The Billionaire's Last Game

Chapter 2: Guilds

They say Yggdrasil was once whole. A perfect singularity, neither tree nor code, but something ancient, alive, intelligent. It pulsed through all creation like a nervous system stretched across eternity, binding together order, chaos, data, and life. But perfection never lasts.

One day, the Great Divide occurred. No one knows if it was a rebellion, an error, or a choice. Yggdrasil fractured, its consciousness splintered across the world. Each fragment fell, embedding itself into different lands, birthing what would one day be called Guilds.

The heads of these Guilds are not merely leaders. They are the Branches... echoes of Yggdrasil’s will, former conduits of the System’s original form. Their minds hold pieces of the Source, though many no longer remember what they truly are.

The Zones? They are more than battlegrounds... they are Territories of the Fallen Tree, manifestations of where Yggdrasil once touched. Each zone pulses with different fragments of its memory: safe zones nurtured by order, broken zones corrupted by silence, null zones stripped of logic, jail zones coiled in karmic roots.

And the players? They are the nutrients. The energy Yggdrasil still hungers for.

Whether they fight for glory, survival, or freedom, every step they take is another root stretching through the soil of this dying world… feeding something that was never meant to be reborn...

The holographic flame in the center of the war table flickered, casting fractured light across the faces of Sovereign’s remaining council. Twelve chairs encircled it. Only seven were filled.

Silence lingered, until the captain’s emblem blinked off the map.

“Confirmed,” one of the operators muttered, voice brittle. “Squad Echo has been wiped. No survivors.”

Steel chairs creaked as fists clenched. The one seated at the center, the Guild Head, leaned forward, their voice calm, but heavy with consequence.

“That’s the third squad lost in two weeks. The Broken Zone isn’t just unstable, it’s rejecting the System itself.”

Another voice snapped from the left. “Then why are we still sending them? Why are we bleeding our elite into ruins that don’t obey rules?!”

“Because,” said the Guild Head, rising, “if we don’t map it… someone else will. And the one who does... controls the next evolution of the System.”

The room quieted.

Across the table, an older tactician pulled up a projection, footage from the captain’s last stand. The warrior stood, sword driven into the ice, eyes locked on death itself. The system’s final screen blinked: No Data. Signature Lost.

“The players are feeding it,” he said, almost a whisper. “Every time one of us dies in there… Yggdrasil grows back and stronger as it is.”

"But wait," one of the operators said, voice trembling. "Following the captain’s heroic death, the system evaluated a critical detail—his mana reserves were nearly depleted. Had he possessed even a fraction more, he could've reshaped the entire battlefield into an arctic mountain... frozen every last elf. He might've saved himself."

"But..." another captain muttered, fists clenched. "He only used Frost Veil... a third-rate technique from the system. He wasn't even awakened yet."

A heavy silence settled in the room, thick with frustration and grief. Eyes dropped. No one spoke.

Then, the Head Guild rose slowly, his voice like iron against the cold air.

“Before we drown ourselves in sorrow, remember, there were survivors, because of his sacrifice. His death was not in vain.” The Guild Head locked eyes with each of them. “What we need now is to uncover the captain's final command... and more importantly, understand what they were fighting down there in the Broken Zone. We need that information to prevent more casualties in the future.”

At the edge of the Broken Zone, where twisted terrain gives way to fractured skies, floated a lone island, one of the last few safe zones recognized by the System.

Inside a modest clinic carved from chrome and stone, two surviving members of the Sovereign Guild sat motionless on a weathered couch. The sterile light hummed faintly above them, casting their weary silhouettes across the white walls. Their armor was scuffed, stained with the remnants of ash and mana-burn. Eyes vacant. Hands trembling, not from injury, but from memory. They had escaped, yes, but their minds still wandered those corrupted ruins.

Fear clung to them like a second skin. Grief pulsed silently in the space between their words. And hope? Hope was a fragile thing now, shaped in the image of arriving footsteps. Superior officers. Reinforcements. Anyone to tell them that their survival had meaning… that the captain's sacrifice had been worth it.

But the door hadn’t opened. Not yet.

Hours passed in silence, broken only by the occasional hum of the clinic’s energy field and the distant roar of systems stabilizing the floating island. The two players hadn’t moved from the couch. Time no longer felt like something they were part of, only something that watched them from a distance.

Until the wind shifted.

Soft at first, like a whisper brushing across their cheeks. But then it came again, stronger... pressing against them from the right. It wasn’t cold, but it carried weight. As if something unseen was telling them, look this way.

They turned in unison, instinct leading thought. There, framed by the clinic's open doorway, stood a nurse in a pale white uniform, her expression kind… but not the one that stole their breath.

Beside her, stepping into view, was a man in obsidian armour faintly etched with violet runes. His presence was impossible to ignore, calm, unreadable, yet heavy like gravity itself. A superior. Two ranks above their fallen captain.

They knew his face. Everyone in the Sovereign Guild did.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at them both with sharp, calculating eyes. Not cold… but distant, as though already measuring the cost of what came next.

And then he said, “I read the report. I want to hear it from you, exactly what happened down there.”

“Their mental health is currently not in good shape, but it’s enough to make them speak,” the nurse said softly, almost in a whisper, as if afraid to stir the silence already hanging over the room. “Their mana is still drained, though I don’t know why… Physically, they’re fit to return to the field, but whatever they faced down there, it made them use every card they had. All their sleeves, gone.”

She turned with a small smile, her tone light, but not mocking. Just human. Perhaps too used to patching up the broken pieces of players. “I wonder if the System still marks this area as off-limits to monsters or hostile entities.”

The air felt heavier as she stepped past the threshold of the clinic door.

“I’ll be outside if you need anything…” Her eyes briefly glanced toward the armored figure still standing near the couch. “Captain of the Sovereign Guild.”

“The captain…” the warrior finally said, his voice low and shaken. “He died standing. With his last breath, sword buried in the ground. He held them off, so we could live.” His eyes were distant, trembling. “The monsters… they didn’t just attack. They drained our mana, like it was their food. Like it’s how they live.”

The archer beside him sat straighter, though her posture betrayed exhaustion. Her voice was calm, but fragile, like a string pulled too tight. “We encountered Plasma Spiders. Dangerously high-ranking elves. Titans. Even Dark Angels…”

She paused, her eyes shadowed. “They wiped out the other squads in minutes.”

Silence followed. Not a silence of peace, but one carved from disbelief.

“They were coordinated,” the warrior added. “Some of them weren’t just glitching… they were evolving.”

The Captain of the Sovereign Guild stood still, eyes locked onto the two survivors. The flickering clinic lights reflected off the polished plates of his armor, but his expression was unreadable, stone carved by war.

"You said... Dark Angels?" he asked, voice low but laced with something sharp. "Those aren't supposed to appear outside the Core Zones."

The warrior nodded slowly, every breath heavy. “They didn’t follow rules. The System... it didn’t recognize them.”

The archer leaned forward slightly, her voice nearly a whisper. “And there was something else… watching us. We never saw it, but we felt it. The creatures were scared of it. Even the glitching ones. It stayed deep in the mist.”

The Captain’s grip on his sheathed blade tightened. He turned toward the window, the floating island’s edge just barely visible through the glass.

“The System won’t log what it doesn’t want to admit exists,” he muttered. “Which means… whatever’s lurking in that zone isn’t just dangerous. It’s unsanctioned.”

He turned back to them. “I need everything! As in everything! You remember. Even the things you’re too afraid to say out loud. If we don’t find out what’s really buried in the Broken Zone… the next squad won’t be coming back at all.”

Near the safe zone of the Broken Zone... a man named Kyle stood bloodied and breathless, wand in one hand, dagger in the other. A deep gash traced the side of his forehead where crimson dripped steadily down his cheek.

Before him, a massive plasma spider screeched as its limbs twisted violently, sucked into a swirling black hole Kyle had barely managed to conjure. The vortex howled like a banshee in the wind, tearing at the monster’s body until it vanished with a final shuddering shriek.

Kyle stumbled back, gasping, the glow of the spell dimming around his hand. But despite the pain, despite the blood and broken ribs, he smiled.

“I’m still alive,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Then the wind changed... cold, unnatural. The system flickered to life in his mind again.

> System: “Vital signs unstable. Detecting Multiple Hostiles heading your way. SafeZone nearby is advice.”

Kyle was the sole witness to the fall of two Sovereign Guild squads elite players, each cut down by the chaos he had tried to warn them about. They hadn’t listened.

Unlike them, Kyle didn’t gamble. He planned, adapted, and always moved with backup strategies layered beneath his choices. In the Broken Zone, survival wasn't about power alone, it was about foresight, instinct, and knowing when to run. Every player carved their own style, their own path through the madness. Kyle’s path was built on caution, on calculation... and the grim understanding that hesitation was death.

As Kyle crouched inside a narrow cave, the earth beneath him began to tremble. He turned his gaze upward, squinting past the jagged rocks above, and his breath caught. The SafeZone's floating island loomed closer than usual, drifting lower in the sky, its protective cloud veil thinning.

Then, he turned toward the path outside, just enough to get a glimpse, and what he saw made his blood run cold.

A swarm of hostile entities surged across the terrain. Titans lumbered forward like living mountains. Behind them, giant plasma spiders, nearly as massive, crawled over ruins with alien grace. And flanking them were elves, their eyes glowing, their lips twisted into knowing grins.

Kyle’s heart thundered. “This can’t be happening,” he whispered, staggering back into the cave.

With trembling hands, he summoned the last of his mana to form a faint barrier over himself. Then, in silence, he curled beneath it, shut his eyes... and prayed.

Kyle had just finished praying when he instinctively covered his ears, the echo of silence overwhelming. He hadn’t realized his barrier had dropped.

Too late... a pack of elves stepped from the mist, their grins twisted and feral like demons savoring their prey.

They raised their blades, until, in a blink, they were riddled with crimson arrows, each shot weaving through the air like serpents. The elves collapsed, lifeless, before they could even scream.

Then the ground shook, a low, rumbling quake rolled through the earth, so heavy and vast it felt as though giants had collapsed nearby. Kyle's system flared alive:

> System: “Warning. Zone threshold breach detected. Initiating Suppression Protocol. All players advised to remain in cover until Guardians of the SafeZone secure the perimeter.”

Kyle’s breath hitched. “Guardians?” he muttered, eyes snapping to the broken entrance, where dozens of elf corpses lay sprawled.

He moved to rise, but froze as a shadow emerged from the fog, steady and slow. His blade lifted on instinct.

> System: “Mana depleted. Forcing release may result in fainting… or death.”

“This is bad,” Kyle whispered, gripping his dagger with trembling fingers.

“We’ve heard the stories… of a man named Kyle,” she said, her voice calm but edged with something deeper, respect. “A lone player in the Broken Zone, risking everything. Learning. Fighting. Bleeding. All to survive, and to send money back to your grandmother.”

Her boots clicked against the cracked stone as she stepped closer, the crimson bow in her hand glinting under the flickering SafeZone lights. Arrows pulsed faintly behind her, humming with bound mana. Her mechanical left arm bore battle scars, and around her limbs, heavy chains coiled like serpents, more than just ornaments.

On her shoulder glowed a golden angelic crest, the symbol of the Angel Guild, humming with divine mana.

“You taught us something no rank, no gear, no title could replace... how to adapt, how to survive. And outside these cursed boundaries, your name became more than a whisper. It became a lesson.”

Kyle blinked, still catching his breath, his blade lowering just slightly.

“I can’t believe it…” he muttered, staring at her as if the chaos around them had gone silent. “A Captain of the Angel Guild… an actual Guardian of the Broken Zone’s SafeZone?”

He smiled faintly through the blood on his face. “I must be the luckiest bastard alive to run into someone like you.”

She chuckled, a short, genuine sound that echoed oddly against the shattered air. “You’re not lucky, Kyle. You’re still alive… and that means your story isn’t done yet.”

She extended her mechanical hand toward Kyle, her expression gentle, even warm. Kyle exhaled, the tension slipping from his shoulders. He reached out to clasp her hand in thanks, only for his instincts to kick in at the last second. He shifted his grip, aiming to tap it lightly instead.

But something was off.

Her smile didn’t change, but her eyes lingered too long. The next moment, the metal plates of her mechanical arm split apart with a hiss, snapping shut around Kyle’s wrist like a vice.

“Ah—! What the hell?!” he gasped, gritting his teeth as pain lanced through his arm.

He looked up, and froze.

Her eyes, once soft and steady, now glowed with a deep crimson hue, pulsing like a corrupted system signal. Her smile twisted into something hollow.

“Not... again,” Kyle whispered.

Then came the buzz in his skull, the System has appeared once more.

> System: “Controlled Player Active. You must purify the target using a Longevity Potion applied directly to their mana core via wand. New mission activated.”

> System: “Reward: Wand Upgrade – Tier Unknown.”

Kyle’s heart pounded. "She's... corrupted? By who?!"