One by one, the others rushed in behind Orson, quickly mopping up the wounded NPCs scattered by the blast.

“Orson, are you even human?!”

Blank emerged from the rubble, covered in dust, absolutely furious as she stormed over and grabbed his collar. “Who gave you permission to drop an AOE nuke while I was still inside?!”

“Oh, right,” Orson replied with a calm smile, zero remorse in his tone. “Totally slipped my mind you were in there. My bad.”

“Our leader’s got a fish brain, huh? Three-second memory?”

“Fish? He’s got straight-up amnesia. Blank just dove in and he carpet-bombed the whole place. What the hell, man?!”

The Slaughter Guild players were full of righteous indignation.

Slaughter Spree stretched his neck, about to jump in with a scathing critique, but one icy glare from Bradley shut him right up.

“Probably just… a misclick,” Slaughter Spree offered weakly, palms up.

A misclick? From one of Infinite Dimensions’ top-tier archmages?

Everyone stared at him, veins throbbing, just as Orson turned around and said in all seriousness, “A sharp analysis from the Slaughter Guild. I can assure you this won’t happen again—please believe in my moral character.”

Wait, what?

Believe in Orgod’s character?

Since when did that guy have anything resembling ethics?

“Hey, even a horse can stumble, right?” Orson added, casually twirling his staff. The Slaughter Guild crew all got goosebumps and nodded like obedient schoolchildren.

“There we go. Misunderstanding resolved.”

Orson smiled brightly, then turned to the still-fuming Blank and whispered, “You owe me a bowl of instant noodles. Consider us even now.”

Blank’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

So this whole thing wasn’t about priests—it was just petty revenge? This guy was so vindictive it was almost impressive.

“Hellooo~ Duke Kassadin, how about you make yourself useful now?”

Orson’s voice was light and cheerful as he strolled forward.

In the ruined hall of the estate, Duke Kassadin stood surrounded by four Domain Lord-class Golden Dragon Guards. Their vertical golden pupils locked onto Orson with unblinking hostility.

Several charred corpses lay near Bryan, the city lord of Riftrock, his guards having died protecting him.

Kassadin’s expression twisted. All around him, his remaining troops were being slaughtered by Bradley and the others.

He hadn’t expected this. Not in a million years.

He had completed the Pope’s mission and claimed Riftrock City, along with its allied forces. But then a handful of lunatics came crashing in, piloting war machines and summoning a mythical phoenix to annihilate everything.

Even the only Golden Dragon Knight from his house had fallen.

“Defend the honor of The Golden House!”

“Golden Dragon Guard—attack!”

The four Dragon Guards roared, gold scales rising as their presence surged.

“You think I forgot you bastards ambushed me? Now it’s payback time!” Slaughter Spree cursed and immediately summoned his battered wind dragon, unleashing a breath attack without hesitation.

One of the guards raised a shield bearing the family crest, bracing for the blast. The other three charged at Orson.

“You won’t escape justice, Kingslayer!” Kassadin hissed, pulling out a teleportation scroll.

Orson just kept walking, smiling calmly. He didn’t even blink as the three guards reached him, unleashing deadly combat arts.

Clang!

“Mixed-blood trash. I’ve killed six of your kind already.” Bradley intercepted one with a scornful smirk, his blade slicing into the guard’s path.

“A mage should stay in the back.” Blank slid in front of Orson, stomping down on a blade mid-swing, redirecting its arc before flipping onto the guard’s shoulders and jamming her dagger into his neck.

“Children of the Golden Dragon, looks like your ancestors forgot to teach you some manners.”

Madman grinned coldly. A golden blur streaked out—his blade punched straight through the last guard’s chest.

Amidst the storm of combat skills, Orson stood untouched.

Because while he might not be invincible, he had friends worth relying on.

“Quarla, you…?”

Kassadin was stunned as a ragged old man with wild yellow hair approached.

“Pay your respects to the savior of dragonkind,” Quarla sighed, golden eyes gleaming coldly.

He was still mid-evolution into Sky King. His wrinkles had faded, and golden draconic power shimmered off his body.

“Madman’s mount?! Are you kidding me?!” Bradley’s voice cracked with envy. “That’s not fair! Why him?!”

“It’s just a mount, chill out.” Madman waved dismissively. “Golden dragons? Sit on ’em and they poke your butt. No fun at all.”

He grinned like a lunatic.

Nobody believed him. Everyone was green with jealousy.

This was a nearly evolved dragon lord. Its value was immeasurable.

“Orson, I want one…” Bradley whined to his brother, who just shrugged helplessly. “That’s not his mount—it’s basically his grandmaster.”

“Wait, what?” Ruby blinked. “You mean Madman took a golden dragon as his mentor? That’s… that’s some messy seniority.”

Everyone laughed.

“Look at this guy, riding into battle on his master. The perfect face for the Godslayer ‘rat-brained’ tactician.”

“Damn it, do I not get any dignity?!”

Madman’s face turned crimson.

“Quarla, stop wasting time. Take out these little ducklings!” he shouted.

“As you command, my most promising disciple,” Quarla replied with a sly grin, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Dumb dragon…” Madman grumbled, but deep down, he knew it was true. Their contract made Quarla his bonded beast—but the relationship was more complicated than that.

Whisper of the Wind!

Green light swirled around Orson’s arms, boosting his attack speed. He flung a Chaos Magic Ball, disrupting Kassadin’s teleport.

Crit -1.1 million!

Crit -1.14 million!

Kassadin stumbled, trying to cast Body Domination to force a teleport escape.

Bradley sneered and immediately fired off Soul Seal, nullifying the attempt.

The Flame Dragon.

Orson pointed his staff, calling down a blazing dragon that slammed Kassadin into the air. Blank followed up in a flash, unleashing a deadly combo.

The team worked in perfect sync.

Soon, Kassadin was on the verge of death. His Dragon Guards lay in pieces—torn apart by Quarla’s merciless strikes.

“Kill me if you want! But even if I die, the two clan kings will avenge me!” Kassadin spat blood, glaring with hatred.

“Oh, that right?”

Orson gestured, and the others backed off.

He tossed something casually forward—a mangled, barely-recognizable head.

Kassadin’s expression froze. “The barbarian high priest… he had Titan blood…”

“I surrender! I pledge myself to the great Conqueror!”

Kassadin dropped to one knee, smiling obsequiously.

Duke Kassadin of the Golden House has proposed a deal.

Offer: In exchange for his life, you gain full command over the Golden House Legion.

Accept?

“The Golden House’s 300,000 troops will serve at your command!”

Gasps rippled through the group.

Three hundred thousand elite NPC soldiers, all from one of the Four Great Houses—far stronger than standard Imperial forces.

“Take the deal, Orson,” Blank said urgently. “With an army like that, our coalition’s power will skyrocket.”

Orson turned slowly, voice cold. “Why don’t you command the army then? Let’s see if they follow you… or me.”

“Captain, think strategically. We can’t afford to lose Forever City. If the US players lose this war, it won’t just be Godslayer who falls.”

Her tone was firm. She knew what was coming if they lost the Lightdragon Civil War.

If Godslayer collapsed, international players hostile to the US would pile on without mercy.

“The hell with your grand strategy,” Orson growled, eyes sharp with fury.

He had had enough.