Madman shouted, "Damn it, I missed you so much!"
Orlog replied flatly, "Then die—ASAP."
"Wait, wait! Don’t come any closer! You can have your stuff back, okay?!"
Spotting the distant "Orlog" as a squad leader, Madman immediately slipped into drama mode, looking ready to drop to his knees and beg for mercy.
"He’s almost down! That’s the vice leader of Godslayer! Whoever bags him will be a hero!"
"Godslayer? Overrated!"
"Yas died under Orgod’s ambush. These filthy cowards dared challenge us? They’re begging for death!"
Madman’s false surrender had the Maple Nation adventurers fired up.
Up on his floating throne, the fake Parlenzo raised both arms like a messiah and roared, "Make Rusina great again, my soldiers!"
Over a dozen battle parties surged forward, and with elite clerics from eight top guilds backing them, there was no escape for this crafty little thief.
"Kill his dragon! I want him alive—no matter the cost!" Parlenzo hissed.
Orson’s eyes went cold. At long range, he locked in on targets. His Chaos Magic Balls fired out in a deadly fan.
"Fastest gunslinger alive! That’s gotta be 21 shots per second!"
"Strongest C-rank adventurer I’ve ever seen!"
"Sweet holy son of light... is that basic attack or a Forbidden Curse?!"
Orson’s Titan Right Arm roared, steam-powered and relentless. His world-class rapid-fire made the surrounding ranged adventurers stare in awe.
A wave of Chaos Magic Balls slammed into the crowd, exploding in fiery chaos.
Madman paused and cursed in private chat: "Are you nuts?! You trying to kill me too?!"
Even with a stolen HP pool of over three million, he knew exactly how twisted Orgod—no, Orson—could be.
He couldn’t tank it. Not even close.
"Quarla, protect me!"
Quarla, deep in battle, glanced at him for half a second—then turned her head back to continue mauling the metal dragon.
That look seemed to say, I can’t handle it either. You’re on your own.
"You... You’re all bastards!"
Madman’s eyes widened in despair. This was the downside of an equal contract—when their own life was at risk, a beast could refuse a command.
Watching Madman squirm, Orson finally narrowed his eyes and smiled.
"Magic Eye. Mirror of Folding."
Reflective magic lit up. His Chaos Magic Balls vanished into space portals, accelerated fivefold, then re-emerged at bizarre angles—turning into flaming meteors.
Lethal Strike -19 million!
Explosions rocked the battlefield. Adventurers turned just in time to see teammates incinerated. Each basketball-sized fireball meant instant death.
The spreading chaos aura painted the battlefield in red damage markers. One after another, adventurers disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but cinders.
Achievement Points: +30,000+
In a single bombing run, over 1,200 Maple Nation adventurers were reduced to ash and sent to heaven—if heaven took cowards.
"What the hell did you just do?" Baldy spun around, staring at Orson as if he’d opened a portal to hell.
The battlefield fell silent. No one dared press forward now. Faced with such overwhelming death, fear took over.
"What? Not my fault."
Orson raised an eyebrow, continuing his auto-attacks. "Maybe he’s using some kind of artifact to reflect my attacks? Typical Godslayer tactics."
The Maple Nation players exchanged awkward glances. They had seen the reflected effect. Maybe... it wasn’t intentional?
But no one was buying that anymore. Nobody wanted to be the next "accidental" casualty.
Battle squads scattered like cockroaches under light, pulling out every life-saving trick in the book to dodge the so-called "friendly fire."
Madman, meanwhile, laughed. "I got an Artifact, boys! Hit me and you hit yourselves. Come on, let’s share the pain!"
Orlog shouted back, "Don’t get cocky, vice leader! When that Artifact runs out, I’ll blow your head off!"
The two went back and forth, trading fake threats and flashy attacks. All smoke and mirrors—just two grifters running a play.
Sienna and Blank could only stare in speechless dismay.
Truly—birds of a feather.
Godslayer products always came with extra scheming included.
As the duo kept up their farce, Maple Nation adventurers kept dying in droves. Orson’s Mirror of Folding ensured every chosen target had no way to survive.
"Who is this guy, really?"
Parlenzo’s face twisted in suspicion. He turned to the guild leaders beside him.
"Judging by his level, he’s the second-highest ranked gunslinger on the board. But I’ve seen him in dungeons—he never looked this strong."
"That’s what makes him dangerous," another guild leader murmured. "If he has a divine Soul Seal, then even a C-rank awakened could surpass S-tier limits."
Everyone nodded grimly.
That kind of power was the holy grail for any top player. But Maple Nation players were fiercely independent—anyone who had such a treasure would hide it.
At that moment, a voice rang out: "If he’s me, then who the hell am I?"
Everyone turned. A confused man stood with a magic rifle, clearly uncomfortable. He displayed his level and class: A-rank [Holy Flame Gunner], Level 78.
The president’s guards immediately leveled their weapons at him. The room went dead silent.
Eyes darted between Orson and this newcomer. Two players, same level, same class? That didn’t add up.
The new guy threw up his hands. "Seriously—I can’t even scratch a Dragon King. You think I could drop 10-million crits?!"
"Holy sh— We’ve been played!"
Only one person on Earth could deal that kind of damage...
Parlenzo gasped and spat out the name: "Orgod!"
Every top-tier Maple Nation adventurer immediately locked onto Orson’s location. High-tier spells began charging all around him.
Orson raised an eyebrow, murmuring to himself: "Barely got 100,000 merit points, and I’m already exposed?"
His plan had been simple: With Maple Nation’s eight cleric guilds constantly reviving everyone, he could farm them like potatoes for millions of points.
"Why are my allies attacking me?"
He turned, feigning confusion.
Aeloria burst out of a spatial rift in human form, blocking the attacks aimed at Sienna and Blank with a flurry of sword strikes and spell countermeasures.
"A quasi-God-tier Dragon Queen! Oh my God!"
"It’s him! He’s the one! The reason the Allied Fleet lost!"
Gasps rippled through the enemy ranks.
Aeloria’s gemstone eyes flared. She flung a bone sword through the air—it turned into a reaping blade, harvesting the heads of rogue assassins hiding nearby.
Parlenzo blinked—then grinned in delight.
"Perfect! Saves me the trouble!"
He floated backward in his throne and laughed.
"Foolish, arrogant Americans! You’ve wandered into my magic formation willingly. With eight Kings at my side... the devil always loses in the end!"
Orson’s eyes turned icy.
He couldn’t see Parlenzo’s stat panel. Likely the throne’s ability.
Still, there was one thing he could be sure of:
No real-world president was stupid enough to step onto a battlefield in person.
"Phantomcraft—disable."
Orson removed his cowboy hat, revealing his true face.
A golden olive branch gleamed at his forehead. His Supreme Warcaster robe shone with muted, divine light. The stars of the Bright Galaxy spun around him—not a god, but certainly godlike.
A crushing pressure flooded the field.
Adventurers backed away, trembling.
"I didn’t give you permission to leave... President Parlenzo."
His voice was cold as winter. He reached out. In his hand, the Hurricane Spear appeared.
Parlenzo spun in horror.
Three Dragon Knights rushed forward, trying to block the strike.
The wind goddess responded with a battle cry of her own.
Three sprays of blood painted the sky. The knights lost half their bodies in an instant—but the spear didn’t stop.
Parlenzo’s floating throne shattered like glass. He plummeted like a broken kite.
Coughing and staggering, he tried to flee—
Only to feel the cold kiss of a dagger on his throat.
Blank stood behind him, her voice sharp and quiet:
"Anyone makes a move... and he dies."