"So it really is him—Orgod! The Lord of Forever City!"
"The man who slew two Dragon Kings, founded Forever City, declared war on the Empire, disappeared from all rankings… and he's even a dual-class player!"
"With Orgod on our side, we can fight the Empire! He's the unbeatable legend of Infinite Dimensions!"
Guild leaders and high-ranking officers couldn't help but whisper in awe.
Originally, when the Lord of Forever City invited these rising powers to join the war, most of them were hesitant. They showed up more to save face than out of loyalty—figuring they'd send a few sub-guild members into battle, wipe a couple of times, and call it quits.
But if Orgod somehow managed to luck out again and beat the Empire, they'd reap the benefits. If he failed, they wouldn't be the ones holding the bag.
Most had never met Orgod in-game before. But in real life, the man's face was everywhere—plastered across massive banners reading Triple Crown Winner, hanging from the tallest buildings in every major US city.
When news once spread that Orgod had been assassinated offline, many Infinite Dimensions players joked about the developers being out of their minds for still displaying a dead guy's face in the city center.
But now, seeing the legend in person, standing before them—the shock was indescribable.
"Frostfire Legion will fully support the Triple Crown Winner's cause!"
"Wraith Vanguard is deploying two thousand main combatants to the frontlines!"
"Cola Order, with its many life-skill players, will provide massive quantities of buff food and potions!"
The guild leaders stared at Orson with fiery eyes—these were the same people he'd met at the capital's cathedral. They had seen with their own eyes how he dismantled the Dust Light Church. The sheer boldness of his tactics was unforgettable.
He didn't just rob the Church—they practically offered up their treasures with a smile.
To them, following Orgod meant feasting on dragon meat, not just scraps.
"Glory Seekers—one main guild, four sub-guilds. Seven thousand core members entering the war!"
Magical Fiancée declared, eyes sparkling with admiration as her snake-like hair curled upward with pride.
Her full-throttle support startled the other guild leaders.
Was she really putting all her eggs in this basket?
"Glory Seekers, huh? Aren't you afraid we'll lose?"
Madman raised an eyebrow, glancing at her offer.
"If we lose, everyone involved will drop 10 levels, lose half XP and gains for a month. You sure you're ready for that?"
"I know the risks. If we lose, Glory Seekers is finished, and my investors will eat their losses," she said calmly.
"Then why throw yourself into the fire?" Madman smirked.
"Because if we win," she smiled slyly, "the rewards will be beyond imagination. Right, Madman?"
"…She's got guts. I like her," Madman grinned, nodding toward Orson.
Orson said nothing. In war, there are no allies without shared interest—no support without a cut of the spoils.
It was true for Glory Seekers. It was true for Slaughter Guild and every other major player here.
Guild leaders had to think not just for themselves, but for their members.
With Magical Fiancée taking the plunge, the rest quickly followed suit.
Sure, losing would be brutal. But winning? That was the golden ticket to godhood.
"How many troops does the Empire have?"
Demon Emperor asked, standing atop the obsidian wall beside Orson.
Orson turned and narrowed his eyes. "This guy's something else."
Level 63. Skin etched in dark tattoos, veins pulsing with an eerie blue glow. He stood over three meters tall—rivaling even the dwarven Demon God, Veijander.
According to Blank, he was bound to an Epic Divine Soul Seal and a GodHuman Soul Seal. His HP had already broken a million.
While not a true dual-seal user, his Divine Soul Seal—Titan's Mark—allowed him to grow in size and power with every kill.
Upon his second job advancement at level 50, he chose the S-Class Godblood Titan warrior path—perfectly synergizing with Titan's Mark.
It was a build capable of going toe-to-toe with S-rank class holders.
Clearly, Demon Emperor had completed a hidden Titan lineage quest.
After a brief pause, Orson answered, "A conservative estimate: over ten million troops. At least twenty King-class bosses. Over a hundred dragons."
"…Then we're underpowered."
Even someone as fierce as the Slaughter Guild's top brass couldn't help but frown.
Slaughter Guild had the largest combat roster outside of Godslayer. This time, due to Orson's rise as the head of Radiant Shuttle, and Demon Emperor's connections to the Bruce Family, they'd gone all-in—deploying 18,000 elite players.
Even with resurrection points, the Empire's sheer numbers could crush them into dust.
"Damn it, you always stir up trouble," Slaughter Spree groaned. "No wonder Emma came to keep an eye on you. What's next? Gonna pick fights with thirty different worlds?"
"If this goes well, I might," Orson smiled.
Slaughter Spree gave up and walked off to place some bets with Iron Cavalry.
"You sure about this?"
Blank joined them, unimpressed. "Most of the guilds you pulled in are noobs. They'll break after losing five levels."
She wasn't wrong. On paper, Glory Seekers and Frostfire Legion were large guilds. But their core members had little war experience—mostly rich kids with time and money.
By contrast, a single Slaughter Guild player could take on three of them at equal level and gear.
Stats alone didn't win battles. Combat sense did.
"That doesn't matter. You die enough, you start to learn," Orson chuckled. "You were a newbie once too, remember?"
Blank glared at him.
Orson shrugged. "Once your blade draws blood, the edge sharpens on its own."
"I get what you're saying. But numbers and power still matter," Demon Emperor cut in. "Don't forget—the Empire has the Holy Light Church. Their priests can revive soldiers. Our Fountain of Resurrection advantage? Basically gone."
"Relax," Orson said, smiling. "The more we fight, the stronger we get."
Blank and Demon Emperor exchanged wary glances.
What did that mean?
"I guarantee it. Our first win will be the Empire's undoing."
Orson said it so lightly—but there was something in his tone that made their skin crawl.
Far above, players flew by on beast mounts, cameras rolling.
The eyes of the world were on Forever City.
The common belief since the dawn of full-immersion gaming was this:
Overlord-tier NPC factions are unbeatable.
Even with Infinite Dimensions' near-limitless freedom, that mindset remained deeply entrenched.
Only a handful of forward-thinking guild leaders could see through the fog—and they were the ones who had gathered around Orson.
But they were still the minority.
Most needed proof.
It wasn't enough to believe the Empire could be defeated.
They needed to feel it.
But feeling wasn't enough either.
They needed a rallying cry. A single, powerful voice to unite them.
To make the blood of US-region players boil with purpose.
"When the legend of Infinite Dimensions rises from the dead, unshackled by fear…"
Orson glanced toward Blank, a soft light in his eyes.
"…They'll call it a miracle, won't they?"
"You wicked bastard…"
Blank's heart skipped. Her breath caught in her throat.
"You're trying to turn everyone into your followers? That's insane!"