Chris was cursing up a storm.
He had never been a spoilsport, even if he disliked the motives behind the second Revenge Fleet and the Vanilla Elf players aboard its ships.
Overall, however, Chris had done nothing to obstruct the formation of the second Revenge Fleet. His refusal to sell them battleships had not been driven by personal feelings, but official considerations. Besides, they could not scrape together enough reputation points and military merit. Who could they blame for that?
As the second Revenge Fleet prepared for its great battle with the Elf Fleet, Chris was watching. Through the players' livestreams, third-person views, and map functions, he followed the battle's developments in real time.
Like Eliunor, Chris believed the second Revenge Fleet had little chance of winning that night, though their reasons differed.
Chris understood the players. He was certain they would fight to the death in that night's naval battle. Even if their ships sank, as long as they remained alive, they would swim toward nearby friendly vessels, or simply swim over to enemy ships and attempt to board them.
Their greatest strength was also their greatest weakness.
The players' frenzied hunger for battle meant that once the fighting began, they would soon abandon their original steady, methodical, blood-for-blood tactics and turn into a pack of mad dogs with no coordination whatsoever.
Once their formation fell apart, the elves would have plenty of openings. By the next day, the elves would have paid a bloody price, but as long as they were willing to accept a certain number of casualties, their victory would be assured.
Yet an unexpected upheaval changed everything.
When the sky lit up with an unnatural red glow, Chris sensed something wrong even from the distant Greek Continent. It was not through sight, but through some