Back in the SSR club, Orson rarely concerned himself with anything outside of competitions. As an orphan, he’d long understood that relying solely on himself was the only path forward, and he had no time to care about others’ opinions. However, this independence gave Wedge the perfect opportunity to manipulate others and sow division. Whether intentionally or not, she gradually isolated Orson from his teammates.
Wedge was a woman of deep scheming. Despite being a dedicated healer, she was arguably the most dangerous member of the SSR team.
When it came to the match-fixing scandal that destroyed Orson’s career, he was certain—if Wedge hadn’t masterminded the setup, she at least carried out orders from the SSR owner.
With Wedge coordinating the battle, her team fought with precision. The tanks held firm against the Icefield Troll King’s brutal attacks while Reaver darted in and out, showing off his flashy moves. Meanwhile, Snow Dream and another archer rained destruction from the rear.
All six core members had completed their class awakenings, with each earning at least an A-tier class. Coupled with their natural skill, they were on a completely different level compared to ordinary players.
In just five minutes, the boss’s health dropped below 200,000. Half of the summoned wolf warriors had already been slain, and the Icefield Troll King looked destined to fall into SSR’s hands.
Suddenly, a voice interrupted from behind.
“Adventurers, would you like a little help from me?”
The group turned to see a figure clad in the robes of an imperial mage, standing a hundred meters away.
“NPC Imperial Mage? Boss Bai… Why is he here?”
“What’s going on? Did we trigger some kind of hidden event?”
SSR members exchanged puzzled glances. The Icefield had no settlements or towns nearby, so the sudden appearance of an NPC was unusual.
“Focus on the boss! Ignore the NPC!” Wedge snapped, her sharp command breaking the group’s confusion.
“I don’t need payment, nor recognition. Allow me to lend you a hand,” Orson offered, his voice calm.
He even revealed his health and level to appear less threatening.
Reaver sneered. “A frail mage with only 1,500 HP claims he’s strong? Even our squishiest classes have at least 2,500 HP. Get lost!”
“Think carefully,” Orson advised again, his voice carrying a faint chill. “This Troll King is more dangerous than you realize. If you’re not careful, you might all get wiped out.”
Annoyed, Wedge raised her staff. “Get lost before I kill you myself.”
She fired a burst of Holy Light at his feet, leaving a charred hole in the snow to emphasize her point.
“Fine,” Orson muttered, his tone soft as a shadow flickered across his face. “Await your fate, then.”
He turned and walked off into the mist.
Two minutes later, Orson scaled the cliff overlooking the Icefield Valley.
“2,200 meters… Adjust for wind to the left… A destructible terrain above the valley…”
Orson smirked, muttering to himself.
Originally, he had planned to sneak into the valley disguised as an NPC and locate the dungeon entrance ahead of SSR. But Wedge and Reaver’s arrogance had pushed him too far.
“If that’s how they want to play…” Orson murmured, his eyes flashing with icy determination.
From his vantage point, he carefully calculated his spells’ ranges and effects, formulating a strategy to bury them all.
Orson raised his staff, which began to glow with ominous, pulsing runes. Thunderclouds gathered in the skies above, their lightning arcing toward his weapon.
“Thunderstorm!”
A violet aura enveloped Orson as a notification appeared: Fire and Lightning spells gain +50% critical chance for one minute.
“Whisper of the Wind!”
His casting speed and attack rate soared.
“Traitors must pay.” Orson’s voice carried the weight of his simmering hatred. Memories of betrayal and humiliation swirled in his mind:
The false accusations that ruined him.
The scorn he endured from the esports world.
His sister’s death because he couldn’t afford her treatment.
“This is only the beginning,” Orson growled.
“Flame Dragon!”
“Explosive Fireball!”
“Rainblade Tide!”
“Quaking Stone Spikes!”
Spell after spell tore through the air, with no regard for accuracy. Orson simply hurled his entire arsenal at his enemies below.
“Something’s wrong. Very wrong,” Wedge muttered, her face pale.
Snow Dream, standing nearby, frowned. “What’s the matter, Captain? The boss is almost down.”
“It’s the NPC… The level doesn’t add up!” Wedge blurted, her instincts screaming at her.
“What’s wrong with the level?” Reaver snapped, still focused on the Troll King.
“Imperial NPCs always have even levels. And their HP isn’t supposed to be that low!” Wedge explained.
Her fingers flew across her interface, bringing up the player rankings.
At the top of the leaderboard, a single name stood out: Orgod, Level 26, 15%.
“Scatter! Everyone scatter!” Wedge shouted in panic. “That’s not an NPC—it’s Orson!”
The team froze, startled by her sudden outburst.
“Orson? So what? Even if it’s him, he’s not here anymore,” one teammate muttered dismissively.
Reaver, however, felt a chill run down his spine as he recalled Orson’s absurd attack range during their last encounter.
“RUN—!”
Before Reaver could finish his warning, a searing flame dragon descended from the heavens, colliding with the valley floor.
The explosion was deafening. The ground trembled violently as fire, lightning, and stone erupted in a deadly vortex of destruction.
-2000 (Critical!)
-8500 (Critical!)
-4250
Damage numbers danced across the battlefield in a macabre spectacle. The screams of dying players echoed through the chaos.
“Shield Wall—!?” Reaver shouted, desperately calling for his tank to protect the group.
But it was too late.
Within seconds, nearly ten players fell to the unrelenting magic storm, their health bars obliterated.
Even Wedge’s exceptional healing and buffs couldn’t counteract the overwhelming damage.
“Accept your fate,” Snow Dream murmured, standing still amidst the carnage. Her voice carried neither fear nor defiance, only quiet resignation.
Wedge stared in disbelief. Despite her team’s strength, their meticulously crafted plans had been torn apart by Orson’s relentless assault.
Her thoughts spiraled:
Why does someone like him even exist?
Why must he always crush everything I build?
The memories of working under Orson in the SSR team surfaced—three years of humiliation and being overshadowed by his brilliance. Just as she thought she had moved on, he returned to haunt her again.
“Why…” Wedge whispered bitterly, watching a massive boulder fall toward her.
“You have slain SSR’s Weeping Blade. Infamy +100.”
“You have slain SSR’s Bloodsoaked Tears. Infamy +100.”
Notifications filled Orson’s screen as he sighed. “I just cleared my infamy, and now it’s back again. So much for staying clean.”
“You have slain the Icefield Troll King. Experience +12,000!”
As Orson had planned, with the main threat to the boss eliminated, the Troll King was left unclaimed.
And all the loot? His for the taking.
