside the gates, a wave of terror rippled through the gathered army.

The moment Luke's avatar was removed from the illusionary world, Luke’s one hundred and seventy men standing in the mud, thirty of them, where his original drafted troops instantly dissolved into nothingness alongside their defeated commander.

The remaining one hundred and forty troops were the neutral mercenaries Luke had recruited from the ruins.

They looked at the empty mud where the powerful noble had just been vaporized. They looked up at the forty-foot walls lined with seventeen hundred silent, heavily armed troops. And then they looked at the unarmored, young Demon Commander standing in the muddy field, his glove still glowed faintly.

The morale of the remaining mercenaries shattered completely.

The clatter of steel hitting the mud echoed across the battlefield as the mercenaries threw down their swords, spears, and shields. In perfect, terrified unison, one hundred and forty men dropped to their knees and raised their hands in unconditional surrender.

In the real world, Bruce Doyle’s voice reached a fever pitch, cracking over the amplification crystals.

"He vaporized him! A Tier-3 Magistrate in full plate, defeated with a touch!"

Bruce screamed, the arena crowd roaring so loudly the sound physically shook the grand arena.

"Wait... wait, I've seen this before! Ladies and gentlemen, history just repeated itself! That is the exact same point-blank execution Croft used to eliminate Gunther Draven in Round One! The Artificer just used his signature finisher to close the book on the prodigy of House Herrington!"

Bruce bellowed, pointing wildly at the projection as the crowd went completely ballistic.

"The wager is won! Croft still commands the Central Keep as the countdown continues!”

Back in the illusionary world. As the chaotic noise of the battlefield subsided, the familiar, cascading blue interface of the system filled Ray's vision.

[SKILLED APPLICATION DETECTED]

[EVENT: TRI-CONCURRENT COMBAT INTEGRATION & AETHERIC SYNERGY]

[PERFORMANCE EVALUATION: INSPIRED]

[ANALYSIS: Host flawlessly orchestrated a Tri-Concurrent Partial Immersion to completely dismantle a Tier-3 Magistrate and their beast asset. The seamless integration of 'Commander's Eye' for kinetic mapping, the innovative use of 'Apex Predator's Aura' to neutralize cavalry advantage, and the flawless transition into Aether-Infused spellcasting under high combat duress marks a pinnacle of martial-magic synthesis. Largest mastery gain.]

[Flowing Shadow Technique: +20% , Commander's Eye: +7.5%, Apex Predator's Aura: +10%]

[MASTERY CAPSTONE REACHED: 'Flowing Shadow Technique' at 100%.]

[You have transcended mimicry and achieved true artistry in this skill.]

Ray dismissed the system notification with a steady breath, he was glad another skill had reached capstone he looked forward to the day when his ‘Understudy Protocol’ gets upgraded again.

He stood victorious in the cold rain, he lowered his hand, the golden light of the ‘Theorist Glove’ fading to black.

The cold winds of the Shattered Citadel carried the scent of rain, ash, and sudden, absolute finality. High above the ruined city, the magical, disembodied voice that governed the illusionary trial boomed like a crack of thunder, vibrating through the cobblestones and echoing off the broken towers.

[COMMANDER LUKE HERRINGTON HAS BEEN ELIMINATED.]

The announcement swept over the illusionary world like a shockwave.

Miles away from the Central Keep, standing in the muddy remnants of a conquered stronghold, Eliza Vance heard the booming announcement.

She paused. The heavy leather pouch of Eldorian gold she was handing to a newly bribed mercenary captain hung in the air for a fraction of a second. She didn't gasp, and her expression didn't change. She simply closed her eyes, letting out a slow, measured breath.

"Herrington, you proud, stupid fool. You tried to fight a hurricane with a sword."

She whispered to herself.

"Commander? Does... does the news just now change our contract?"

The newly recruited mercenary captain asked nervously, looking up at the sky.

"No, it just means the price of victory just went up. Form up, we move in ten minutes."

Eliza said, her voice instantly hardening back into the cold, pragmatic tone of an elite merchant’s daughter. She shoved the gold into the man's chest.

Time passed in a blur and it was now the twentieth hour of the twenty-four-hour countdown.

Eliza and her troops looked like they had been dragged behind a galloping horse. Their uniforms were plastered with dried mud, their faces pale with exhaustion, and their hands blistered from gripping their weapons. For the last twenty hours, Eliza had not rested for a single minute. She had been running a brutal, unrelenting blitzkrieg across the outer rings of the Shattered Citadel.

She had not only fought battles; she had also conducted hostile takeovers..

She used her brilliant logistical mind and every single coin she had scavenged, looted, or hoarded, Eliza had systematically bribed, absorbed, and recruited every straggling mercenary band and shattered garrison left in the city.

“What is the latest status?"

Eliza asked, wiping a streak of mud from her cheek as she unrolled her tactical map on a broken stone altar.

Her lead lieutenant stepped forward, leaning heavily on his spear.

"We just absorbed the last of the eastern small stronghold, Commander. Our total troop count is sitting at around one thousand, five hundred."

It was a staggering, terrifying number that Eliza had acquired in a short amount of time.

But Eliza was a pragmatist. She stared at the black ink circling the Central Keep on her map.

"It isn't enough, we need more troops! Ray had probably taken the Central Keep intact. We are marching into a meat grinder, and we don't even have a numerical advantage."

Eliza said grimly.

"We did not have enough time and we have only four hours remaining until the timer runs out and Croft is declared the victor, Commander."

The lieutenant said, his voice tight with anxiety.

"If we don't march now, we might as well forfeit."

Eliza looked at her exhausted, shivering men. She had played a flawless game of survival and economic attrition. She had done everything right. But she had run out of time.

“Form ranks! We march to the Central Keep now and any stray mercenaries we encounter on the road, use our resources. It does not matter if we empty the last of our coffers to buy them!"