The term "real projection" in the Star-Moon Continent refers to but one thing: the war game. From its name, it might seem like a mere recreational activity for entertainment, but in reality, it represents a great achievement, a perfect fusion of alchemy and magic circles.
On an etched magic circle, whatever you can imagine will materialize, as if the very event is happening at that very moment. The only imperfection lies in the fact that everything presented is in a "miniature" version.
Right now, for instance, a vast expanse of plain appears atop the blue magic circle. To the right of the plain lies a winding river that stretches far ahead, while on the other side, a circular mountain range nearly encircles the plain.
Everything feels real. Gazing at the plain, within this empty room, you can almost hear the gentle sobs of the breeze, like a woman's soft tears, and the roar of the surging river. Occasionally, the long-drawn-out neigh of warhorses can also be heard.
Near the mountain range on the plain, the densely packed army of the Al-As Empire, led by Duke Roselle, is stationed, with towering tents sprawling for kilometers. On the other side, the allied forces of three countries, trapped in a desperate situation, huddle together, firmly pressed against the banks of the Ailuer River.
This is the Battle of the Lionheart Plain.
The fat boy's eyes widen in amazement. It's the first time he's witnessed such a realistic scene outside of an actual battlefield, and for the adorable fat boy, everything is incredulous.
Four people stand before the magic circle: two middle-aged examiners in light purple military uniforms adorned with medals, a white-haired magician in a yellow robe, and Qingyin.
One of the middle-aged examiners is towering, like a steel tower, with a finger-length scar between his thick black eyebrows, exuding a fierce aura. The other is of medium build, with fair skin and a hint of gloom between his brows.
As for the elderly, gray-haired magician, he resembles many wise men—weathered yet simple, giving people a sense of reassurance. It seems that as long as this magician is by one's side, no difficulty is unsolvable. The old magician holds a pale white, hexagonal staff in one hand and a thick magic book in the other, his arms stretched out, enveloped in a glow of the same color as the magic circle.
"Heijin, your topic for this time is the Battle of the Lionheart Plain. Do you have any questions?" The fair-skinned middle-aged examiner holds a continentally-used swan-quill pen in one hand and a thin, square wooden board with a sheet of paper bearing a few words in the other.
"No," the fat boy shakes his head, his full attention now on the war game, observing everything meticulously.
The fair-skinned examiner frowns slightly at the fat boy's casual response, the gloom between his brows intensifying.
"You'll now go to the right side of the magic circle. This examiner, Hall, will be your opponent." The fair-skinned examiner says indifferently to the fat boy.
"Uh huh," the fat boy nods, then takes two small steps, standing within a smaller magic circle.
On either side of the main magic circle are two smaller ones, where the players should stand during the game.
The magic circle the fat boy now stands in represents the side of the 50,000-strong army led by his grandfather, Duke Roselle, while the other side represents the remnants of the three allied countries.
"Heijin, you're wrong. It's the right side." The fair-skinned examiner furrows his brows slightly before saying to the fat boy.
He emphasizes the word "right" heavily, almost afraid that the fat boy won't hear it clearly.
"Right? I'm standing on the right... from where I'm standing, this is the right side." The fat boy looks innocent.
The fair-skinned examiner takes a deep breath, glances at the fat boy's previous position, then says, "Alright then, stand on the left side."
The magic circle is shaped like a hexagram, so from the examiner's perspective, the side representing the remnants of the three countries is the right, while the side representing Duke Roselle's forces is the left. However, from the fat boy's previous position, it was the opposite.
Although the fair-skinned examiner's expression is sour, his voice remains calm as he speaks.
"Left side?" The fat boy seems to have a poor sense of direction. After silently comparing, he remains rooted to the spot, like a pillar.
"Heijin, I said left. Can't you even tell left from right?" The fair-skinned examiner says in a low voice, a hint of anger creeping into his tone.
"It's the left. From the examiner's perspective, this is the left side," the fat boy says, looking innocent again, as if he's suffered a great injustice.
At this point, the fair-skinned examiner finally realizes that the fat boy isn't confused about left and right.
The fair-skinned examiner's face darkens almost to the point of dripping water, but then he seems to think of something, and a sly smile suddenly appears on his lips, quickly dissipating his annoyance.
"Heijin, please go to the other side, the one near the Ailuer River within the magic circle," the fair-skinned examiner says with a smile to the fat boy.
"Ailuer River..." The fat boy's brows knit together, finally realizing that the middle-aged examiner wants him to lead the remnants of the three allied countries.
"Oh my god, am I an idiot? To let an idiot lead the remnants of the Three Kingdoms armies? That's just asking for trouble!" The fat man's eyes spun rapidly as he looked questioningly at Qingyin.
At this moment, the fat man noticed that Qingyin's delicate eyebrows, shaped like crescent moons, had furrowed tightly, seemingly just as confused about what was happening.
Qingyin's analysis was correct, and the fat man had already confirmed this in his heart earlier. But why was this happening now?
To let him lead the remnants of the Three Kingdoms armies? To let a universally acknowledged idiot lead them? Wasn't the person who made this decision even more of an idiot than him?
The fat man was in a foul mood, and anyone in his position would feel the same. Suddenly switching from the bully to the bullied, the shattering of "hope" was unbearable.
But then, the fat man's next move left everyone stunned.
A charming, endearing smile appeared on his face. When people said he was cute, they couldn't help but want to slap him. When they said he wasn't cute, his face was inexplicably filled with laughter.
"Teacher, are you sure you haven't made a mistake? Is it..." The fat man said ingratiatingly.
Before the fair-skinned middle-aged examiner could even answer, the fat man felt as if he were being lifted into the clouds. A powerful force suddenly erupted at the back of his head, and his legs left the ground, hovering a dozen centimeters above it.
The fat man was lifted up like a "chicken" by the towering Holl instructor and then thrown heavily aside.
With a loud "bang," the fat man's butt made intimate contact with the magic circle on the other side.
"The Duke is a hero, how come you're a coward?" Holl's voice boomed with anger.
"Coward..." The fat man was furious, genuinely furious. Not because of the word "coward" itself, which didn't hurt. It was because his plump butt had almost been shattered into eight pieces from that throw, and the pain was excruciating.
"Dammit..." The fat man sprang up from the ground like an agile monkey. "I'm going to fight you to the..." He quickly realized that if this were his own world, he might have had the means to challenge the dark-faced Holl to a duel. But here, it would be suicide.
The fat man snorted coldly and then stood in the magic circle, looking down his nose at Holl like a proud rooster.
"I can't beat you in a fight, but I'll crush you here. Isn't it just one to five? I've fought battles with a thousand against ten thousand before. What's a hundred thousand against five hundred thousand?" The fat man clenched his fists tightly, but tears streamed down his face uncontrollably. His butt was still burning with pain.