The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

This answer made Joseph silent for a moment.

He thought of the German officer and the bullet of unknown origin. If someone was already watching him back then... He had been in this instance for more than half a year, initially using the identity of an "ordinary soldier" as cover, but after the Marne River, his achievements were too real to be concealed—Brigadier General Hill knew him, Captain Wilson knew him, and Alfred's attitude towards him was also changing.

What about the people outside the instance?

Joseph can only see his own position on the player leaderboard; he can't see the rankings of others. He doesn't know if this is because he's still trapped in the dungeon and has to wait to get out to see the whole picture, or because he's never cleared any dungeons and therefore hasn't unlocked this privilege. He understands very little about the system's rules; he's practically completely in the dark right now.

The question he asked Robert earlier was actually a test—a test to see if there were any rules in the game that he was completely unaware of. He had this intuition because he felt that Robert had been hiding something.

And now, that answer itself is the answer.

Based on the rules Joseph currently understands, players' actions seem independent, with no overlap in interests—you do your dungeon, I do mine, what difference does a high ranking make? It doesn't directly crush others. He can't figure out what a top-ranked player means to other players, what they covet or fear.

But Robert's answer indirectly proved that this understanding was wrong.

A player who rises too quickly in the rankings will come under the scrutiny of others. Being targeted, observed, even targeted—there must be a reason. It's just that Joseph doesn't know that reason yet.

Joseph nodded casually, without replying. After a moment, he changed direction and asked in a seemingly casual tone, "How long have you been in this instance?"

"More than three months," Robert said.

"Did you adapt quickly? When you first came in?"

Robert snorted, a hint of sneer in his voice. "I'm alright. Most people who come in can't even hold a gun properly for the first two weeks." He said this casually, as if discussing something common knowledge. "Ordinary people—they know nothing before they come in. Tactics, terrain, they have to learn everything on the spot. At first, it's all just blind stumbling around, and not many can make it through the first two months."

He paused, his tone carrying a hint of casual assessment, "That's why your situation is rare. You've only been in here a short time, yet your record is already solid, with low casualties and your own tactics—" He glanced at Joseph, "either it's luck, or it's because you're fundamentally different."

"Luck," Joseph said, his tone flat.

Robert didn't press the matter further; his lips twitched, and he dropped the subject.

Joseph didn't answer again, and pondered silently in his mind.

An ordinary person. They knew nothing before coming in.

Therefore, most players are truly ordinary people—lacking military history knowledge, unaware of the timeline of World War I, unaware of the trench width on the Western Front and the blind spots of German machine gun fire, unaware of the strategic intent of the Marne counter-offensive, and unaware of the location and timing at which a squad's advance route would be exposed to flank fire.

Before entering this instance, Joseph had been a military history blogger for eight years.

When Robert said this, he didn't realize what information he was telling Joseph.

He casually brushed the topic aside, saying, "Okay, I got it." Then he looked up at Robert and said, "I have another question."

"explain."

"Was your joining the German camp a voluntary choice, or was it assigned by the system?"

Robert was visibly taken aback; this question was clearly outside the scope of his expected conversation. "...Why do you ask that?"

"I'm curious," Joseph said. "I know there are rankings, but I don't know how other players choose their factions."

Robert stared at him for two or three seconds, his expression hard to read, it was unclear whether he was assessing the situation or deciding how much of the truth to tell. Finally, he spoke, "Part of it is system allocation, and part of it is... there are channels to intervene."

"What channel?"

"Well," Robert slowly shook his head, a smile returning to his lips, "that's not on the agenda for tonight's conversation. Lyndon, you've asked more questions than I expected. I'm here to discuss cooperation, not to exchange intelligence."

Joseph nodded, not pressing further, and changed the subject, "Okay, let's get back to the cooperation. Give me three days to consider it. Once I've decided on the terms, I'll discuss the specifics with you."

Robert's expression relaxed more noticeably, and his smile became more genuine. "You're easier to talk to than I thought."

"I just don't like making decisions casually," Joseph paused, then added, his tone casual, but his eyes betraying his true feelings, "Also, since we're going to talk about cooperation, you have to tell me one thing—"

"What is it?"

"Have you ever... targeted me before?"

The air was silent for a few seconds.

Robert didn't answer immediately, but looked at Joseph for a moment. "What exactly do you mean?"

"In the village of Mellen, there was a German officer who was shot in the back. The bullet was at an unusual angle," Joseph said calmly. "Did you shoot him?"

Robert remained silent for an even longer time than before, then said softly, "No."

Is it true? Joseph couldn't verify it. Regardless of whether it was true or not, Robert didn't deny it outright without batting an eye; the pause in between was suspicious.

"Okay," Joseph said, "I'll think about it for three days. Wait for my reply. How should we contact each other?"

Robert took a small folded note from his pocket and placed it on the ground in front of Joseph. "After 10 p.m., put this note under the third plank at the entrance to trench number seven. I'll come back for it." He straightened up, took a step back, and added, "Oh, and Lyndon—"

Joseph looked up.

"Think it through now. This conversation is between the two of us. But if you agree and then back out..." He paused, "I've already observed your tactical characteristics. Your curved breakthroughs, your routes using shell craters as cover, the timing of your and McDonnell's coordinated demolitions—this information will probably reach the Germans in about two hours."

Joseph did not speak.

"When the time comes, no matter which line your platoon starts from, there will be people waiting on the other side," Robert said. "Your low casualty record will end very well."

He paused after he finished speaking, waiting for Joseph's reaction.

Joseph yawned.

"Alright," he said, "make sure you block that sheet metal when you go out, the cold wind is blowing straight down my neck."

It was a corrugated iron plate leaning against the entrance of the bunker—these simple hiding places dug into the trench wall had no door, so the soldiers used this to prop up the entrance to block mud, shrapnel, and wind.

Robert paused for a second, then chuckled softly. He squeezed through the narrow entrance, reached back for the iron plate, slowed his movements, and carefully moved it along the trench wall, inch by inch, to block the opening—sounds travel far at night, and if the iron plate hit the mud wall, the noise would drift a long way along the trench.

The bunker went dark instantly.