The knight fought valiantly, activating a Taunt skill to boost his resistance and absorb incoming damage.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Bradley sneered, easily predicting his opponent’s every move, right down to the color of his underwear.
With a horizontal slash from his Dark Sword, black mist erupted on contact, inflicting a Curse of Weakness on the knight. His defense and critical resistance dropped dramatically.
Bradley roared like a beast, the Dark Sword cursing his enemy while the Light Sword empowered himself. Another thrust landed a staggering 2,000 critical damage, instantly finishing the knight.
SSHomeRun, a Saint Slayer Syndicate member, stood dumbfounded. “A Paladin… was one-shot?”
Orson, standing nearby, smiled faintly. “Doesn’t matter if you’re with SSR or Dragon’s Kiss Guild, the fact is… you didn’t bring enough people.”
With a flourish of his staff, fire magic erupted into a blazing Flame Dragon, which rained destruction upon the opposing players. Screams filled the air as a wave of fireballs decimated their formation, turning the icy landscape into a fiery inferno.
-1,100!
-4,300!
-4,300!
Seven or eight red names vanished into white flashes, respawning back at the city.
Behind Orson, Female Dorm God gulped audibly. “That’s it—I’m clinging to this team for life. Mom, I’ll never have trouble finding dungeon parties again!”
“How is he doing this from 500 meters away?!” SSHomeRun stammered, cold sweat running down his back.
“Earth Mages! Use slowing spells! Don’t let him escape!” he bellowed, charging with his team of elite assassins. He’d dealt with powerful players before and knew their damage output could be insane. But he also knew that no matter how strong a mage was, they were helpless once an assassin got close.
However, Orson remained motionless. His calm demeanor made his opponents uneasy.
“Escape? Why would I run? We’re all red names here—killing you is just free profit for me,” Orson said coolly, ignoring the Mud Trap spell beneath his feet.
For Orson, mobility wasn’t necessary. He was, after all, a walking tower of death.
The Saint Slayer Syndicate’s strategy was clear: a swarm of rogue players launched a coordinated attack, their shadowy forms darting toward Orson from all angles.
Most mages would panic in this situation. Being surrounded by even one rogue, let alone ten, was a death sentence. But Orson stood firm. He had prepared for this exact scenario.
“Back off! Damn it, just die already!” shouted Bradley, trying to return and assist, but he was swarmed by melee players intent on stalling him.
“Stealth!” SSHomeRun commanded, and his team of assassins vanished in unison. The atmosphere grew deathly quiet, an oppressive killing intent lingering in the air.
Saint Slayer Syndicate’s strength lay in their stealth tactics. Against smaller teams, they were a nightmare to deal with. Against larger guilds, their stealth allowed them to retreat unscathed.
Clang!
Weapons struck, but their attacks failed to penetrate Orson’s defenses.
SSHomeRun’s frustration mounted. “It’s just… shields! Endless shields!”
No matter how hard his team tried, every blow was absorbed by yet another layer of protective magic.
Orson wasn’t just a powerful mage; he was an absolute fortress. His Sun Shield wasn’t enough alone, so he had preemptively stacked nine layers of shields before the fight began.
“Bladed Rainstorm.”
Orson whispered the spell, and a torrential rain transformed into countless razor-sharp blades, radiating outward in a 20-meter circle.
-230!
-230!
The assassins were forced out of stealth as the rain inflicted consistent damage, breaking their invisibility and leaving them exposed.
SSHomeRun’s eyes widened in horror. “A dual-element mage?!”
Orson chuckled. “What’s wrong? Didn’t the person who hired you tell you what I was capable of? Or were you just baited into this?”
The fatal flaw of stealth mechanics was now painfully obvious: any damage automatically broke the effect and put the skill on a long cooldown.
“Break his shields! Do something!” shouted an exasperated assassin.
Another rogue managed to shatter one shield, only to see a new one instantly replace it. The futility of their efforts was maddening.
Orson invoked two more spells: Whisper of the Wind to boost his attack speed and Slicing Gale to push back the assassins swarming him.
“Is he insane? A tri-element mage?!” SSHomeRun shouted, his composure unraveling.
Orson continued raining devastation upon them. His mana reserves showed no signs of depleting, despite casting multiple high-cost spells.
“This… this is impossible! He hasn’t even used a single mana potion!” cried Saint Slayer Water God as he rushed forward with his team to provide support.
Orson met his gaze coldly and sent a single Fireball flying.
-800!
Water God scoffed. “Not bad, but hardly unstoppable.”
Then the fire spread. Flames engulfed his body, dealing relentless damage.
-4,300!
Water God screamed as he crumbled to the ground, incinerated by Orson’s passive burn effects. “How can a passive skill deal over 4,000 damage?!”
Orson’s eyes gleamed as he surveyed the shaken rogues. “Had enough? Because now it’s my turn.”
SSHomeRun hesitated, torn between retreating and continuing the fight. Before he could decide, the ground trembled. A Stone Wall rose in a U-shape, trapping the rogues.
Mud Marsh immobilized their feet, stripping them of their only advantage: mobility.
“Four-element mage! He’s insane!” shouted one of the rogues, their spirits crushed.
Orson began casting Explosive Fireball, methodically targeting each rogue.
One by one, they fell.
SSHomeRun watched helplessly, his face pale as Orson deliberately spared him, forcing him to witness his entire team’s demise.
“Damn it… I’ll kill you for this!” SSHomeRun snarled.
Orson’s grin widened, revealing his teeth. “We’ll talk about that next time. For now, though… we’re not finished.”
Meanwhile, Bradley was a whirlwind of destruction. Blood stained his black armor as he tore through the front line, leaving a pile of bodies in his wake.
His health, once near 10,000, had dropped by two-thirds, but his resolve only grew stronger.
Without their melee protectors, the Syndicate’s mages and healers were defenseless. For them, it was nothing short of a massacre.
As the battle drew to a close, Orson’s gaze shifted toward Pondenorlin City.
Far off in the distance, atop the city walls, stood a man with a legendary bow in hand. His imposing figure made him stand out like a crane among chickens.
Orson’s eyes narrowed. Who is that?
