Nora’s heart skipped a beat.
With a single breath, a single glance, the man before her sent the elemental forces in the surrounding space into a frenzy—like a storm barely restrained. For the first time, she took several steps back.
The Spirit Tribe had always possessed an innate sensitivity to power fluctuations, and what she felt now was enough to make even Ku’Jalai furrow his brow.
If, moments ago, the adventurer before them had been a wolf baring its fangs, now he stood like a humanoid Vilitian behemoth, radiating an aura of unspeakable danger.
“No matter the choice you make during the council,” Nora said, inhaling deeply, “the Dark Spirit Tribe will support you unconditionally.”
“What’s the price?” Orson’s eyes narrowed. No deal came without terms.
“Nora has offered you a negotiation,” the system chimed.
“She requests that you kill Prince Preston of the Light Spirit Tribe after the council concludes.”
“This is not a hidden quest. Failure to complete the request carries no penalties.”
“Additionally, you and the Godslayer Guild will be allied with the Dark Spirit Tribe.”
The notifications rolled in. Orson gave Nora another look. Instead of attempting to chain him down with quest mechanics, she’d taken the smarter path—building favor with choice.
“You trust me that easily?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
Nora smiled, slyly. “Your reputation echoes across all of Infinite Dimensions. I believe you possess virtues no other human here does.”
“Mmm, sharp eyes you’ve got,” he chuckled.
The two exchanged glances, both breaking into knowing grins.
Clever wolves, each hiding their teeth—neither ready to bare them just yet.
“Fine. But if anyone dares come for me after this deal, the consequences might get… ugly.” Orson said casually.
“You have successfully formed an agreement with Dark Spirit Tribe Princess Nora.”
“The pact will activate upon the death of Prince Preston.”
Orson nodded. Killing a Saint Lord-ranked assassin wasn’t a big ask, and truthfully, he had no qualms about siding with Nora. With war against the Light Dragon Empire looming, an extra ally never hurt.
They stepped into the teleportation array side by side. Behind them, Ku’Jalai’s expression darkened. The Spirit King didn’t need a prophecy to realize that the pact between the Conqueror Baron and the Dark Spirit Tribe was bad news. Very bad.
“Father, that adventurer harbors ill intent. He’s the destabilizing force in this council. I urge you—join the Archangels and burn Forever City to ash!” Preston growled.
Ku’Jalai’s face remained stone still. “I am king of the Spirit Tribe. I do not need your counsel.”
Preston clenched his jaw, saying nothing more as his father stepped into the imperial gates.
Inside the resplendent throne hall, a recently erected statue dominated the center—a monument to the newly crowned Emperor Bairinador.
Despite the top-tier craftsmanship, even the finest sculptors of the empire couldn’t hide the awkward proportions of the man: bloated cheeks, patchy golden hair like dry grass, and a bulging belly his robes failed to contain. Majestic he was not.
“That’s him—the destroyer of Pondenorlin. The Conqueror Baron!”
“How dare the Dark Spirit Tribe stand beside that monster. Filth deserves filth!”
“Careful now—have you forgotten what happened to the Half-Orc Empire? He might be the reason they rose again!”
Orson and Nora’s arrival sent ripples through the room. Dozens of hostile stares locked onto them, each paired with a crushing, kingly aura.
Nora visibly trembled. Her face went pale. Unconsciously, her fingers gripped Orson’s arm.
Orson turned and grinned. “Standing next to me isn’t exactly a safe choice. You sure you don’t want to back out?”
Nora forced a smile. “I trust my instincts.”
“Interesting.” He nodded, snapped his fingers—and from the void stepped the Crimson Lizard King.
The dragon-girl’s gaze landed on Nora’s hand. “Woman, are you mocking an immortal legend with your touch?”
“D-Death God Dragon King…” Nora’s eyes widened in horror. Her heartbeat raced. The very being that feasted on dragons and ruled the skies was standing before her.
Quickly releasing Orson, she bowed politely to the draconic entity. “Glory to death. Glory to the great Dragon Sovereign.”
Orson’s eyes shifted toward the center of the chamber. Twenty-seven Immortal Thrones, carved from the rare Blackpeak Stone, were arranged in a wide arc. Between them stood two towering golden columns, crowned by two regal thrones—one gold, one white.
The gold symbolized the absolute authority of the Light Dragon Emperor. The white, the divine will of the Holy Light Church.
From every throne radiated kingly power—twenty-something miniature suns exuding enough heat to melt bone.
“Anyone here want to fight? We can step out of the safe zone. I’ll be happy to oblige,” Orson said, smiling calmly.
Nora looked up at him, eyes full of admiration. To stand unfazed before so many apex beings—what kind of man was this?
“Those pillars—those are the bones of my ancestors!”
The Crimson Lizard King’s fury exploded. “Who among you dares face me?! Your blood shall sanctify the dragon bones!”
The roar echoed across the vaulted chamber, sending tremors down spines.
“Who are you to make such a scene here?” came a gruff voice from one of the thrones.
“Please. You already know my name—why ask?” Orson sneered. The speaker was a short man with a beard that touched his knees. One of the hill dwarf lords.
“Pah. I see no god among mortals. Just another braggart hiding behind his pet dragon,” came another voice.
This time from a shadowy figure wearing a black dragon crown, flanked by twin blades: the Fearmonger Dragon King.
“Ah, the infamous nightmare whisperer himself,” Orson smirked. “We could always step out and have a little duel.”
Fearmonger scoffed. “Fool. I’ll drag out the fear inside you and leave you hollow!”
Passive skill activated: Fear Incarnate.
A mind-based Dragon Curse. It didn’t hurt the body—but it ravaged the soul.
The illusion hit… and backfired catastrophically.
“W-what… what is that?!” the Fearmonger trembled.
What he saw wasn’t Orson’s fear—it was Orson’s world: Heaven Demons massacring cities, oceans of blood, entire civilizations devoured. A vision of insanity, of chaos far beyond reason.
“NO! NO, GET IT AWAY!”
Gasps echoed around the hall as the dragon king of fear himself screamed like a broken child.
“Now you’ve seen it,” Orson grinned. “That’s what I fear.”
Then Nora stepped forward, voice ringing clear.
“Since you all seem curious about him… allow me.”
Her gaze swept the room. Her tone rose with pride:
“He is the Slayer of Soros, the Golden Flame Dragon King!”
“He is the Executioner of Daloré, the Purple-Gold Dragon King!”
“Founder of the Half-Orc Empire!”
“Creator of the Grey Dwarves’ Demon God!”
“Leader of the Godslayer Guild!”
“The Newborn God-Emperor!”
“The Chaos Sect Leader!”
“And Master of the Death God Dragon King—The Conqueror Baron, Orgod!”
Silence.
Only the heavy breathing of stunned kings echoed within the grand chamber.
Each title alone would shake the world. Together? They heralded a cataclysm.
“…Add one more,” Orson added softly. “Adventurer Orgod.”
A hint of a sad smile crossed his face. Boasting was never his style—but being praised by others? That was a different feeling entirely.
“Well said,” came a familiar voice behind him.
Orson’s expression stiffened. He didn’t turn. He didn’t have to.
“I suppose I should introduce myself, too.”
The man walked slowly, bow in hand—an ancient grey Forbidden Magic-tier weapon. His black demon boots scorched the floor with every step.
His eyes burned like twin suns. Calm. Focused. Undaunted.
“I am the challenger of the Archmage’s Path. The one chosen to burn the world’s boundaries.”
“Infinite Dimensions’ Arcane Challenger—Usher.”