Nadora's face was drained of all color. With no way out, she became the first to sign the servant contract.
Seeing the daughter of the Spirit King yield, the other royal-blooded consorts no longer dared to resist the might of the Godslayer guild. Every last one of them was swiftly recruited as "Forever City Performing Arts Troupe" members under Orson's command.
Orson found it all amusing. A sheltered girl like Nadora was easy to read—he knew this was just temporary submission. Deep inside, she was praying for Forever City to fall, for Orson to die, so she could regain her freedom.
This so-called surrender was nothing but a façade.
"From now on, you're no longer imperial consorts," Orson announced, "You are…"
"Idol trainees," Dancing Giant Boobs interrupted with a playful smirk, clearly impressed by someone's ridiculous imagination.
Nadora, Katherine, and the others looked utterly confused. Dancing Giant Boobs patiently explained what it meant.
"Wow! Those legs—so long and straight! They were born to be idols. I'm so jealous!" A blue-haired girl giggled, bending down to playfully poke Nadora's legs like she was a living Barbie doll.
"And this bust? She's got way more than Naffy, hehe…"
She winked at her curly-haired friend, who chuckled and replied, "Says the one who flaunts it IRL but shrinks it in-game. What, afraid people might notice?"
The girls broke into laughter, teasing each other like close sisters.
Madman stared in a daze at the blue-haired girl, tempted to ask for her contact. But something about their vibe—poise, charisma—screamed not your average player.
Getting too close might just earn him a one-way ticket to public humiliation.
"Don't even think about it," Iron Cavalry whispered, grinning. "Dancing Giant Boobs told me—they used to be members of Super² Spice Girls."
Madman froze, his eyes wide. "The idol group that dominated the entertainment scene a few years back?"
Iron Cavalry raised a brow. "The blue-haired one's rumored to be single… with three kids. Think you can handle that?"
"…My flower of love withers before it even blooms…"
Madman sighed dramatically, chugging a beer like a heartbroken rom-com lead.
Meanwhile, Nadora and the others were seething. For women once treated like precious gems, being toyed with like this was humiliating. But they didn't dare rebel. A single command from Orson could end their lives.
Under the leadership of Dancing Giant Boobs, the consorts were ushered into a luxury mansion to begin their "re-employment orientation." This was only the first step toward capturing the wallets of the rich and powerful across US servers—and eventually, the world.
After making a sweep through Forever City on the back of Crimson Lizard King and confirming all was in order, Orson logged out.
"Sienna's still in-game?"
He frowned as he walked into the living room with a bowl of instant noodles. Blank, currently off the game, was in the middle of a one-handed yoga pose.
Startled by his voice, her balance faltered.
Two long, tight-clad legs suddenly swung down… and landed squarely on Orson's shoulders.
"…What the hell…"
Orson froze. Noodles in one hand, he was caught in the ultimate deadlock: move forward and risk scalding them both with boiling soup, move backward and let her crash face-first into the floor.
Checkmate.
Infinite Dimensions' top-tier operator was caught in a real-world stalemate.
"Move your damn head off my foot!"
Blank growled through gritted teeth, face flushed from being upside down—and now utterly humiliated.
"Oh, I see. Your precious foot is more noble than my genius-level head?" Orson retorted dryly.
She snapped. Using her remaining strength and agility, she jabbed her palm down onto his toes.
"OW! That freaking hurts!"
"You idiot! Moron! Blind bat!"
Blank went all in. Her toned arms trembled from the strain, but Orson's absurd toughness—like, didn't-even-chip-a-toenail level—shocked her.
"Why are you… so hard to kill?! Damn it!"
She collapsed, exhausted.
"You failed a living room acrobat act and still tried to kill me? I lost eight HP, thank you very much!"
"I should've never met someone as infuriating as you."
Her voice cracked. She was on the verge of tears—not from pain, but sheer helpless frustration.
And then came his reply, filled with righteous indignation:
"You owe me noodles."
"…What?"
Blank blinked, confused.
Orson tossed the bowl aside. Noodles splashed everywhere.
Then he let himself fall backward, cushioning her collapse with his own body to prevent any awkward accusations of harassment.
Now sitting on his stomach, Blank blinked again, more puzzled than ever.
Critical Hit -2!
Orson looked at the floating damage text. "See? I'm a kind man."
"…You might actually be human after all."
Blank muttered, then casually dropped another slap on his stomach.
Critical Hit -4!
With her back turned, she hid the faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Ow! You can't just hit me for no reason!"
"You talked back. That's reason enough."
"Even gods make judgment errors sometimes," Orson grumbled.
"I said no. That's the final word."
Blank spun around to give him one last glare, but the sight of him sprawled out in noodle soup, completely defeated, made her burst into laughter.
"Sienna logged out earlier. Took her meds. Told me to tell you not to worry."
Face flushed, she grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom. "You're such a dummy sometimes… it's kind of cute."
"I'm dumb? I'm a freaking genius!"
Orson stared blankly, hand to his cheek, trying to process what just happened.
What… changed?
He didn't know.
But hey, women were weird. Emotional storms in human form. Totally normal.
Orson nodded confidently to himself. Understanding women? Just like reading enemy moves in PvP. Easy.
The next day, Orson sat in the Lord's Hall, overseeing operations from the Celestial Fortress above Forever City.
Preparations for war were in full swing.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of Nightshade, Dr. Jordan, and hundreds of thousands of Goblin engineers, massive Obelisks rose one after another.
The skies above Forever City were tinged with a bloody crimson from the strange energy of Wagha.
Volcanic craters had been converted into manufacturing hubs, where flying mechs and mana-powered airships zoomed around, hauling materials from black markets and auction houses.
"My weapons are only for the righteous!"
The dwarven forge blazed white-hot. Master artisans from the Grey Dwarves Clan had arrived en masse.
Legendary weapons were being forged daily.
Veijander had even relocated his declining clan from the Ashen Lands to a barren plain near Forever City. In return, he took the biggest order of his life: arm every Godslayer squad leader to the teeth.
Nightshade's Goblin tech + Dwarven divine weapons.
Just how monstrous would that be?
Even Orson didn't know. No one in this lifetime—or the last—had ever pulled off something this insane.
Then suddenly—
WORLD ANNOUNCEMENT: The Emperor of the US region has been slain! Light Dragon Empire enters civil war! A full-scale army will mobilize in 12 hours to execute the Regicide!
WORLD ANNOUNCEMENT: All guilds, players, and NPC alliances affiliated with the Regicide will be purged! Severe penalties await the defeated! Prepare accordingly!
WORLD ANNOUNCEMENT: The following are listed as Regicide affiliates…
"It begins."
Orson's eyes narrowed. Calmly, he rose from his seat.
Standing beside him were guild masters from:
Slaughter Guild. Supreme Guild. Glory Seekers. The King Family.
And thirteen other top-tier guilds.
They had come…
In answer to the Archmage of Infinite Dimensions.
They had come…
For endless ambition.