"Thank you for waiting, everyone. I am Orgod, the King of Blood!" Orson smiled warmly at the group.
"A clone?" Demon Emperor narrowed his eyes, noticing something off. This Orgod's pupils glowed faint red, as if he was submerged in a river of blood.
"Hold up, I don't care what kind of king you call yourself. You want us to recall our beasts and then take on this whole army by ourselves?" The Beastmaster scowled at Orson with clear dissatisfaction.
Her Moonlight Guild had suffered heavy losses in this campaign. Out of her original five Domain Lord-class dragons, only two remained—one critically wounded and the other barely fit to fight. Vilitian beasts held tremendous value for any guild; their quantity and quality directly reflected a guild's power.
Nineteen dragons, chimeras, and Domain Lord-class beasts had already fallen. The player coalition had paid a brutal price, yet not a single complaint had been voiced as they kept fighting.
Orson had taken all of it in.
Now that the blood-soaked campaign against the Empire was in full motion, there was no reason to let his allies keep bleeding resources.
"Orgod, we've all seen your strength. But I still don't believe recalling our mounts and facing this head-on is the right call. The enemy... is strong." Empress of the Moon spoke solemnly.
If not for Bulletproof World risking his life, her Flame Dragon would've been long dead. These weren't the young and reckless Dragon Knights from the Pondenorlin conflict. Many of these were clan leaders, battle-hardened veterans with ridiculous stats.
They wouldn't have shown up unless forced by Archangel's overwhelming pressure. These old sharks didn't jump into fights without absolute necessity.
"My master says we fight—so we fight. No more whining," ShatteredCrown interrupted coldly, immediately recalling his beast into Battle Space.
Drunken Dream gently stroked Denoka's snout and followed suit with a relieved sigh.
"I'm attached to my pervy old dragon too, but you better not screw this up," Madman grumbled while recalling Quarla.
Orson nodded with a smile as everyone withdrew their beasts.
"Shit… there's way too many of them. How are we supposed to fight that?" Slaughter Spree gulped as the Imperial Dragon Knights surged forward, only two kilometers away.
A massive wall of dragon breath blazed between the sky and earth, incinerating beast troops and player allies alike. Their charge seemed unstoppable.
"You may advance," Orson said calmly.
Everyone froze, blinking in disbelief. Did they mishear that?
"Trust me. You are the strongest batch of Light Dragon faction players. I'll support you. None of you will die." Orson offered them a confident smile.
The group exchanged awkward glances. Sure, it felt good hearing that from the game's top mage—but against these overwhelming odds? Charging directly into that?
At that moment, two identical Orgod clones descended beside them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the team.
Empress of the Moon gasped. "You... how many clones can you even summon? Is there no limit?"
Everyone stared wide-eyed. Orgod's previous multi-clone takedown of Usher had left a deep impression, but none of them, aside from Madman, had any idea just how many clones Orson could command.
With powers this broken, most assumed one or two clones was already pushing the limit.
"I'll clear a path for you," one of the Lawless clones declared.
"Awakening: Grip of the Underworld!"
"Awakening: Hurricane Spear!"
Two blazing chaos hexagrams flared brightly as the clones unleashed a barrage of attacks ahead, followed by monotonous auto-attacks—smacking into the advancing horde like mechanical turrets.
Dust exploded as several leading Imperial Dragon Knights were smashed flat by giant elemental hands.
ShatteredCrown licked his lips, envious. "Master! You're a beast! Where the hell can I get a skill like that? Hook me up!"
But the Supreme Soul Disc clones simply smiled blankly, moving like emotionless puppets, maintaining steady fire.
"They're not talking? Wait... you're multitasking, aren't you?!" Madman cursed under his breath. "Monster..."
The advancing Dragon Knight formation grew disorganized, massive dragons bumping into each other as their charge slowed.
"What are you waiting for?! Strike the dragons—charge!" Drunken Dream roared, brandishing his lance.
Everyone hardened their resolve, swapping to their regular mounts. Thirty-some players now launched a desperate charge against the wall of dragons.
Drunken Dream, with Lilith riding behind, led the way like the tip of a blade aimed at certain death.
Meanwhile, on the frontlines near Forever City:
"Break through the encirclement!" Usher snarled, leaping into the air. His Dark Holy Dragon spewed black flames as he twanged his bowstring.
Black cyclones erupted into a storm of arrows, slicing through the imperial NPC ranks like the reaper's scythe. NPC after NPC fell by the hundreds.
Yet no matter how fiercely they fought, the Imperial army's Holy Light priests kept spamming mass resurrection spells, reviving NPCs faster than they could be killed.
At this rate, they'd be worn down and butchered.
"Need a hand?" a taunting voice called out.
A short, golden-robed mage radiating divine light floated nearby. His presence alone made thousands of NPCs drop to one knee, as if worshiping a god.
"I don't need your help," Usher spat bitterly.
He recognized this bastard—Orgod's clone, the same one that had humiliated him earlier. After what felt like finally overcoming his personal demon, Usher had only managed a worthless three-for-one trade against this thing.
"Suit yourself." The golden Orgod shrugged and casually drifted off toward the walls to support Bradley.
Usher's expression darkened. Clenching his fists, he growled, "Burn them. Unleash your fury, Dragon King!"
"Roar for me, Fearmonger Dragon King!"
His trump card emerged. A spatial rift cracked open above as a demonic shrine burst forth, releasing two enormous shadows.
The Dragon Kings' howls ripped through the sky.
The Fearmonger Dragon King gleamed an eerie white. Its breath wasn't fire, but invisible shockwaves. Any NPC struck either froze like a statue or descended into a coma-like nightmare.
Weaker ones simply disintegrated into bubbling, dissolving corpses.
The Wrath Dragon King skimmed along the ground, its crimson wings spewing hellish fire, turning everything it touched into glassy ash while NPCs were devoured by infernal flames.