"Damn it! The spell's range is insane!"
Players from Dragon's Kiss Guild circling in the air got caught in the blast. Hundreds of souls ascended in death, following their guild leader into the grave.
"Holy crap! We were just spectating! Since when did watching a fight become lethal? Is there no justice left in this game?"
"Insane! The clone managed to drag that many people down with it before vanishing. How is Dragon's Kiss Guild ever going to compete with Godslayer now?"
Challenger Usher took another brutal loss, and Dragon's Kiss Guild was once again battered into the dirt. It was nothing short of catastrophic.
"Phew… that was close. But at least we won. Feels good!"
Cheers erupted from the livestream. Among the studio staff, Orgod's fans popped champagne in celebration.
Male commentator: "An E-rank skill broke through three Divine Soul Seal techniques. This… this is just unbelievable!"
Female host: "Dear viewers, we're heading into an ad break. Don't go anywhere!"
That solo duel between two kings was peak entertainment. Viewer count in the stream shot up to 150 million.
"But it's weird… He already killed them. Why blow himself up with the spell too? Was it just to send a message to Dragon's Kiss Guild?"
SirLagsALot fell deep into thought, his expression grave. He couldn't figure out what exactly happened at the last moment.
But he knew one thing: Orgod was never the type to waste effort. A clone couldn't loot player gear, so killing a bunch of Dragon's Kiss Guild members didn't bring any tangible rewards.
"Something went wrong… but where?"
He got up, grabbed a cigarette, and took a break while the stream rolled out ads and merchandise.
Golden City, Dragon Nest
Madman: "Are you done yet? We cleared out all the Dragon Guards. Everyone's waiting on you. What's taking so long—killing Usher shouldn't be this complicated."
Orson opened his eyes, his expression mixed. "I'm worried that the whetstone might break the blade."
Controlling the golden clone to fight Usher had been a chess match. Usher was the next move in a grand game, and calling it a calculated ambush wouldn't be an overstatement. He used every bit of his battle intellect, even manipulating his own guild members from behind the scenes.
Usher wasn't even the real body—he'd used the Hell Golem as a decoy and a relay. The whole fight had tricked everyone into thinking the talking one was Usher himself.
But in truth, he had been playing the role of the golem all along, trying to draw out all of Orson's trump cards before striking the final blow.
Orson had nearly fallen for it, but Usher missed one key detail: the combat log shows when a player dies.
It was through this that Orson figured out Usher hadn't actually died. With no other choice, he went all-in at the last second, using Eclipse of the Underworld for a desperate one-for-two trade.
Though the golden clone only held a tenth of Orson's full power, he could feel Usher had "evolved" during the battle. His will to fight was admirable, worthy of respect.
Still, Orson believed in his team. Dragon's Kiss Guild was a worthy opponent and a perfect whetstone. Their rivalry would only make them stronger.
In his previous life, Dragon's Kiss Guild had been an uncontrollable monster, trampling trial players beneath their feet. He despised their methods, but couldn't deny their power.
This time, Orson had put a collar on that dragon—pointing its claws at future enemies. That wasn't a bad thing.
No matter what faction or alignment a player had, Orson needed the strength of everyone.
Madman: "Wait, what? Whetstone and kitchen knives?"
Madman: "Hehe, is Sienna cooking tonight? Should we hold off on raiding the treasure hoard then—"
"Cut the crap. Let's get this done. Grab every last dragon egg from the three high-tier Dragon Nests."
Orson kicked Madman toward a grand golden gate shining with blinding brilliance.
The treasure vault door itself was a legendary relic—immune to 90% of physical and magical damage and completely unaffected by crits. Forcing it open by brute strength? Even a whole guild bombing it nonstop might need months.
Nine massive keyholes the size of bowls lined the gate. Just looking at it gave the assassin team cold sweats.
According to their investigation, each person could only attempt to unlock three dragon locks. Only when all nine were opened in the correct sequence would the gate fully open.
"Let me take a crack at it."
Madman, self-proclaimed Thief God of the current era, was a master of all things lockpicking. After a few attempts, click click click—he cracked three locks in just minutes.
He could guarantee success, but the others couldn't.
They dangled off the vault for ten, fifteen minutes, only to fail by the fourth or fifth lock, over and over.
"Let me get this straight. Two of you are master-level lockpickers, and I'm the only grandmaster. Are you guys joking right now?"
Madman finally lost it, raining curses on the failed attempts. "Mess it up one more time and I'll have you shot ten thousand times!"
The others had no comeback. Infinite Dimensions' lockpicking always had an element of RNG. Even with decades of experience, cracking an ancient vault requiring nine consecutive successes was beyond even legendary thieves.
"We can't break this by force in under two weeks. Maybe we should bring Raven in to decrypt the mechanism?"
"Decrypt my ass. You think that nerd's gonna help? If he's so smart, what the hell are your brains made of—jelly?"
Madman was pissed. Raven wasn't a rogue but had a knack for solving puzzles.
Orson looked up at the ceiling of the dragon's lair. It was a massive mural of the stars.
Using the Ancient Sage's Eye, he confirmed there were secrets tied to it. The Soul Seal skill provided some clues but didn't solve anything directly. It would take time—and that's exactly what they lacked.
"Holy crap, Madman! There's something moving inside this thing!"
A rogue from the assassin squad stepped back, wide-eyed.
Everyone froze. The ground began to rumble.
Orson raised an eyebrow. The nine compass-like locks on the golden door had begun turning on their own.
Soon, a gap opened between the doors, and a foul, fishy-smelling air seeped out.
"Wait… is someone in there?!"
"Destroyer… are you here to wipe out the last of my kind?" a raspy voice echoed.
A middle-aged man with long, straw-yellow hair stood in the doorway. His deadened eyes scanned the room.
"Peak Saint Lord-Class… no, six hundred million HP—he's half a step into King rank."
Orson's expression darkened. The man was a golden dragon in human form.
Only Soros, who Orson had already slain, had been stronger.
"Everyone, gear up! Time to slay a dragon!"
Madman panicked. The assassin team tensed up, instantly going into stealth to prep a surprise attack.
"Wait. Don't bother."
Orson waved a hand and chuckled. "If I'm right, this is the last golden dragon."
During the War of the Dragons, Tulikiki had taken two heavily wounded dragons. One had since been slain by Bradley's group.
Orson had seen this one before—it was a male named Quarla. But back then, he was nowhere near this powerful.
Now, his strength was steadily rising as he approached Dragon King rank, his max HP increasing every second.
Quarla smiled bitterly. "Don't worry. I've no desire for bloodshed. I'm not strong enough to oppose a Conqueror anyway."
He paused, then added, "The age of dragons is over. We're no longer blessed by the gods. Spending the rest of my days atop treasure is enough for me."
"You expect me to believe that? You opened the vault yourself. Tell me what you really want."
Orson gave a cold smile. Just because a near-King was acting meek didn't mean he couldn't fight back.
"I'm just curious… a human managed to open three of the Dragon Locks. No one's done that in a thousand years. But if you'd solved the riddle on the Golden Dragon Star Map, the gate should've fully opened."
Quarla's golden eyes scanned the group, curiosity flickering in his gaze.
"No need to wonder. The Thief Saint is standing right here." Madman grinned and stepped forward confidently, staying behind the "tank" just in case.
"Thief Saint… I once traveled the Infinite Dimensions continent. Took in a human disciple. He was known as Thief Saint by the bards."
Quarla's voice softened as he recalled the past. "His name was Che Guevara. Are you his descendant?"
Madman froze, a chill shooting down his spine. The Thief Saint's master was a dragon!?
"I am Quarla, the Thief God. The Nine-Lock Vault was crafted by the Mountainhill Dwarves at my request."
Quarla's eyes gleamed as he looked at Madman. Then his tone sharpened: "Adventurer, inherit my title. Carry on the supreme path of theft. Everything in this vault is yours to take!"
"WTF?! All I did was pick a lock and now I've triggered a hidden class line?!"
A system chime rang in Madman's ears—he stood frozen, completely mind-blown.