"This area's yours now."
Orson nodded at the Crimson Lizard King. With Death's Disdain still active and having absorbed the essence of Purple-Gold Dragon King Daloré, the Crimson Lizard King still had the upper hand—even in a two-versus-one.
He wouldn't be able to kill the enemy kings instantly, especially with priest support behind them, but stalling them? That was easy.
Magic Eye.
Mirror of Folding.
Orson opened a spatial webway. Magical Fiancée and her team instantly entered, completing their retreat and linking up with Madman and the others.
The imperial army, now forced to push deeper into the Chaotic Hills, was falling step by step into a lethal ambush designed just for them.
Madman: "Come on, tell me that wasn't genius! Two-sided pincer—ain't even a fly getting out alive!"
Magical Fiancée: "If you planned this from the start, why didn't you say anything?"
"If I told you, where's the fun in that?" Madman grinned like a gremlin.
"You manipulative bastard..."
Glory Seekers players nearly coughed up blood in rage, gnashing their teeth at Madman's antics.
Iron Cavalry: "Now, now, no need to get so worked up. We didn't know if we could trust you at first. But I, for one, am happy to call you friends now!"
Dancing Giant Boobs: "Friends? You mean poker victims, right? You figured out they were rich the moment they walked in."
Iron Cavalry scratched his head awkwardly. "Hey now, that's not fair. I always lose at cards. Just trying to spread the wealth!"
"Scamming mutt."
"Biggest cheater alive."
Knights who had lost to him erupted in complaints. Stewart chased after him: "Come on, bro! Let's stop gambling, yeah? Give me back my five hundred gold!"
Iron Cavalry, face thick as steel, waved it off and shouted nobly, "Enough nonsense! Stay sharp—we've got enemies incoming!"
The whole group rolled their eyes. Never had they seen such shamelessness.
"Quiet. Riftrock City was just the appetizer." Madman's voice turned sharp, and everyone snapped to attention.
"Can we engage now?" Iron Cavalry asked.
Orson checked the Celestial Vision feed and shook his head. "Not yet. Just the scouts."
Stewart: "Those Church priests are cowards. If any of the higher-level ones die, it'll be a nightmare."
"Damn, and this is only the vanguard?" Iron Cavalry's forehead beaded with sweat. The minimap was practically solid red.
The squads waiting in the hills had no orders yet. All they could do was remain hidden and still.
"The main event's about to start. I got goosebumps. What if Madman's cooked up something huge?"
In the stream, SirLagsALot stared at the clustering red dots on the map, nervous despite himself.
Male commentator: "Encirclement-and-split tactics? Will that even work?"
"With how many priests and barrier mages the Church has, I'm not sure Orson's magic can break through," the female host added as she glanced over NPC stat sheets.
"Unless they can delay until Celestial Fortress supports, once the circle is broken, the Empire will march straight to Riftrock City."
"And the Empire's side has dragons too."
"Plus, their one Dragon King is tied up by two tribal kings. He alone can't swing the tide," the male caster concluded.
The female host looked at SirLagsALot. "Well? Does your guild have any surprises left?"
"How should I know? I'm watching this mess like the rest of you," he grumbled, earning a flood of LOLs in chat.
He smirked privately.
Guild secrets were never leaked—even internally. But he was nervous too.
It was true: their ambush circle was tight. But with only ten thousand players total going up against over two hundred thousand imperial troops?
The only real edge was Orson's title, Sky Sovereign, which grounded all enemy flying units and dragons.
That gave them the freedom to reposition their formation without being scouted from above.
But the Empire's two tribal kings were absolute monsters, their stat sheets laughably out of reach for any player.
In a fair fight, even walking into the ambush, they'd stand for a long time before dying.
Still, Godslayer was a nest of lunatics—top-tier players, mad scientists, mechanics, trolls, and psychopaths.
A guild built like a glitch in the system.
"Stay alert! Cowards will die!"
"Scouts—check the ridgeline!"
An imperial commander barked orders. Dozens of Inquisition assassins scattered, climbing the hills.
"Shit! Are we really this unlucky?"
A Godslayer soldier cursed, then looked up just in time to see shadowy shapes flash past. Elite assassins swarmed them in silence.
"I'm screwed—I'm gonna get insta-killed! My war merit's gone!"
A Godslayer priest shouted. His shield shattered instantly, and one strike drained half his health.
"Should we revive and fight?" an archer asked as he lay bleeding out.
Yikunya Becoming God: "Pointless. Reinforcements are coming. Don't waste Rootless Water."
Soon, the entire group was overwhelmed by over 200 NPCs and sent packing—souls flying back to Forever City.
Legion Channel:
"Madman, Group 3 is compromised."
"Group 11 is down. We only took out about thirty enemies."
Madman's face darkened. "Head to Forever City's main gates. Flyers will extract you. Everyone else—collapse the perimeter and conceal."
Magic tools were quickly exchanged. The encirclement zone tightened to a two-kilometer radius.
"Don't worry about the Rootless Water. Let them have a little taste of it," Orson said, stroking his chin with a sly grin.
Madman blinked. "Are you serious? That's divine-tier resurrection water. Other guilds would sell their souls for it!"
"Stop being a cheapskate. The boss said do it," Iron Cavalry cut in with a scoff.
Orson glanced back at Iron Cavalry—this infamous gold-hoarder. Every raid or event, core members were allocated a few Rootless Waters.
But this guy?
He had twenty-plus bottles stashed from bets and raids. No wonder he wasn't sweating.
Of course, he planned to resell them later for 1,200 gold apiece, cycling them between hands like a market broker.
"Take your squad and feed them. Push the NPCs forward and split their formation. You get what I mean, right?" Orson smirked.
"...Feed them my ass!" Iron Cavalry turned green. His dream of flipping potions for profit had just been stomped on.
"I told you not to brag!"
"Go die gloriously! We'll loot your stuff later!"
Everyone burst into laughter. Iron Cavalry grumbled but didn't dare say no. Orson's smiling face scared him more than any enemy.
With dead-man's resolve, Iron Cavalry led his 800-knight unit to the hilltop and made his dramatic declaration:
"If the gods want me dead, who am I to resist? One for one is fair. Two for one, and I profit!"
"This… this is a suicide mission?! With only 800 people?"
"Unreal. This guy really did pull out something big..."
The stream exploded. Under the stunned gazes of players and commentators, the 800 knights charged.
Iron Cavalry led the way, lance in hand, crashing into the barbarian heavy infantry, his Flame Dragon unleashing a fiery wing sweep that sent dozens flying.
"Dragon Cavalry Technique: Flame Overrun!"
His usual clownish grin vanished. His lance burst into blazing energy, merging with dragonfire as he forced open a gap in the enemy line.
His knights followed in a thundering wave, smashing the Empire's front and scattering corpses.
"Holy Shield!"
"Holy Shield!"
...
But as Church priests arrived, the barbarians activated pseudo-Body Domination effects. Titan blood surged, and they blocked the charge with axes and shields.
Then came the Ghostfang Frostwolf cavalry, flanking the knights on all sides.
Trapped.
The charge faltered. Knights fell one by one.
Iron Cavalry recalled his dragon, gritted his teeth, and finally collapsed under the onslaught.
"Uhh… awkward. He splashed into the enemy line and just… fizzled out."
"Yep. Classic mistake. No coordination. No follow-up. Discipline gap between players and NPCs is just too big."
The commentators were stunned. SirLagsALot clenched his jaw, humiliated by Iron Cavalry's antics.
"This is Godslayer's so-called 'Number One Knight'? What a damn clown."
"Compared to the Silver Dragon Knight King? This guy's not even worthy to shine his boots."
"If I had a Flame Dragon and that class? I'd play ten times better than him!"
Chat exploded in anger. They were convinced he was holding Orson back—and didn't deserve his title.
What they didn't know… was that Iron Cavalry's "idiotic charge" had been entirely intentional.