“This is your idea of an ambush? A joke like this? You think you can throw your weight around just because you’re using God-Emperor Gaedashiram’s hand-me-downs?” one of the Pontiffs sneered.

“The hell? Are these NPCs glitched or something? Celebrating while standing on my damn head?”

Iron Cavalry lay flat on the ground, cursing non-stop. Several imperial soldiers were smearing mud from their boots all over his face. The dude was so mad he nearly rage-quit life on the spot.

“Calm down! Just hang tight. Once I get up, I’m making you all regret ever logging in!”

“Son of a—has our Knights ever been humiliated like this before? When I get up, I swear I’ll crush your balls like walnuts!”

The fury gauge of the Knights players was spiking hard. Spectators watching the inner-faction fight of the Light Dragon Empire felt just as let down—they’d expected Godslayer Guild to pull off some epic counter.

Instead, not even a minute had passed before the entire crew got wiped. Flawless defeat. No plot twist.

“Speed up! Archers, mages—fire at will!”

“Don’t let a single adventurer escape!”

The death of Godslayer’s 800 cavalry units gave the Empire forces a massive morale boost.

The NPC troops, who’d been tentative at first, instantly turned aggressive and began charging in.

“This is a wash. Totally unplayable. The alliance went in too deep. Who’s actually surrounding who here? The player commander clearly has no idea.”

“Sure, Celestial Fortress is unbeatable, but wiping out the Imperial fleet takes time. With our forces stretched, by the time reinforcements arrive, it’ll be too little too late.”

The Empire’s elite warriors, Frostwolf Ghostfang Cavalry, and barbarian heavy infantry all had absurdly high stats.

In 1v1s, ordinary players barely lasted seconds—now imagine being swarmed.

Still, Godslayer’s knights weren’t exactly paper dolls. Even while surrounded, they managed to take out over 500 NPCs.

Not that it changed anything.

“That Godslayer guy—Madman, right? If I were him, I’d be doing seppuku right now. What kind of garbage-tier tactics are these?”

…

Chat commanders flooded the stream. The official broadcast took the chance to launch a player poll: “What should the alliance do next?”

Eighty percent voted to abandon the front and make a dash for Riftrock City. If they could capture the main stronghold, the geography would give them the leverage to keep the fight going.

At least then, they’d lose with some dignity.

“Thanks to player Madman for sending five Super Mega Rockets! You’ve earned one Golden Blessing draw!”

“Dear VIP, do you have any tactical advice for the player alliance?”

The host, a cheerful young lady, beamed as she received her 10% cut from the gift haul. Then she suddenly froze. “Wait… ldMadman? Isn’t he the commander of Godslayer?”

SirLagsALot blinked. “Dude’s still in the mood to gift rockets? Mid-battle?”

A golden bullet comment floated up across the screen, pure swagger.

Madman: “Anyone else talking smack—I’m tearing your guild HQ down after this war.”

“Step down! This is some trash-tier commanding. If it were me, I’d’ve steamrolled the Empire in thirty minutes!”

“Yeah right. Deputy Guild Leader of Godslayer my ass. Everyone knows you’re only here ’cause you’re Orgod’s favorite lapdog.”

“Exactly! I’m a 10-year Godslayer fan and I can’t even watch this. Without Orgod, you’re nothing—just another easy target!”

…

“I…” Madman looked like his soul had been shattered. He’d thought the trolls would back off out of fear for Godslayer’s reputation.

Nope. These bullet comment warriors were true fans, and they wanted Madman gone. For Orson’s sake, they’d do it themselves.

“Don’t look at me—I disown this guy.” Orson stroked his chin.

“Oh, is that how it is? Fine. When I wreck all your faces later, don’t cry!”

Madman was fuming now. For once, even Orson couldn’t joke. One glare from Madman shut him right up.

“Don’t stop me. If I don’t make these NPCs eat dirt today, I’ll write my name backward!”

Madman shot to his feet, the usual sleazy, cocky demeanor gone. His eyes were practically on fire.

“Do your thing,” Orson said with a smile.

Madman was no scrub. He was a tactical genius from the National Defense Academy. His usual image—arrogant, sleazy, pervy—was just an act. When he got serious, even guild veterans trembled.

“Enemy’s in the kill zone. Mixed Squads 1–12, prepare!”

“Pull Imperial fire onto yourselves!”

Madman’s eyes sparkled as he fired off commands at lightning speed.

“Groups 13–25, deploy goblin airships! Get ready to drop bombs!”

“Mages, stagger into three groups. Cast grade-D [Slow].”

“Clerics, buff the assault teams!”

“Archers, spread out. Target enemy healers. Disrupt casting!”

“Warrior teams, anyone with CelestialSoul Seal or Dragon Knight class—follow me to take out their Domain Masters and Saint Lords!”

Players burst from the hills on all sides.

“Enemy ambush!” shouted an Imperial scout.

“Finally making a move! Time to see if they’re real or just smoke.”

“Are those high-tier war machines? No… wait—holy crap, that’s a freaking airship! Looks ancient, though.”

Dark red glows lit up as ten rusty goblin airships descended.

The players on board weren’t elite class-wise—but in FPS games, these were the grenade gods, the ones with god-tier throwing arms.

They popped their heads out, smirking. Their belts were covered in pitch-black rocks.

“This game’s the best thing I’ve ever played, woohoo!”

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

A girl who clearly played for fun tossed a rock laughing like a maniac. The rest joined in, hurling like mad at the Empire troops below.

Crit -2

Blunt Hit -500

…

The damage was low, but the humiliation factor? Off the charts. Viewers were baffled.

“They built all these rusty flying hunks… just to drop rocks? Where’s the dignity?”

Clang! Clang! Clang! Rocks bounced off Imperial helmets. Players watching cringed hard. What was the Godslayer Alliance even doing?

“Wait… why do these things look familiar? Are those… grenades?” SirLagsALot squinted.

The commentators cracked up.

“Next time try bigger rocks. You might get a better Crit multiplier,” one joked.

“Hmph, just adventurers—ignorant rodents!” snorted a Centurion.

He caught a rock midair and turned to mock his comrades—

But the rock exploded in his hand, blasting his fingers to shreds.

Crippling Strike -1,000,000

Defense -30%

His armor looked like Swiss cheese, and green gas began seeping through.

Wagha Toxin -4000

Wagha Toxin -4000

Cursed Rot: Healing Received -30%

…

A wave of debuffs hit the NPC army like a truck.

“What the fuck?! These are magical grenades? This isn’t even remotely fair!” the male commentator froze.

Fair? No.

Wagha, god of mischief and poison, didn’t do fair.

The chat exploded in question marks. The grenades weren’t just deadly—they came with a buffet of nasty status effects, and a blast radius that made them look like mini-nukes.

Way worse than any one-time enchanted weapon.

Hundreds of grenades detonated almost simultaneously.

Green mist and shrapnel tore through the Imperial ranks. Screams of agony echoed as blood sprayed like a horror show.

Over 3,000 NPCs died or were maimed in seconds. It was pure chaos—hell on earth.

“This is insane… I love it. I’m actually scared,” the host squealed.

The commentators exchanged looks. This wasn’t a battle—it was a modern army steamrolling medieval peasants.

And this was only the beginning.

Booms continued to shake the earth. The Empire’s formation fell apart. Cowardly NPCs began fleeing to nearby hills.

“Retreat, and die!”

Judicial Executor Daziel swung his sword, a giant cross slash cleaving seven deserters into meat chunks. That finally stopped the collapse.

But the healing reduction debuff crippled their clerics. Empire foot soldiers were getting slaughtered even with support.

Only the Ghostfang Frostwolves, barbarians, and Imperial Holy Knights held strong. Their discipline and power were unmatched.

Even as allies died beside them, they surged forward like machines.

“Damn it… I’m not done having fun!” one female player pouted.

“For real—give us a hundred million of those grenades and we’ll turn every NPC into radioactive dust!”

Thirty goblin airships took turns bombing the Empire into submission, leaving a battlefield covered in loot.

“Deploy siege ballistae! Shoot those heretical machines down!” a Pontiff yelled, barely keeping morale from collapsing.

Too bad. The grenades were limited production. Otherwise, the alliance could’ve just grenade-spammed their way to victory.

“God of Iron Cavalry!” Madman suddenly shouted as the airships pulled back.

“I’m not dead yet, dammit! Got something to say, say it now!” Iron Cavalry was still lying on the ground.

“If that’s your name, then you better know what it means.”

Madman’s voice grew louder, pointing to the southern part of the map, emphasizing every word:

“Forever City is right behind you. So act like a knight—and if it takes your corpse to break their lines, then do it!”

“You don’t need to tell me twice!”

Iron Cavalry’s battle spirit exploded. He rose like a death god from the dirt, wearing the shoddiest Forbidden Magic-tier gear you could get from bargain crafting.

“Knights! All of you—listen up!”

He raised his weapon, a legendary blade named Seven-Star Frost Dragon. His eyes blazed with fury.

“As long as Godslayer Knights live, Forever City will never fall! Mount up!”

The line went viral instantly. Millions of viewers felt their blood pump as they imagined the true God of Iron Cavalry trampling his enemies into dust.

But… no one saw any horses on screen.

“Holy shit! That’s your mount?”

A hundred dark shadows lit up across the battlefield.

Players froze. Then cursed loudly in front of their holographic screens.

They weren’t mounts.

They were giant, mountain-sized metal monsters.