Trading Flesh for Bone

Watching him go so far as to put that deserter to work as a dedicated punishment unit, I felt something truly complicated and hard to pin down — never mind the fact that teamkilling was even possible in this event. The way that guy was exploiting it left me with a thoroughly strange taste in my mouth.

But that only lasted a moment.

With those extra forces crashing in on top of everything else, the enemy team finally decided they couldn't hold out any longer. They surrendered to us and took the loss.

Minor problems are usually just bugs.

That long, grinding first battle ended the moment we accepted their surrender.

The instant we did, every player's fleet and supers — myself included — were shunted into some unidentifiable space. Right after that, a results window for the battle bloomed in front of my eyes, laying out just how ferocious the fight had been…

Holy moly holy moly.

A damage report that shocking greeted me, and I couldn't keep the confusion from welling up inside.

Sure, if you only looked at raw ship counts, we'd lost over three hundred more hulls than they had — enough that you might wonder whether we'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠actually just lost. But looking at the types of ships that went down and the loss points, it was obvious: we were the ones who'd traded flesh to grind their bones to powder.

Small craft? Destroyers? Escorts?

Ramming dozens of those into the enemy was nothing compared to smashing their battleships and battlecruisers to scrap. That was a way better deal.

Jackpot.

And there was one more stroke of luck on top of that…

"Ah, Commander?"

"What."

"Everyone who was deployed in that battle is back."

"…How?"

"I don't really know either, but according to them, everything around them suddenly sparkled and the next thing they knew, they were here."

Our supers and ships that had been charging straight into the enemy fleet had all automatically returned without me even noticing. It was a little disappointing that I never got to say thanks or properly part ways with the teammates we'd fought alongside — but at least I hadn't been randomly separated from my precious supers like some tragic family drama. All things considered, it was a good outcome.

And within a few minutes, I also figured out what this pitch-black void of a place actually was.

"Hmm."

"So this dark space is basically a refresh lounge after combat?"

"Pretty much."

Thanks to that, I also got a feel for exactly how this event was going to flow.

"Looking at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠setup, this event just hands you a short reorg window after each fight and then throws you straight back into combat."

"That does seem to be the case. The good news is our fleet took relatively light damage."

I nodded at Jessica's words, watching the welding flashes of auto-repair bots sparking across the hull of the Hresvelgr I was currently aboard. Ships scattered here and there were busily running self-repairs, and the ones in rougher shape had one of the seven resource-mining-slash-repair ships we'd brought clinging to their sides, working hard. It was a pretty satisfying sight.

But the good mood didn't last long.

While I was watching strategic missiles being loaded into the Hresvelgr's big, beautiful launch tubes, a thought suddenly cut through my mind…

Wait a second. Didn't they say ship reinforcements aren't allowed in this event?

The moment that hit me, I asked Jessica again about our fleet's losses.

"Our fleet losses, sir? One moment… one heavy cruiser, one light cruiser, three destroyers, and one corvette."

"Six ships."

"Is something wrong, Commander?"

"We came in with sixty-five ships. We've already lost ten percent."

Separate from the point-value losses, looking at overall hull count, we were down ten percent — more precisely, 9.23-whatever percent — in a single engagement. And that was only counting ships that had been completely sunk.

"This is bad, Jessica."

"What is?"

"This event was never about just crushing the other side and winning."

"…Then what?"

"You have to thoroughly preserve your own fleet while forcing the enemy fleet into mutual destruction with your allies. If you don't take that approach, you're finished."

"…!!!"

That was also when I finally understood why that one troll in the last match had suddenly started moving like he'd awakened.

"The guy who grabbed that deserter and dragged him along had figured this out from the start. He was doing it on purpose."

"Ahh… but then won't every battle just turn into complete chaos?"

"Chaos how?"

"You said friendly teamkilling is possible, didn't you? So people might start shooting their own allies the moment a match begins."

Jessica pressed the point with what was essentially the prisoner's dilemma.

"If you don't attack your allies and fight the enemy properly, you risk losing your fleet and getting crushed helplessly in the next round…"

"But?"

"But if you attack your allies first, wear them down, and force a mutual wipe with the enemy, only your fleet makes it to the next round intact."

"Right. Except if the enemy comes out of that unscathed, you've ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠got a serious problem."

"You know the prisoner's dilemma ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as well as I do, Commander. In a situation like this, the other side will start shooting their own teammates too."

From the moment I grasped the situation, my head started throbbing hard.

Ugh, my brain…

Just fighting a fleet battle was already short-circuiting my neurons — and now she was dumping political-economy theory on me on top of it. You rotten admins, stop stuffing this kind of vicious information into my skull.

And separate from all that, I still couldn't understand why they'd even enabled friendly teamkilling and driven the event toward the worst possible outcome. At this rate, were we supposed to play the event or not? It was like they were flaunting, right out in the open, We are the ones who kidnapped hundreds of thousands of minds and shoved them into a game!

So on top of the event truth I'd just figured out, I now had to watch for backstabs from my own allies the moment I entered combat. The sheer absurdity of it left me speechless.

But about four hours after that conversation…