Oblivion's Throne-Chapter 104: The War of a Thousand Kings

One week after the rankings were finalized, the academy has declared the format of the second phase of the Trial: The War of a Thousand Kings.

This phase takes place on a war-torn continent, where every cadet who survived the first phase was now thrown into something far worse. The top 1,000 were assigned as kings, each commanding their own army of cadets. And for the next thirty days, it would be total war.

The objective was simple: capture at least one enemy castle or be eliminated. Those who lost their own strongholds are eliminated.

The massive continent divided into 1,000 regions, with each king was locked into battle with three other kingdoms, ensuring a constant state of war.

Each kingdom had its own unique terrain. Some were built into mountains, nearly impossible to siege. Others controlled sprawling grasslands, perfect for open-field warfare. Some were deep within forests, forcing invaders into tight, ambush-heavy pathways.

The armies weren't chosen—they were assigned.

Every cadet who survived Phase One but didn't make the top 1,000 was now randomly distributed among the kings. Some kings were lucky, getting elite warriors. Others were stuck with reckless brutes or terrified recruits.

Orion's army was a mixed bag. He skimmed through their files as names and ranks appeared on his holo-display. Some had raw talent but lacked experience. Others had grit but no discipline. He even recognized a few names from the top 1,000 he had memorized who had barely missed the cutoff.

"Randomized, huh?" Orion murmured, tapping through the list. "That would be full of surprises."

Each Kingdom was pitted against three specific enemies, their matchups pre-determined by the academy. This ensured that the war remained a brutal, ongoing struggle where every cadet had to fight, adapt, or collapse under pressure.

The academy had enforced territorial locks—alliances beyond the assigned enemies were impossible. This meant no vast coalitions, no kingdoms banding together. Every faction had to stand on its own.

A kingdom must capture at least one enemy castle and hold it for 24 hours to officially claim it.

If a king loses their stronghold, they have 48 hours to reclaim it before being eliminated.

Once a kingdom falls, its survivors can either join the conquering army or are forced to exit the competition.

This war wasn't about brute force—it was about strategy, endurance, and ruthless decision-making.

To keep discipline intact, each king had absolute authority over their army. If a cadet refused to obey orders, the king had the power to exile them, forcing them to either defect to another kingdom (if taken in) or be left to wander the battlefield alone—a death sentence.

Orion's stronghold was a frozen tundra fortress, built high into an icy ridge—tough to breach but equally tough to supply. He'd have to play this smart.

Orion stood near the outer wall of his castle staring at the cadets gathered.

His forces were smaller than some—about 300 soldiers, while other kings commanded twice that number.

"Listen up," Orion called out, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the assembled cadets.

The crowd fell silent, dozens of eyes locking onto him. Most were still trying to grasp the reality of their situation—thrown into a war where survival meant more than just skill. It meant intelligence, control, and absolute ruthlessness.

Orion raised his holo-display, his fingers tapping through the lists of names. Fifteen of them.

Fifteen people whose names had fluctuated within the top 1,000 rankings every two hours. The fact that he noticed them at all was enough to send a ripple of surprises through the gathered cadets.

He started calling them out.

"Sienna Tavian, Darius Renzo, Isolde Soren, Dimitri Sokolov, Liora Locke..."

One by one, they stepped forward, confusion on their faces. Some looked wary, others curious. But Orion was already making observations.

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As expected most of them are commoners.

He had suspected as much. Nobles tended to stay in clusters, forming pre-existing alliances. These Fifteen had no backing. No legacy. Yet they had held onto high rankings, meaning they had something else—instinct, skill, or sheer grit.

He needed strategists.

Orion gestured toward a nearby table, where a massive battle map was projected—a detailed holographic display of their kingdom, their enemies, and the terrain surrounding them.

"Those fifteen all fought well to reach Top rankings on phase one at some point," he said, watching their expressions. "You understand combat, so I will assign you each 20 cadets to be in your unit. But you still need people who can see the full board."

Some of them straightened at that. Others remained skeptical.

Orion tapped on the map. Three enemy kingdoms—a mountain fortress, a river stronghold, and an open plains army.

"Your test is simple," he continued. "Pick one. Tell me how you'd take it."

Silence. Then, a few exchanged glances. The test was direct. No time to overthink.

The first to speak was Dimitri Sokolov, a wiry man with sharp eyes. "The mountain fortress," he said, folding his arms. "Sieging it would be a mistake. Instead, I'd cut their supply lines. Starve them out."

Orion nodded but said nothing.

Next, Isolde Soren, a quiet girl with an analytical gaze, pointed at the river stronghold. "That castle depends on controlling the water. Poison the river. Not enough to kill, but enough to make their soldiers sick. Force them to abandon their advantage."

A few murmurs. Ruthless. But effective.

Then, Darius Renzo grinned, tapping the plains army. "Open battlefield? They think that's their strength. I'd make them overcommit—let them advance, then hit them with a pincer attack when they're stretched thin."

One by one, the others presented their ideas. Some were bold. Some were reckless. Some were clever.

Orion listened to each strategy, never interrupting. He wasn't looking for one perfect answer. He was looking for who could think.

By the time the last person spoke, he had already made his decision.

"You six," Orion said, pointing at six of them. "You're now my war council."

He turned his gaze toward the rest of the army. "Every one of you will fall into one of three roles: Vanguard Unit, Scouting Unit, or Defensive Unit."

The Vanguard Unit formed first. Nearly half of the army stepped forward, the boldest of them cracking their knuckles, adjusting their weapons, eager to see blood.

The Scouting Unit came next—19 cadets in total. They were a lot fewer than the vanguard.

The Defensive unit was last—those who had the patience and discipline to hold the line, their eyes burned with determination.

Orion nodded.

"You nine," he said, turning to the cadets he had called forward. "You're going to organize these forces."

Some of them stiffened. Others smirked.

"I want a command structure. Three captains—one for each division. Choose wisely, because if your unit fails, the fault is yours."

Silence.

Then, movement.

Juno Ashford, sharp-eyed and cool-headed, immediately stepped toward the Scouts. "I'll take command here," she said without hesitation. A few murmurs of approval followed.

Felix Greaves, built like a mountain studied the Defensive force. After a moment, he stepped forward. "I'll handle defense."

That left the Vanguard. Amon Riehart—broad-shouldered, cocky, and practically itching for a fight—grinned. "Guess that leaves me."