The Ice Prison Ring went full blast.
A pale blue frost mist blanketed the entire map sector.
Freeze!
Chaos Burn!
In an instant, eerie chaos flames ignited across the battlefield, lighting up every NPC like human torches.
Their health pools were massive, sure—but dropping 30,000 to 40,000 HP per second? That kind of DPS adds up fast.
"Coordinates 63.30—there's a priest channeling high-tier Dispel Magic. Take him out!"
Madman rode atop Quarla, alternating between micromanaging the high-level threats and barking out commands across the front.
As soon as he spoke, guild war parties across the map shifted focus. Mages and archers unleashed a storm of spells and arrows. Precision? Not needed. Just flood the area with pure destructive force.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
An entire mountaintop was flattened. Any NPC that dared to attempt disrupting the Ice Prison Ring paid the price—with body parts scattered across the frozen ground.
Madman: "All Dragon Riders from allied guilds—focus on killing Domain Lord-class and higher targets!"
Magical Fiancée: "If you run into Saint Lords, fall back. Don't try to solo them! If it gets bad, fall back to the Godslayer mech cluster!"
"Rez me! I'm Rootless Water, and I just burned my revive—I've still got 300 rounds in me!"
"Keep the momentum going! Don't let the other guilds think we're just deadweight!"
...
Guild comms were a chaotic, disciplined frenzy. Five major warbands gnawed away at the Imperial formation from every angle.
Even with Orson limiting the Empire's full force output, the player-side still took heavy losses due to raw stat disadvantage.
In just over ten minutes, more than half the players were dead.
But that was their edge.
Players didn't fear death.
Losing some gear and XP? Whatever.
Respawn delays? Minor. Over a hundred drakes were stationed at Forever City's gate for exactly this reason—when one wave fell, another was instantly airlifted straight into the fray.
"I'm back!"
"I'm back again, motherf—!"
"Okay, I'm dead. Respawning! One sec!"
It was a non-stop relay of life, death, and retribution. The Empire's 200,000-strong force had become a caged beast.
An hour later, their numbers had been cut in half. Nearly 100 Domain Masters and Saint Lords were down to their last legs.
The livestream was going nuts. Spectators couldn't believe what they were seeing. The tide had fully turned.
Male commentator: "A 1-to-20 disadvantage in troop count… and they're still winning?"
"Two hundred thousand soldiers about to go up in holy flames and meet their gods, courtesy of yours truly!"
SirLagsALot was glowing with pride. Meanwhile, reports from the Celestial Fortress were just as good—three of the Empire's Dawn-class warships had been taken down. The rest? Either obliterated or fleeing with massive damage.
Once the Celestial Fortress arrived?
The Empire's reinforcements wouldn't just fail—they'd be completely wiped.
"Wait... why is the Celestial Fortress retreating? Are they out of sacred cannon charges?" the female commentator asked, eyes narrowing at a side-screen feed.
SirLagsALot frowned. This was an unexpected twist. The mighty fortress had only hovered briefly, deployed a cleanup crew, then suddenly vanished in a flash of spatial teleportation.
"Could it be… a new threat? Or..."
She trailed off, uncertain. The other two commentators jumped in.
"Did they locate the main force of the Church?"
Male commentator: "Something's off. Player reports show no sign of Pope Jenonis. It's like he vanished into thin air."
"Let me take a look."
SirLagsALot leaned forward, eyes darting across ten live feeds. The broadcast director rapidly cycled camera views of every capital.
His frown deepened. He switched to the forums, searching for player-posted recon reports.
All he found was a clip from over an hour ago—Jenonis leading kings and nobles out of the Imperial capital. No tactical value. A dead lead.
"Is it possible the NPCs are using some kind of artifact? Something divine that cloaks entire army movements?"
The female host suddenly piped up, half joking.
The two commentators chuckled.
Highly unlikely. According to Infinite Dimensions' current lore, no divine item or artifact had such a sweeping cloaking function.
"You might not just be a pretty... ah, face," SirLagsALot coughed, giving her a thumbs-up.
She blushed, eyes glittering with mischief, clearly reveling in the moment.
The stream chat exploded. Viewers roared with laughter, finally seeing someone speak what they'd all been thinking—that those "headlights" were really distracting.
"The Empire's falling apart!"
The male commentator's voice snapped them back to reality.
"Retreat!!!"
"Damnable heretics! One day you'll all be sacrificed to the God of Light!"
From dusk to dawn, the battle raged on—Titan mechs, magic tanks, the golden dragon Quarla, and tens of thousands of players fought in perfect sync.
The once-green Chaos Hills were reduced to smoldering, corpse-littered hellscapes. Over 100,000 Imperial NPCs had their souls erased. It looked like a scene straight from the underworld.
The Empire had lost over 70% of its force.
Players were bruised, battered, and blood-soaked—but their morale had never been higher. They'd shattered the enemy, and soon, this chunk of high-value territory would be theirs.
Guild Command Channel:
Madman: "Iron Cavalry, have your guys pull back from the exit path."
Iron Cavalry: "Huh? We're not wiping them all? I got clubbed to death by barbarians four damn times! You're telling me we're just letting that go?"
Madman: "He's playing the long game. We're regrouping at Riftrock City to link up with Fatso."
Iron Cavalry: "Hell yeah! If Big Bro's making a move, then more riches are bound to follow!"
"Godslayer brothers, onward!" Magical Fiancée chimed in, voice full of fire.
In the early stages of the Chaos Hills battle, even Godslayer's elite squads had each died at least five times.
Other guilds were practically numb from all the corpse runs—most players had lost 1 to 3 levels on average.
Didn't matter.
They just kept getting back up, grabbing a flying mount, and diving straight back in.
They fought until day and night blurred. Until real life and the virtual world became one.
But the more they died, the more they learned. Their synergy improved dramatically.
At first, it took an entire hundred-man team to hold off a single wolf-riding Domain Master.
By the end, just three coordinated six-man teams could wear one down through smart rotations and sheer attrition.
This kind of battlefield knowledge couldn't be found in dungeons or low-stakes PvP.
"This blade is finally beginning to sharpen."
Orson looked around at the blood-drenched, battle-hardened soldiers around him. He felt a surge of pride.
You could feel it—something had changed. A shift. Not in equipment or class, but in mindset.
This was the birth of a truly unbeatable army.
"You guys are insane," Heartbroken Loli smiled, her face stained with blood but glowing with charm. "We lost three defensive mechs, and you eight managed to hold the line just with your shields?"
"Nowhere near your level. One girl at the front, thousands dead at your feet. At least 2,000 NPCs, right?"
The warrior captain scratched his head and laughed sheepishly.
"Whatever. I'm gonna go play a couple rounds of mahjong with the Glory Seekers crew."
Iron Cavalry strolled over grinning, clearly intending to turn a casual game into a full-blown looting spree.
Orson watched quietly, not stopping him. He was pleased.
Initially, these inter-guild alliances were all about profit. No real friendship, lots of tension.
They'd fought over resources for years within the Light Dragon Empire. Distrust ran deep.
But on the battlefield, covered in blood, you had to trust the person at your back.
That kind of bond?
A sword could vouch for it. So could a pile of enemy corpses.
"How much did we make?" Orson walked over with a lazy grin. Madman seemed spaced out—probably checking loot counts.
But Orson knew that look. This guy was crunching numbers, and they were looking real good.
"Dude... we just struck gold."
Madman grabbed Orson's shoulders, eyes gleaming. When he noticed the others staring, he tried to chill out.
"Seventy thousand blue items, level 50 and up. Six thousand hero-tier pieces. Over 700 legendary gears. Forty-something Forbidden Magic items."
He sent Orson a private message, unable to contain it:
"Over 8,000 skill books, from C to S rank. This is insane!"
"Over 300 Soul Seals, from basic to Lord-class. Compared to the orcs, these Light Dragon Empire NPCs are the broke-ass peasants of the fantasy world."
"We're the main force here. Taking 80% of the haul isn't greedy, right?"
Madman stared at Orson, eyes blazing with ambition.