Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

“Wakaka! Come on then! Let’s go full frontal—big gun versus big gun!”

“Get my damn anti-air cannons ready! Time to blow these backwater hillbillies to hell!”

Dynasty Old Yin screeched in his signature raspy duck voice as the sound of thirty-two divine-grade cannons began rumbling into readiness.

The sight didn’t just shake every NPC general—it sent chills down the backs of even the Glory Seekers players.

Godslayer’s guild leader, Triple Crown Winner, had once fought lightning-based forbidden curses with his bare body. That already felt like something out of a xianxia game.

But now?

This wasn’t just fantasy anymore—it was sci-fi warfare.

The fortress’s colossal cannons pointed directly at the three massive Dawn-class warships of the Empire, towering like divine swords held in the hands of gods.

Compared to the overwhelming scale of Celestial Fortress, the three imperial flagships suddenly looked pitiful—almost laughable.

The other magic warships? They looked like matchsticks—completely out of their league in size and power.

“Wow… never realized how insane Celestial Fortress was until now. And this is considered a warship class?”

“This is my first time seeing it up close—holy crap, it’s terrifying!”

“Wait… HP count says four billion? Did I add an extra zero by mistake?”

The livestream chat exploded. Everyone had heard of Celestial Fortress—Godslayer’s legendary ace in the hole—but few had ever seen its stats in full.

And now that they had? Player minds were crashing en masse.

Other guilds had ships. This guild had a fortress.

It was no wonder that descendants of the God-Emperor, including Cain himself, had once tried to rally all major guilds to seize it.

Because as long as Celestial Fortress stood, Godslayer could never truly fall.

That said, Celestial Fortress wasn’t invincible.

As a hybrid divine relic, it lacked a full-scale magical barrier. Other player factions could attempt to launch an assault and board the fortress directly.

If attackers managed to capture three core structures—power core, armory, or surveillance spire—then ownership of the fortress would transfer automatically.

But how many guilds even dared consider such a suicidal operation?

“Turn the ships! Turn the ships! Open fire!”

“Now! Dammit, hurry!”

Imperial commanders screamed in panic. Deckhands scrambled to rotate turrets and reorient the ships toward the floating juggernaut looming above.

“Before you judge me as a heretic, allow me to deliver my own judgment. Be destroyed.”

Orson spoke quietly, Supreme Arcane Blade pointing toward the imperial fleet.

“The fury of the Divine Legion—light ’em up!”

Dynasty Old Yin cackled wildly. As the de facto leader of Godslayer’s artillery corps, this was his moment to go absolutely nuts.

Hummmm…

BOOM BOOM BOOM!

Just as the Empire’s ships opened fire, thirty-two divine cannons roared in unison. The recoil alone pushed Celestial Fortress back by hundreds of meters.

“The wind has changed…”

Magical Fiancée watched in horror, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

A storm of light burst across the sky. Night was obliterated. Blinding, shrieking winds howled across the heavens.

Each blast sent out ripples of death, shaking space itself like glass ready to shatter.

“Help us—High Priest!”

“Abandon ship! Hurry!”

Layer upon layer of death shockwaves expanded like deadly nets, nullifying the magic cannon fire launched by over ten imperial ships.

The resulting flame storms battered their decks. Thousands of NPCs ignited like kindling, their HP bleeding out in seconds.

“Fire again!” Old Yin bellowed like a demon from hell.

Hummmmm… BOOM!!

A second volley.

The world itself seemed to implode. Magic elements screamed in the wind, death blooming across the sky like a plague.

Under this absolute firepower, imperial tech became meaningless.

Yes, the Dawn-class flagships were powerful:

– 200 million HP

– 50 million shield barrier

– Twelve semi-divine cannons with 40k–80k base damage, double crit rate, and a unique spell: Spatial Fracture, capable of destroying player/NPC equipment.

– Fire rate: 4–6 rounds per minute.

But compared to the Wrath of the Divine Legion, it was like comparing bottle rockets to nukes.

Wrath of the Divine Legion

– Type: Ancient Imperial Technology

– Quality: Divine-grade

– Attack Power: 200,000 (max)

– Skill: Death Shockwave (2-min cooldown)

– Passive: Auto-fire, no cooldown

– Notes: Each shot consumes 20k–200k mana. Max charge: 2 million mana.

Godslayer had prepped for this war for months. Over 1,000 life-skill players had worked tirelessly to keep each cannon fully charged.

The more mana charged, the longer and stronger the cannon’s volleys.

Each cannon could fire ten max-power volleys in short bursts.

This kind of firepower? Not even a Dragon King could tank it.

-60 million!

-58 million!

After just three volleys, two nearby Dawn-class warships were engulfed in flame. Their shields shattered, HP instantly down by a quarter.

The ships themselves held together—but the crew didn’t.

With over 4,000 imperial NPCs between them, almost none had time to summon mounts or escape.

They were reduced to ash and gore in seconds.

“No wonder the UJ Region treats him like a god…”

Magical Fiancée’s shoulders trembled. For some reason, she felt… moved.

Watching Orson dancing amidst the storm, she felt nothing but pride.

She was part of his plan. A witness to a god of magic at work.

She—Magical Fiancée—would dance with him in the Wild Gale.

“I never misjudge people. Whether I approve of you or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that you didn’t back down.”

A voice echoed in her mind.

Her eyes welled up. She nodded resolutely.

But she wasn’t one of those delicate girl players. Her eyes turned to stone as she raised her voice to her troops:

“KILL!!”

“You all wanted to reach Riftrock City? Then get moving.”

Standing atop the Crimson Lizard King, Orson gave the two tribal kings a graceful nod.

BOOM!

A massive imperial ship exploded midair. Burning debris rained down, crushing squads of NPC soldiers below.

“Scatter!”

The imperial generals panicked. There was clearly an ambush ahead—but retreating meant facing Celestial Fortress.

If their warships were destroyed, their entire army was doomed.

“Who the hell came up with this plan?!”

“Goddammit… it was a trap from the start. Riftrock City was just bait. Anyone who gets near it is walking into a slaughter.”

“This isn’t a game—it’s a full-scale war!”

Players in the livestream gasped. What they thought was going to be a tight, strategic standoff had turned into a one-sided massacre.

Godslayer wasn’t even fighting fair. They were using divine cannons to herd NPCs toward inevitable death. Forward or backward—it was a kill zone.

“Use your teleport scroll, Lord Nanun,” a Church cardinal whispered.

“Cowardly Empire dogs!”

Nanun, the barbarian high priest, snarled and turned to his troops.

If they didn’t break through now, they’d all die here.

“We carry the blood of the Primordial Titans!”

“We will honor our ancestors with the heads of our enemies!”

“ALL UNITS—ADVANCE! CRUSH THE HERETICS!”

Towering nearly three meters, the Barbarian King let out a war cry and charged into the chaotic hills, wielding a rusted spear the size of a tree trunk.

The Ghostfang Frostwolf King nodded silently, grief in his eyes. He too could have escaped with a scroll—but abandoning his people was never an option.

Retreat didn’t exist in the dictionary of the frostlands.

As the two kings prepared to break the balance, the Crimson Lizard King roared.

Its massive tail cracked through the sky and slammed into the ground between them.

“I said—king fights king!”

Orson lifted his hand. Two dolls appeared.

They were none other than the princesses of the Ghostfang Wildmen and Barbarian Tribes, already transformed into puppets by Laketon.

The kings’ eyes narrowed—but didn’t flinch.

Not even the lives of their own daughters would stop them now.

Orson frowned. He had hoped to use the hostages to control them—but he had underestimated their will to fight.

“Fine. Then I’ll grant your wish—to die with honor.”

A dark aura surged. A feminine figure emerged from the black mist.

Cold, ruthless, and regal—she unsheathed a bone-bladed sword from her hip.

The Goddess of Death had entered the battlefield.