"This is a Siren card? So you're into Tactical Array Cards too?"

Tactical Array Cards were invented by a brilliant alchemist purely as toys for his grandson. They quickly became a craze among youths.

These cards conjured lifelike illusions, letting users physically experience the appearances and movements of various races and professions depicted on them. Many adored these vivid simulations, turning card collecting into a passionate hobby.

People soon discovered that entering these illusions allowed simulated battles against the characters. This not only honed real combat skills but also revealed techniques from diverse races and professions. Overnight, the cards swept the continent.

The King of the western Anglu Kingdom grew fascinated. He aggressively promoted the game nationwide and hired the alchemist to develop a new feature: battlefield strategy simulation. This upgrade led to the cards’ official name—Tactical Array Cards.

Three years later, Anglu soldiers trained with these cards showed dramatically improved combat prowess. Commanders mastered countless tactics. In a brutal naval battle, they crushed the world’s strongest power—Castile—and seized global dominance. The legend of Tactical Array Cards spread to every nation.

"I’ve collected plenty of Sirens, but never one like yours. What class is she?" I snatched the card impatiently—he’d been blocking part of the artwork with his fingers.

"Whoa! Triple-class! This is ultra-rare! Spearman, Songstress, Hydro Mage." Three tiny squares in the card’s top-left corner displayed a spear, a musical note, and a water droplet. A rare race with three classes—if it had a fourth rare class, its value would skyrocket. My collector’s heart ignited.

"Did you buy this from an Open Pack or a Blind Pack? Where’d you get it?"

Open Packs released fixed sets of rare cards periodically. The cards were visible, priced steeply based on rarity. You might never find the one you wanted—I usually bought these.

Blind Packs contained ten random cards. What you got was pure luck—you might just pull duplicates. Cheap enough for commoners, though I’d heard addicts often spent more than Open Pack buyers.

"I pulled her from a Blind Pack." *Blind Pack?* This guy’s luck was unreal. I’d been calculating whether to hunt the same card in Open Packs—now that option vanished.

"Congrats. Seriously good luck. Nobles blow fortunes chasing cards like this." Now I understood why Imet had been so eager to show off to Haimona.

And why Haimona hadn’t cared. The alchemist was an old gentleman who drew all humanoid races as scantily clad beauties. Their outfits tore easily during battles, showering "fan service." That’s partly why the cards spread so fast. The Anglu King once demanded changes, but the stubborn old man refused—and no one else could alter his designs.

Many women avoided the game entirely, skipping this training method. Experts debated whether this caused female combatants’ lower average strength compared to men, or if it was innate physical and temperamental differences.

"I’d love this card. Trade me? I’ve got other triple-class rare races—tons of variety. Pick anything you like." I’d stockpiled duplicates from Open Packs specifically for trades like this.

"No deal. This was my first pull. It’s a keepsake." *Tch.* So stingy. I owned rarer cards than this.

"Sirens are unique, sure, but useless in real wars. Low individual combat power, zero practicality. Look—she’s got a snake tail. Trade her for a graceful elf girl? Way more useful." I listed flaws, pushing for a swap.

"Useless? Seriously? Try dueling a Siren on the open sea!" Imet fixated on practicality, not aesthetics. Fine—I’d school him.

"Modern wars happen on land. Who fights naval battles anymore? Even if we did, we’d deploy magitech ironclad fleets or divine floating fortresses. For troops, Naga, Merfolk, or Sea Beasts outclass Sirens. Their population’s too small for proper military units—minimal threat."

"During the Empire of Aifei’s Sicilian landing campaign," Imet shot back, eyes gleaming with tactical fervor, "Anglu Sirens infiltrated side islands first. They sang guards to sleep at night and launched a silent ambush..." Like all card enthusiasts, he loved replaying famous battles—even this humiliating defeat in Aifei’s history.

"That was poor preparation! A one-off sneak attack. During the Divine War between the War Goddess and Zoroaster the Prophet, the Aryan Empire tried landing Sirens too. Before they reached shore, the Goddess’s dragon cavalry incinerated them with a single breath..." I was nobility—I’d studied history and warfare since childhood. This amateur couldn’t out-argue me.

"What about when the Lapland Empire and the True God’s forces—"

We bickered for an hour. Food vanished. Wine bottles emptied. Imet sat flushed and panting; my throat was parched.

"You stubborn fool! Let’s settle this with a duel tomorrow. I didn’t bring my projector today." Card duels were the only solution after arguments like this.

"Perfect. I left my deck at the academy too. I accept. If you lose, I get this Siren card—I’ll wager cards of equal value." I stood, stating the stakes by tradition.

He hesitated, then nodded. *Plan in motion. This card is mine.*

Card dueling used the battlefield simulation feature commissioned by the Anglu King. A single card could replicate thousands of identical troops, simulating entire campaigns. Users commanded forces as generals, testing tactics in scenarios ranging from small monster hunts to million-soldier imperial clashes—even godly wars where Demigods roamed like commoners. Reenacting historic battles was every enthusiast’s favorite pastime. Military-grade strategic modules existed too, but civilians never touched those.

Trained since childhood and far richer than Imet, I had overwhelming experience. That Siren card was already in the bag. Smiling, I left the cafeteria.