ROAR!!!
The Crimson Lizard King, in its final burst of ferocity, sank its jaws into the neck of the massive creature. Its mangled body convulsed violently as it forcefully flung Orson away.
A faint, ethereal voice echoed in Orson’s mind: “Run…”
As he plummeted downward, Orson’s shock was tinged with disbelief. “An elite boss-tier beast… can talk?”
He watched helplessly as the scene unfolded, rage and powerlessness consuming him.
“You goddamned monster!” Orson roared, his eyes bloodshot.
The massive beast continued chewing indifferently, its cold, disdainful demeanor unshaken. Only the head of the Crimson Lizard King remained attached to its body, jaws still locked onto the beast’s neck, even in death—defending its honor as the King of Death’s Summit.
Orson fell for what felt like an eternity, his expression gradually turning calm. Focusing his energy, he muttered, “Undying Spirit.”
The statue of the Elven Queen in his inventory radiated divine light, slowing his descent until he landed safely.
“You have acquired a rare saddle: Will of the Battle Beast.”
The death of the Crimson Lizard King triggered the automatic return of its saddle to Orson’s inventory, shattering any last hope he had for its survival.
Orson clenched his fists tightly, his heart heavy. Though he often called it “Transport No. 1,” the Crimson Lizard King had long been more than just a tool to him. The bond forged through their master-servant contract allowed him to feel its unyielding and mad will—a determination to fight to the death, no matter the odds.
Even against a dragon, it had charged forward without hesitation.
That unrelenting spirit mirrored Orson’s own personality. Its loss felt like losing a part of himself.
“Was that voice just my imagination?” Orson murmured. To his knowledge, only domain-level beasts or higher possessed the intelligence to speak.
Something was off. The battle beast was dead, yet the master-servant contract’s mark remained intact, though now labeled as “Uncontrollable.”
Nightshade: “Are you okay, Orson?”
Orson: “I’m fine… just a little lost. What about you? Is that thing still up there?”
Nightshade: “It flew away. I got insta-killed by a level 50 boss right after—some guy named Cain something or other.”
Nightshade chuckled bitterly. Strangely, instead of respawning at the nearest city like other players, he’d revived back in the Goblin Factory.
Orson’s brow furrowed. “Cain? As in Cain the Warden?”
Nightshade: “Yeah, that’s the guy! I checked the game wiki; it says he’s the lord of Pondenorlin City.”
Orson’s face darkened. He remembered his unpleasant encounter with Cain upon arriving at Pondenorlin City, where the warden had sabotaged him and caused many top-ranking players to delay their progress.
After defeating Cain’s guards, Orson had discovered the Soul Collector, a mysterious artifact that hinted at Cain’s sinister dealings.
Now, seeing Cain inside an abyss-tier dungeon, actively targeting players, confirmed Orson’s suspicions: Cain’s connection to Ivan III was no coincidence.
According to the quest lore, Ivan I was a legendary Frost Dragon Knight. It was highly likely that Ivan III was also a Dragon Knight—and the one commanding the beast that killed the Crimson Lizard King.
“Damn it… you kill my mount, I’ll wipe out your entire clan!” Orson hissed, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Abyss-tier dungeons were unpredictable, and he needed to maintain absolute focus.
The minimap revealed a new area, a gray, uncharted zone. Orson followed a passage at the base of the chasm.
“WAGGA!”
“HAHAHA…”
The familiar, grating laughter of goblins made Orson’s brow twitch.
Ahead, the glow of magical lamps illuminated a group of goblin engineers feasting noisily behind an iron door.
What they were eating turned Orson’s stomach—goblin younglings, known as mobile goblin rations.
“You have discovered the Corrupted Goblin Laboratory.”
The system notification brought a glint of understanding to Orson’s eyes. These goblins had been corrupted by dark magic, making them far more vicious and bloodthirsty than their normal counterparts.
Without hesitation, Orson blasted the door with a basic attack. The resounding boom threw the goblins into chaos. Kicking the door open, Orson began a cold, methodical slaughter.
The goblins tried to fight back but were quickly incinerated by The Flame Dragon, leaving the lab empty and lifeless.
“What… is all this?” Orson muttered, his expression tightening.
The lab was massive, about half the size of a football field. Crystalline vats filled with strange, writhing creatures lined the walls, each submerged in viscous fluid.
One vat contained a creature identical to the Dragonblood Commander boss Orson had fought earlier.
[Dragonblood Vanguard Commander: Unknown Level]
[Undergoing Corrupted Mutation…]
A chilling thought struck Orson. “Could these hybrid monsters be goblin creations?”
Further exploration revealed dissected Corrupted Earth Dragon parts and other monstrous components. Nearly all the creatures here were artificial amalgamations.
Continuing deeper into the lab, Orson encountered another iron gate, beyond which a squad of goblin warriors charged at him.
Unfazed, Orson unleashed a barrage of firepower, clearing the room with ruthless efficiency.
“You have discovered the Barracks.”
In a vast, white chamber, Orson’s breath caught.
“So that’s why the Divine Emperor Earrings didn’t work…”
Rows upon rows of Dragonblood Guards stood frozen in stasis, their eyes closed. Among them were over a hundred Dragonblood Vanguard Commanders, at least twenty Corrupted Earth Dragons, and even a few massive Blackscale Serpents.
This monstrous army, once awakened, could raze most of the Light Dragon Empire’s cities, save for those protected by legendary NPCs.
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The Divine Emperor Earrings’ double-damage effect only applied to normal Dragonblood creatures. These goblin-forged abominations were immune.
Orson hesitated, raising his staff but ultimately lowering it. If his attack activated these creatures, it would be suicidal to face them all at once.
A faint cry for help broke the silence.
“Help… someone, please save me…”
Following the voice, Orson found a dimly lit dungeon filled with NPC prisoners huddled in fear. A frail man with sunken cheeks reached out weakly.
[Lannis: A citizen of Pondenorlin City.]
“Adventurer, let me out! The warden deceived us and sent us to this hellhole!”
Another NPC, a haughty young man, declared, “I’m the son of a baron! Free me, and my family will handsomely reward you!”
A hidden quest appeared:
Option 1: Rescue the prisoners. Potential reward: 3,000 gold coins. Option 2: Leave them. Face condemnation and guilt.
The promise of 3,000 gold was tempting for any player, but Orson’s gaze remained cold. A quick glance at the dungeon revealed the truth: these NPCs were beyond saving.
Lannis’s back sported black, claw-like growths. The others had twisted faces and grotesque deformities.
Most alarming, tubes filled with pale blue liquid fed into their bodies, accelerating their corruption.
The NPCs’ pleas quickly turned to curses.
“You scum! Release us!”
“You’re a disgrace to adventurers!”
“Go to hell, you cowardly piece of trash!”
Unmoved, Orson’s expression remained neutral.
“Sorry, I’ll take the third option: sending you to meet the God of Light.”
The dungeon erupted in flames as The Flame Dragon and explosive fireballs razed it to the ground. Orson walked away without looking back.
“You have seen through the prisoners’ malicious intent.”
Opening the cells would have triggered a dark curse: -10 levels, -50% base stats. Your cold blood and decisiveness have earned divine favor. Reward: +10 talent points, 200,000 EXP, 2,000 gold.