Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

With The King Family and Moonlight Guild joining forces, the Imperial army was pushed back in defeat after defeat. The players were riding high on their momentum, bloodlust igniting like wildfire.

“I’ll kill you!”

“What, two arms and a head makes you immortal?”

“Brothers, avenge me! The peak of my glory is when I hit my ult!”

Even when outnumbered and outmatched, the raw violence coursing through humanity surged to life.

A random player with an A-rank hidden class—Spellbreaker—leapt into a formation of Empire Mages, body riddled with arrows. With his exclusive skill, Chaos Frenzy, he sacrificed health and mana to trigger temporary invulnerability. His body turned translucent—then exploded in a flash.

A dazzling wave rippled out. Every Empire Mage within a kilometer radius was hit, silenced for 30 seconds.

Magic backlash: -1.4 million!

Magic backlash: -1.5 million!

…

And not just that—those Mages mid-chant suffered instant backlash. His sacrifice inflicted massive AoE damage and opened a path for players to blitz into the Imperial lines.

“Damn, that guy was fearless! I’m giving him half my war credit!”

“Same! That was legendary!”

No one knew his ID. Didn’t matter. In that moment, he became a legend.

These solo players had joined the war for all sorts of reasons—loot, glory, following Orgod as a fan, or just to mess around. But once the bloodbath began and they watched their comrades get torn apart, the only word left in their minds was:

Kill!

Kill one? Break even.

Kill two? Profit.

Even if their mounts died, limbs got severed, or blood soaked the battlefield—they’d crawl with their teeth if they had to.

White lights flashed skyward as thousands died. Severed limbs and splattered organs filled the air, rivers of blood turned the ground into hell’s reflection.

Madman’s assembled players were many, all fighting like rabid beasts. Even the weakest Imperial soldier could one-vs-ten with ease, yet these maniacs charged harder than anyone—completely ignoring things like XP loss or dropped gear.

They only knew one thing: Charge!

No tactics. No discipline. See enemy—stab enemy. If stabbing doesn’t work, call more friends to stab harder.

“Dammit… stop dying like idiots! I said you’d get rich, not go kamikaze!”

Madman’s eyes burned red. In his original plan, randoms were cannon fodder—meant to drain the Empire’s mana reserves. They were just too weak to do real damage.

“Let them continue,” came Orson’s voice in the command channel.

Madman and others froze, stunned.

“Dying a few more times isn’t bad. Don’t underestimate how fast people learn in desperation.” Orson’s voice was cold, nearly devoid of human emotion.

“Shit… shit!” Madman cursed under his breath. He knew Orson was right—but couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

Three hours later, the Empire’s remaining 100,000 troops were still retreating under heavy pressure.

Godslayer’s forces were completely exhausted. Melee players held chipped weapons. Everyone was drenched in blood. Only their eyes still burned with fire.

Together, they had forced the Empire’s forces into a sunken basin.

The enemy commanders looked broken—but with that despair came a stubborn, lethal determination.

The last twelve dragons still spewed their breath, holding players at bay.

Orson sat cross-legged atop the Crimson Lizard King, entering Meditation. The enemy had marked him for priority elimination.

Above the battlefield, three floating angel statues—relics—glowed with holy light. Fed by over a thousand priests, they generated massive fan-shaped shields, blocking ranged magic as long as mana held.

Hundreds of Empire ballistae lined the ridges—dragon-slaying siege weapons capable of crippling wings and piercing underbellies.

ShatteredCrown’s entire flying mage team had been wiped out by those things.

Even Dragonlord troops under FingerSnapper suffered heavy losses—two dead, one maimed.

Roar!

Crimson Lizard King snarled in frustration, torn wings flapping as it charged another breath attack—only to be blocked again by the relics. Dozens of priests died from the shockwave, but others stepped in without hesitation.

A bloody stalemate.

The Empire clung on like a dying beast. They’d fought dragons for millennia—they knew the mighty had weaknesses too.

“Damn it, you’re already dead. Why keep resisting?” ShatteredCrown spat. His Flame Dragon was near death and forced into retreat.

“That relic—Angel of Purity—only blocks ranged magic. We’ll have to get in close and stomp them out!” Demon Emperor growled.

Wild Gale shook his head. “We’re too few. Those dragons are clustered together. We’ll take massive losses.”

Orson glanced at their numbers—barely 300,000 players remained. Most were lucky survivors and solo players. Charging head-on would be suicide.

Worse, the Empire’s formation looked deliberate—as if they’d been ordered to hold this exact terrain.

Orson’s gut twisted. They were stalling.

“We wait too long, and something changes. Use the Celestial Fortress’ Forbidden Curse. Flatten this place.” Madman suggested.

Orson shook his head.

Madman had noticed it too—the Empire was up to something. But the Forbidden Curse had just come off cooldown. Using their trump card on this broken force would be a waste.

“Fight!”

“Madman! I’m back, and I’m ready to go out big!”

Just then, a flood of players surged from all directions of the basin—twice as many as before. Many were familiar faces, players who had died multiple times already.

Orson’s eyes lit up. “Crush them! All the loot goes to the solo players!”

“Now coordinate. Match their push. Flank the sides and wipe the Empire out in one go!”

Madman’s heart trembled. He almost cried seeing those idiots return.

“Quarla! Guard these morons! Keep ’em alive a little longer!”

“Who the hell stepped on me earlier?! Was it a damn dragon?! I want braised dragon head for dinner!”

“Stick your neck out here, let me chop it off!”

“I’m your daddy—!”

Players poured in, shouting curses from every region and dialect, storming forward under Madman’s command.

This time, they were smarter. Six-man squads connected to 300-player strike teams, maintaining spacing. Knights led with shield walls, pushing into the basin like a steel tide.

“Let’s die for fortune! Charge!”

Madman stood on Quarla’s head, riding the dragon into the enemy formation. A blast of golden breath carved open a bloody path.

They shot like bullets straight into the Empire’s heart.

Guild channel:

Raven: “Madman, enemy reinforcements inbound. You’ve got ten minutes, max.”

Madman froze, heart skipping. “You what? Reinforcements?!”

“Estimated force: one to 1.2 million.”

“HAHAHA… you son of a bitch! This a joke?!”

Even Madman, with nerves of steel, wavered. This was three times more than the Empire’s earlier army.

How could they hold against that?

Raven’s voice rang again: “Guild leader.”

“I’m here,” Orson replied, his voice calm.

He’d already predicted reinforcements—but not on this scale.

“Scouts report movement on the ice fields outside Forever City. All nearby monsters were purged. Based on your theory… they’re coming.” Raven’s tone held a rare tremble.

Over a million Imperial NPCs—just to stall the player alliance.

If this was just a diversionary force, what kind of apocalyptic strength would the main army wield when they marched on Forever City?

Calling it world-ending… might not be an exaggeration.

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