“Four broken ribs, one punctured the lung. Both Achilles tendons severed. But that’s not even the worst of it,”
James shook his head with a sigh. “He suffered massive blunt trauma to the head. When they found him, he’d just come out of emergency cranial surgery. They’ve confirmed brain death—he’s in a vegetative state.”
“Brain death?”
Orson’s heart sank into a dark abyss.
Medically speaking, Drunken Dream was nothing but a shell now. Even if some miracle brought him back, he’d never be the same.
“His butler was loyal to the end. Took multiple rounds to the gut and still dragged him here before he died.”
James’s hand trembled around his cigarette. He stepped back instinctively—he could feel the pressure building. A volcano on the verge of eruption.
He had created the Archmage of Infinite Dimensions with his own hands.
And he knew better than anyone what the Archmage’s wrath looked like.
“You two close?” James asked cautiously.
Orson’s eyes were vacant. Then, slowly, they focused. He spoke softly:
“He was like a disciple to me.”
James sucked in a sharp breath.
Some snot-nosed heir from the Upton Family had dared to mess with the Archmage?
He could already see the tragic end awaiting them.
Worse, crossing Orson now meant crossing the top brass of the US itself.
The Upton Family might’ve been big in the mundane world—but to the federal government, they were just roaches.
Since being betrayed by Snow Dream, Orson had rejected the idea of taking disciples entirely.
Even ShatteredCrown had been denied.
But when Orson pushed open the ICU door, emotions surged like a tidal wave.
The Silver Dragon Knight King who once stood proud with spear in hand, slaying demons in the sky…
Was now lying here, a broken wreck.
Bruised and battered, dried blood still crusted on his skin—this wasn’t the charming, handsome blind bastard Orson remembered.
This was a damn corpse, a mummy straight out of a tomb.
“Son of a bitch…”
Orson’s jaw clenched, his eyes turned bloodshot. Rage erupted in his chest.
BOOM!
A wave of elemental force exploded outward.
Every window in the ICU shattered into dust. Alarms blared.
James stood frozen, staring at him in shock.
“…He got even stronger… Is this what it means to be a Trialwalker?”
Doctors and nurses rushed toward the commotion, but James slammed the door shut and blocked it.
Seeing Orson seething with murderous intent, he quickly tried to calm him.
“What’s done is done. Getting angry won’t change it. We’ve already captured Max—I’ve got him being transported back to BG City.”
“Good.”
The killing aura receded like a tide.
Orson stared at Drunken Dream in silence, then reached into his inventory.
A translucent crystal bottle shimmered into existence.
James stared, dumbfounded.
“Wait, what the hell is that? Don’t tell me… it’s a game item?”
“Rootless Water.”
Orson’s voice was calm.
“A revival relic from the game? You really think that’ll work here?”
James frowned, unsure.
“What if it backfires?”
“I don’t know. But we have to try.”
Orson hesitated. The Rootless Water glowed faintly, but the system tagged it as “weakened.”
That likely meant he hadn’t fully weaponized yet.
The world fusion hadn’t begun. Players weren’t real Trialwalkers. Even though Orson could access Infinite Dimensions permissions, items, beasts, and gear were severely nerfed in the real world.
He sat beside the bed, deep in thought.
Then rummaged through his inventory again.
James nearly passed out.
Dozens of crystal bottles appeared on the bed—each one filled with priceless Rootless Water.
“Where the hell did you get all that!?”
“I found the source. It respawns every so often.” Orson answered flatly.
“Wait… so you can just… bring people back forever?”
“Not exactly. It has limits—long cooldowns, and it only works on-site. If your enemy’s stronger than you, having an extra life doesn’t really help.”
James rubbed his nose awkwardly.
“Think I could, uh… buy a couple bottles later?”
“I’ll give you some. No charge.”
Orson shot him a glance.
They were tied together now—him and the Ten Overlords of the US. Helping him find Yuri earned them a few favors.
“Damn, you’re all right, man. I was way out of line before.”
James grinned. Orson was suddenly looking a lot more agreeable.
“It’s medicine time.”
Orson picked up a bottle, forcing a smile.
“Don’t you dare die on me, you shameless playboy. You’ve still got a dozen NPC babes waiting for you.”
“Stop! That’s a critical patient! What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Call security! Whatever grudge you’ve got, this isn’t the place for it!”
Doctors panicked, yelling from the hallway.
James turned and snapped:
“I am security. And I’m taking full responsibility.”
He pulled out his radio and ordered the hallway cleared.
Soon, peace returned to the floor.
“Rootless Water partial effect activated!”
“Rootless Water partial effect activated!”
…
The alerts kept popping up as Orson transformed into the mad doctor of Zuan, shoving bottle after bottle down Yuri’s throat with James holding his jaw open.
In minutes, twenty bottles were gone—enough to buy a mansion in downtown Manhattan.
“I hate you!!!”
Berenice’s voice shrieked from inside the inventory.
Her precious treasures were vanishing, and Orson didn’t even flinch.
Pouting, she sulked back into his bag.
“Still no change. You sure this is gonna work?”
James asked. There was no glowing miracle. Yuri remained in a deep coma. The monitors didn’t budge.
Orson wasn’t surprised.
“There’s one last step.”
“What step?”
“We need to let him… die a little harder.”
James blinked, stunned.
“What the fuck does that mean!? Aren’t you trying to save him!?”
Before he could react, Orson reached over and yanked the pistol off James’s belt.
“Are you fucking insane?!”
James broke into a cold sweat.
Orson calmly flipped off the safety and loaded the chamber.
He stepped in front of the bed and aimed at Yuri’s chest.
“If this works, may you rise reborn in rage.
Strike down all who dare oppose you.”
Orson gritted his teeth and shouted:
“WAKE UP, KNIGHT KING!”
BANG!
A blood-red flower bloomed on Yuri’s chest.
His vitals flatlined instantly.
A loud alarm blared in the room.
“Well, shit… guess he’s really dead now.”
James wiped his brow, puffing his cigarette.
Even a killer like him felt a chill seeing someone execute their own apprentice so casually.
The room fell silent.
Orson stared at the body, unblinking.
Minute by minute passed. Still no change.
“Did I get it wrong?”
Orson’s brow furrowed, doubt creeping in.
“I’ll go call someone to clean this up…”
James sighed and stood.
But just as he turned around—
The sky outside darkened.
A black vortex swirled above.
Orson and James whipped around.
In the vortex, a mirage shimmered—
the Holy Land of the Half-Orcs.
Or… something eerily similar.
Draconis’s corpse wasn’t there, but the rest matched.
Atop a towering sword peak sat a man in black, eyes like blood rubies.
He looked to the heavens, sorrow etched in his features.
“Solarius… my love… where did you go?
Why did you leave me?”
“Wait… is that the Crimson Lizard King’s ancestor!?”
Orson stood frozen in shock.
Those eyes—those unmistakable blood-red eyes—
Even through his altered form, he looked exactly like a younger version of her.