...
The members of the Daughters of Nakah dragged themselves from the ground, faces twisted in fear as they looked around.
Above, below, to the left, the right—everywhere they turned, there were players.
A flood of blades, staves, bows, and daggers surged forward, a human tidal wave of adventurers.
"Counterattack! Daughters of Nakah, strike back!"
A Domain Master-ranked mage finally reacted, his expression dark.
He raised his staff, summoning a searing meteor that crashed into the crowd.
Earthquake.
A blinding white light flashed.
Hundreds of front-line players were instantly wiped out.
"Healers, raise everyone! Bleed them out!"
A high-level player bellowed as he charged forward with his team, shoulder to shoulder.
As teammates dropped, crosses materialized to resurrect them in place—full health, full shields, back in action.
Still, in just seconds, two or three thousand players had died—clean kills.
Even with a sea of healers on-site, casting range limited their reach. The front lines were too far out, and their souls had no choice but to float back to spawn.
But the bloodier the battle, the more it stoked the fire in those who could awaken to war.
"Rogues! Hit the backline! Keep their casters down!"
"Archers, use Lightning Arrow—paralyze those cavalry bastards!"
"Mages, focus the warriors—use your knockbacks!"
A plain-looking level 36 player barked commands with chilling calm.
What had been a mindless charge now shifted, forming ranks, following orders.
Just one voice, and the player army found direction.
Critical Spotting.
One hundred percent crit chance.
Criticals on vital points may trigger lethal or crippling effects.
A lowly level 30 archer in cheap gear narrowed his eyes, heart pounding.
He had always kissed up to whales in the game. But right now?
Right now, he found himself.
He was born for this.
To fight.
To kill.
And he wasn't alone.
All across the battlefield, ragtag players stepped into their own.
Their weapons were crude. Their stats were weak.
But their fire burned bright.
"The potential of players is limitless. All it takes… is a little spark."
Orson watched, whispering to himself.
He didn't step in.
This was their trial.
The Church NPCs were mostly level 70+, with over a thousand still alive.
They could have easily massacred 100,000 low-level players.
But after the airship crash, after the Sky Sovereign brought the hammer down—most of them were half-dead.
And the players had become a fist.
A tight, unified storm of magic and steel.
No holy armor, no divine magic could stand up to this.
In under a minute, over two hundred high-tier NPCs lay dead.
Every Domain Master was mobbed by hundreds of players—swarmed like bats in a cave, their blood fogging the air.
"Divine Flame! Burn him!"
Bilsatz howled, as a Forbidden-tier divine spell finally finished charging.
A river of celestial fire crashed down—tearing at space itself.
The pressure made it hard to breathe.
"How the hell are we supposed to survive that?!"
"This is just bullshit. When they lose, they spam Forbidden spells—worst design ever!"
Panic surged.
So many players had fought with all they had, just to… prove something.
Prove they had the will to rise.
To reach the summit of Infinite Dimensions.
But they were still too weak.
That divine fire would obliterate them before they could take one more step.
"I'll clear the path! Charge! Charge with everything you've got!"
A thunderous voice rang out.
It was him—Orgod, the Triple Crown winner of the US!
"It's him!"
"Fuck it! If I die, I die! Just let me kill one NPC!"
"The loot off those bastards is insane—I'm going in!"
"Orgod might be a god, but I'm not just some cheerleader!"
His voice filled them with courage.
They locked eyes on the enemy.
Everyone knew high-tier NPCs dropped incredible loot.
That had become common knowledge across the game.
And now?
A thousand golden lobsters lay on the table.
How could anyone resist cracking one open?
"Push forward!"
Orson's eyes lit up.
He gave the Crimson Lizard King a light tap on the head.
With a roar, she shot upward.
One man. One dragon.
Flying straight into a divine flame of heaven.
Infinite Dimensions livestream.
The male commentator was stunned.
"The sky's falling… but hey, there's always someone tall enough to catch it."
The female host, breathless and flushed:
"He'll win, right? No… even if he loses—I'd still marry him!"
SirLagsALot facepalmed.
"Yeah, good luck with that. The girls in his guild will eat you alive."
Burning – 15 million!
Burning – 15 million!
…
The divine flame lashed at the Crimson Lizard King.
Her red eyes shut tight. Her scales sizzled and popped.
Still, she didn't make a sound.
"Foolish beast!" Bilsatz laughed maniacally.
"You dare provoke the will of a seraph? You're begging to die!"
"Percent-based true damage. Bonus vs. dragons. Girl, back off."
Orson raised a brow and sliced open the Battle Space.
The Crimson Lizard King turned to glare—still wanting to fight.
"Cut the drama. Get in there."
Orson raised his Supreme Arcane Blade, threatening a beatdown.
She growled but finally leapt into the pocket dimension, sealing off the damage.
With her gone, the divine flame turned toward Orson.
"Burn the heretic! Offer his bones to the Light!"
Bilsatz screamed.
And then…
His smile cracked.
Burning: Immune.
Burning: Immune.
...
Orson smirked.
His body turned translucent.
Blood flowed in fire-colored veins.
Arcane glyphs shimmered across his skin, lighting up with eerie glow.
From the moment the bishops pulled out that feather, he knew:
This fire couldn't touch him.
"Seraphim? You think you know fire?"
"You're a damn amateur."
He laughed—loud and proud.
"No damage?! That's a near-Forbidden spell!"
"Insane! Even Forbidden-tier gear can't survive that—and he's not even scratched?!"
"His clothes aren't even singed!"
Chat exploded.
There he was—Orson.
Laughing inside divine fire.
A god of flame.
In Orson's mind, unless an actual seraph showed up, there was no way this "heavenly fire" could do anything.
A feather? Please.
"No… no, this is impossible! Only… only that one could survive divine fire!"
Bilsatz whispered in horror.
The divine flame had a will of its own.
Realizing it couldn't burn Orson, it dispersed—transforming into divine birds that dove toward the players below.
"Not on my watch."
Wind God's Sigh.
Orson calmly swung his staff, riding the wind across the sky.
He soared after the birds.
"Run!"
People screamed.
The birds were a thousand meters up—but just the heat turned hundreds of players into mist.
If they hit, the damage would be catastrophic.
"I said…"
"Don't run."
Orson's voice darkened.
Killing his future disciples?
That was a personal insult.
He snapped his fingers.
Ice Prison Ring.
Blue mist erupted.
A freezing wall expanded at incredible speed—clashing with divine fire.
SSSSSSSSS—
Steam roared into the heavens.
Blue and red tore the sky in two.
Players stared, dumbstruck.
The ice shield covered them all, the impact painting the sky in light and shadow.
The fire was almost Forbidden-tier.
But Ice Prison Ring, while powerful, wasn't maxed out yet.
And it was starting to lose.
"Divine fire, huh? Then I'll be your ice god!"
Orson growled, pushing harder.
"My domain—fully unleashed!"
Power wasn't enough?
Then he'd win with scale.
The frozen fog surged outward.
A shadow loomed overhead.
A twenty-kilometer-wide crystal fortress rose above the battlefield—blinding and indomitable.
A bastion of ice and light.
A wall to shield the weak.
A city to shelter the strong.