"Crush the heretic in one mighty strike!"
"With the Light beside us, we charge into battle!"
Thousands of NPCs from the Daughters of Nakah roared in unison, their devotion fanatical and absolute. Life and death meant nothing to them. They had only one belief: purge the evil heretic, even if it meant burning their own lives to do it.
They fought valiantly.
But they died pathetically.
As the game's death compensation system activated, thousands of radiant white-winged pegasi took to the sky, forming a sword of divine wrath hurtling toward Orson.
"Fleas shaking the trunk of a tree… in the end, they'll all return to dust."
Orson's eyes went cold. His voice boomed.
Death God's Breath!
A tide of black flame surged across the battlefield, carving ghostly, deep trenches in the earth below—a display of power far beyond any King-tier combatant.
It was a summoning from the Lord of the Underworld, beckoning the living into the abyss.
"Orgod! The Kingdom of Heaven resounds with the cries of war! You will be burned in the sacred flame! Your soul will never find peace!"
Pontiff Bilsatz screamed, raising his staff like a fallen star blazing to life.
Holy Grace!
An S-class divine magic exploded across the battlefield. Countless Pegasus Knights were granted massive shields and a regeneration buff healing tens of thousands of HP per second while in combat.
"Is he… really going to be okay without us?"
The young warrior gripping his rusted sword asked, voice trembling.
"I don't know," another knight said solemnly. "But I do know that if we jump in now, we'll just be a burden. We're not strong enough. We don't even have flying mounts. We can't even reach the battlefield."
Even with the Death God Dragon King looming so majestically, the Church's forces above were terrifying.
Everyone had heard the legend of the Triple Crown Winner—but few had truly seen what it meant to face thousands alone.
"Oh exalted seraph, let your flames cleanse the wicked!"
Twelve bishops stood around Bilsatz, forming a six-pointed star. At the center, one held a pure white feather.
"Seraphim's Feather…"
Orson's brows knit slightly. That was a single-use divine item.
Its stats…
A smile crept onto Orson's face, layered with meaning.
According to the Ten Stone Tablets of the Fusion World, eight-winged seraphim ranked above even archangels, commanding multiple six-winged cherubim.
Neither seraphim nor cherubim had ever physically descended into the world.
The most common angel types were two-winged Battle Angels, or four-winged Archangels like Jenonis.
They appeared through divine items, special dungeons, or blessings bestowed by Light.
Orson estimated an eight-winged seraphim had to be at least God-tier.
No way would a simple feather carry such power otherwise.
The twelve bishops, eyes wild with fervor, chanted in unison:
"Divine Flame – Smite the Enemy!"
The entire sky lit up with a blinding aurora—a vast river of white fire that stretched across the heavens.
The atmosphere shifted. The very world cracked under the power rising above Orson's head.
Day turned to high noon. The sky was now so bright it stung to look at.
The oppressive energy wasn't any weaker than Orson's Dance of the Fan-Flame—in fact, its range made it even more terrifying.
"It's not technically a Forbidden Curse… but it might as well be."
Orson muttered to himself.
"The Holy Light Church runs deeper than I thought."
"Do you think he'll win, SirLagsALot?"
In the livestream studio, the formerly smug female host was now soft-spoken, a hint of worry in her voice.
No doubt, she was halfway brainwashed by this 'heretic god.'
"I mean…"
SirLagsALot wanted to laugh it off, say "he's just playing around,"
but even he hesitated when he saw the sheer scope of that AoE.
"This better not be the kind of moment where you talk a big game and then choke…"
"So ugly," Orson muttered. "To treat a feather like a divine item. You hoard such power and never use it to help others."
There was weight behind his words.
These brain-dead NPCs had so many divine items and artifacts in hand, but they hid them all—for self-preservation.
If they gave even one of these to a trial player, it could safeguard an entire city of 100,000.
"Blasphemer! Demon filth!"
A Domain Master-ranked guard roared, riding a pegasus wreathed in holy light, diving at Orson.
"Are you talking to me, little glow-worm?"
Orson raised a brow, staff shimmering as he invoked:
Awakening – Grip of the Underworld!
He reached toward the void.
A giant spectral hand emerged from a chaos-infused hexagram, clenching around the Domain Master and dozens of other warriors.
"You… you damn demon!"
The knight thrashed and cursed.
"Even the demons of Hell wouldn't dare challenge Heaven… but I would."
Orson's voice was cold.
His hand closed tight.
Crippling Strike – 5 million!
Lethal Strike – 12 million!
Without mercy, he crushed them like bugs—blood and limbs rained down from the sky like a storm of gore.
The Domain Master, somehow still alive, barely crawled out of the grip's range…
Only to be greeted by a far deadlier force.
Chaos Magic Ball. Whisper of the Wind.
Orson's face remained expressionless.
Green light curled around his wrist.
In front of billions, he began a God-tier auto-attack tutorial.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
"Wait… he has no attack animation lag? That fire rate—he's outpacing top-tier archers!"
"And check the damage! One crit nearly a million!"
"Jesus. The burning effect alone could one-shot me. No wonder he dares 1vThousand against the Church!"
…
Orson's body became one with the Supreme Arcane Blade.
His robotic, repetitive movements masked an absolute mastery of the hidden cancel mechanics of mage auto-attacks.
Mages weren't built for basic attacks like archers were.
Their attacks had casting lag, awkward timing.
Most could only manage 3 or 3.5 attacks per second despite having 4.0 attack speed.
But not Orson.
He canceled each frame of casting lag flawlessly—each fireball came out, snapped back, and fired again.
Boom!
Within seconds, blood sprayed in the air.
The Domain Master was blown to pieces mid-air.
Not just the crowd—but the fanatical NPCs—froze in fear.
That's the difference between monsters and NPCs.
Monsters feel no fear.
But NPCs with intelligence?
They can.
Orson turned to face the divine flame descending from the heavens.
He walked atop the Crimson Lizard King's neck, toward the head.
Down below, Church soldiers faltered, stepping backward in terror.
"What's wrong?"
"Weren't you here to purge the heretic? I'm right here."
"Why aren't you still yearning for your paradise?"
Orson's voice cut to the soul.
His smile sliced through faith.
NPC warriors broke.
After a pause, he smiled again.
"Can't find the way up, can you?"
"You're lucky. I know a shortcut. Let me show you."
"Holy shit… I'm sorry, but this guy can't be anything but evil."
"Damn it, he's so wicked and so damn cool. I'm switching sides!"
"I volunteer as Orgod's official GPS!"
With one line, he shattered the grim tension.
Maximum entertainment value.
Even his haters couldn't help but clap.
The style! The swagger!
A true role model for us all!
"This road… is right here."
Orson smiled. He pointed down with a single elegant finger.
The NPCs instinctively looked—confused.
Their unshakable faith now looked laughable.
Their once-burning will to fight? Flickering.
Bilsatz's face twisted in rage.
He howled, "Burn him in holy fire! Burn him!"
Down below, in the Lost Plateau, over 100,000 players had arrived.
All eyes locked on that man.
Orson could feel it through their gaze—the unawakened spark waiting to ignite.
He instantly switched titles: Sky Sovereign.
With a simple swipe of his hand—
Like brushing away dust—
The Church's flying warriors let out panicked cries as their flight buffs were cut.
They plummeted from the skies, screaming.
Yet Orson didn't follow up with a killing blow.
He stared into the horizon, eyes glowing.
Then, with a voice brimming with conviction, he declared:
"Now prove it to me—show me that you have the ambition to surpass me."