Yuto Akiyama's heart hammered as he stood in Braxium's command tent, the red-glow beast's roars echoing outside, the Verdant Scar's green craters pulsing like festering sores. Granite-Face's whip hung ready, his scarred face etched with doubt as Karl's accusation—"Dominion sorcery"—hung heavier than the sulfur stench. Yuto's scrawny frame, caked in mud and blood, trembled, his dented helm slipping, his spear useless against a witch hunt. Karl's smirk gleamed, the stolen sulfur pouch his weapon, while soldiers whispered, their eyes glinting with Valthar-fueled fear. Yuto's inner thoughts churned, a storm of panic and gamer grit. I'm one step from a medieval BBQ. Karl's griefing me into a grave, but my bomb's pure chemistry—sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter. Gotta demo it, prove it's no magic, or I'm perma-banned from life.
His mind raced, World Warfare 4 strats clashing with Earth logic. This camp's a plague pit—latrines reek, sores fester, no soap. I'm dodging death by germs while Dominion's got kaiju. My bomb's the meta shift, but Karl's turning it into a noose. His hygiene rage burned, the camp's filth—coughing soldiers, rancid stew, a stream like a sewer—fueling his gunpowder dream. A musket would end fights clean, no guts, no infections. Gotta expose Karl's sabotage and yeet this war into the gun age.
Granite-Face growled, "Mud Boy, you got till noon to prove that powder's clean. Fail, and you burn." Yuto swallowed, his rash throbbing under his tattered tunic. "Sarge, let me demo it—blow a stump, no magic. It'll save us from that beast." Karl scoffed. "A spy's trick! He'll curse us all." Torren, his rune-etched leather creaking, stepped up, his green eyes steady. "Sarge, Mud Boy's booms work. Let him try, or we're beast food." Granite-Face grunted, unconvinced but desperate. "Noon, Mud Boy. Don't fumble."
Yuto's plan formed: Demo the bomb, catch Karl tampering. Bait him like a noob chasing a loot crate. He suspected Karl had swapped his sulfur with a dud mix—his last bomb felt weak. Dude's got my stash. I'll set a trap. As dawn broke, a horn blared—not Dominion's, but Braxium's. A supply caravan rolled in from the capital, oxen hauling crates of gleaming steel breastplates, crossbows, sturdy boots, and crisp blue tunics embroidered with Valthar's serpent. Soldiers cheered, swapping tattered rags for proper gear, their dented helms replaced with polished ones. Yuto's new breastplate fit snug, his boots didn't squelch, and the crossbow felt like a Call of Duty loadout upgrade. But the latrines still stank, infections spread, and no soap arrived. New drip, same biohazard. This world's half-assed.
The beast's roar shook the camp, its red glow cresting the ridge, a hulking predator—part boar, part lizard, spines glowing like neon blades. Dominion grunts and mages flanked it, their axes and green-glowing staves ready. Yuto's patrol—Torren, Lyssa, Gav, Redbeard, and four crossbowmen—geared up, their new armor clanking. Torren, adjusting his crossbow, pulled Yuto aside, his mentorship sharp. "Karl's out for blood, Mud Boy. I trusted a mate once—soldier like him, turned on me for glory. Got me flogged, nearly killed. Don't let Karl play you." His voice held old scars, a bond forged in shared betrayal. Yuto nodded. Torren's my co-op carry. I'll trap that snake.
Lyssa, her new tunic snug but capelet still flapping, raised her staff, her blonde hair tangled. "I'll blast that beast to oblivion!" Her crystal flickered, but her eyes held new focus. Yuto snorted. "Don't fizzle, Glitter Queen. We need your A-game." Gav, testing his crossbow, smirked. "Aye, her sparkles might scare a goblin." Redbeard, his amulet glowing, prayed, his steel armor gleaming. The Verdant Scar's terrain was a nightmare—craters pulsing green, vines writhing, air thick with ozone and decay.
Yuto prepped his bomb demo near a blasted stump, his clay pot packed with Mara's saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal, the fuse tight. Mara, her wiry frame hunched nearby, whispered, "That saltpeter's potent, lad. I dug it from the pits—reeks, but it'll boom. I crafted worse for Lord Karath, till Valthar's priests branded me heretic. Burned my workshop, hunted my kin." Her eyes burned, a rebel's defiance. "Your musket dream's close—forge a barrel, and you'll change wars. But Karl's got eyes on us." Yuto's brain pinged. She's my endgame crafter. Gotta keep her safe.
To catch Karl, Yuto left a decoy sulfur pouch in his tent, rigged with ash to mark the thief's hands. Classic bait-and-switch. He joined the patrol at the northern rise, the beast charging, its spines slashing trees, grunts swarming, mages' bolts flaring. Yuto's tactics kicked in: a gully to the east could funnel the grunts, while a ridge offered crossbow range. "Torren, ridge! Gav, Redbeard, gully—hold 'em! Lyssa, backline, no flubs!" He sprinted to the gully, his crossbow loaded, breastplate heavy but sure.
Torren's crossbow bolts rained, piercing grunts' armor, blood spraying. Redbeard's sword clashed, his gash from last battle slowing him, but his amulet pulsed, driving him on. Gav's bolts flew wild, one nicking a grunt's ear. The beast roared, its spines slicing a crossbowman, his scream cut short as blood pooled. Lyssa, her staff raised, chanted, her crystal surging blue-white. A crackling bolt shot forth, slamming a mage's chest, the robe smoldering as he fell. She staggered, grinning. "Epic, right, Mud Boy?" Yuto blinked. "Yo, Glitter Queen, you're cracked!" Her trip on a vine kept the comedy, but her spell was MVP.
The beast reached the gully, its claws raking stone, grunts clogging the path. Yuto's bomb was for the demo, but the beast's flank—thick but exposed—tempted him. Save it or use it? A mage's bolt grazed his arm, the burn searing, his hygiene rage spiking. No medkits, no clean water—I'm one cut from death. He lit the bomb's fuse, its hiss sharp, and hurled it at the beast's flank. The explosion cracked, yellow flames bursting, the beast howling as its hide charred, stumbling. The grunts faltered, mages' spells flickering.
The camp surged, soldiers in new armor thrusting spears, crossbows twanging. Torren's bolts dropped another mage, Redbeard's sword cleaved, Gav's dagger slashed. Lyssa's shield spell—flickering but clutch—blocked a bolt, saving Redbeard. Yuto's demo was scrapped, but the beast's retreat proved his bomb's worth. Granite-Face, whip coiled, nodded. "That boom saved us, Mud Boy. But your sorcery talk ain't done."
Yuto checked his tent—ash on Karl's boots, the decoy pouch gone. Got you. He confronted Karl at the fire, holding the marked pouch. "Sabotaging my bomb, huh? Swapped my sulfur, framed me as a spy?" Karl's hand twitched to his sword, but Torren's crossbow leveled at him. Soldiers gasped, Granite-Face looming. Karl snarled, "Prove it, Mud Boy!" Yuto tossed the pouch, ash dusting Karl's hands, the crowd murmuring. Granite-Face's eyes narrowed. "Karl, you're confined till we sort this."
Mara slipped Yuto a musket sketch—iron barrel, flint trigger. "Forge it, lad, and you'll outshoot mages. But Valthar's priests are sniffing." Her rebel past echoed, a warning. Lyssa, bandaging Gav, glowed with pride, her spells earning nods. "I'm no noob, Mud Boy," she said, tripping but catching herself. Torren clapped Yuto's shoulder. "You're a pain, kid, but you fight smart. Don't let Karl's kind break you."
The Verdant Scar pulsed green, its craters festering. A scout's cry broke the calm: "Dominion mages—hundreds, with red-glow riders!" The horizon flared, cloaked figures on tainted steeds charging, their staves blazing. Yuto's musket dream burned, but his bomb was spent, his arm bleeding, Karl's fate unclear. Granite-Face barked, "Mud Boy, ready another boom, or we're dust!" Yuto's brain froze. Riders? That's a DLC drop, and I'm out of beta gear.