Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

As Orson entered the game pod, a message popped up instantly.

“Kissing like that? Don’t show off if you’re average.” —Sender: Emma

“If you peck like a chicken, don’t pretend you’re plowing a field. Kissing and tilling are two different things.” —Sender: Orson

“Ugh, go away. You’re annoying.”

From the room next door, Blank’s playful voice rang out. Orson grinned uncontrollably, the taste of alcohol still lingering on his lips.

“I’m not going to let you win, Emma,” he muttered to himself.

White light flashed across his vision as he re-entered the world of Infinite Dimensions.

Riftrock City.

Everyone stood atop Bloodstone Pass, watching the massive breach Ignis had blasted out slowly begin to repair itself.

“The enemy’s pushed through the Chaos Hills. They’ve split into three groups and are continuing their advance on Riftrock City!”

A Frostfire Legion dragon rider hovered in the sky, relaying real-time intel.

“The bait worked. Even the barbarian reinforcements are in the mix. Looks like they want revenge for the barbarian high priest,” Madman confirmed with a nod.

“How many are we talking?” Orson’s eyes gleamed with sharp intent.

“At least four hundred thousand! This is a tough nut to crack—stronger overall than the last imperial force.”

The rider took a breath, scanning through the reports flooding in from guild members. “But… no sign of King-tier NPCs. Saint Lords are scarce too.”

“You’ve done well, brother.”

Orson narrowed his eyes. An army of that scale without a King-class commander? That was suspicious.

Maybe Jenonis was starting to notice his little maneuvers.

But as long as Kassadin was alive and the servant contract hadn’t broken, Orson’s earlier bluff of a “narrow victory” would hold. The empire would keep throwing wave after wave at Riftrock City in hopes of reclaiming this strategic zone.

“Southwest quadrant just blew up—tons of minor guilds and random players clashed with the Fire Elf tribes. The casualties are insane!”

“Shit! It’s a slaughter! A few thousand fire elemental mages are wiping them out like nothing!”

World chat exploded.

Player after player charged toward the imperial forces, the air full of war cries and screaming.

“Frontline, slow the hell down! I can’t heal you if you’re ten steps ahead!”

“Kill ’em all! No turning back now—burn your cooldowns!”

“Dammit, where are the knights? I’m a damage carry here—I need a damn escort!”

Against elite imperial troops wielding fire magic and with an average level around 80, the disorganized rabble stood no chance. They poured in like floodwaters, only to be burnt to cinders moments later.

“What’s the point? We lost tens of thousands, and only downed a few dozen NPCs.”

“Serves you right. You ignored our guild’s coordinated orders and rushed in like lemmings. Now look at you.”

“This sucks. Watching the Godslayer Alliance dominate on stream, I log in to help and end up getting farmed like a noob…”

Despair quickly took over the chat.

The overwhelming force of magic made their numerical advantage irrelevant. Many groups didn’t even get close—just instantly shredded into scattered corpses.

“Left flank—Madman, form a new legion. Absorb the disbanded squads. Ride Quarla into battle!”

Orson barked the order. If he had given the players hope, he had to keep that hope alive.

“On it!”

The golden dragon Quarla took to the skies. Madman bought a guild trumpet and began broadcasting:

“All volunteer players resisting the imperial invasion—eyes on me!”

“I don’t care if your weapon’s trash or if you’re still level 10. Listen to me, and I’ll lead you to victory!”

Everyone froze.

A golden dragon lit up the battlefield like a second sun. Upon its back, the rogue’s silhouette gleamed with brilliance.

“That’s the Godslayer Vice President?”

“Damn, a rogue riding a golden dragon. Is that what you call a golden thief?”

“He was the one who commanded the Chaos Hills battle. Didn’t know Godslayer had someone like him.”

“Huangquan Guild requests to join! Madman, invite us!”

“Celestial Warriors wants in too! +++++”

Players rushed to answer the call.

“Damn, even level 17s without awakened classes are jumping in.”

Madman cursed under his breath but didn’t turn anyone away. He set the legion to open join.

Among the recruits were some serious contenders—guild leaders over level 50 with full luxury gear, and even a few solo legends hitting level 60 with S-rank classes.

Clearly, not all top-tier players wanted to join guilds. Some ran solo or in small squads.

And now? They’d all shown up—for that man.

Madman was in full form, having Quarla carpet-bomb the field with Dragon’s Breath while reshaping his lines.

He gathered the sharpest 300 players into a strike team—his spearhead—to pierce straight through the enemy heart.

“Ready to fire!”

“Roger!”

Madman and his golden dragon dove first.

Quarla’s whole body erupted in golden flames as he roared: “Golden Radiance!”

An S-rank mini-Forbidden Spell tore through the air, shattering space itself. Countless golden blades bloomed above the imperial army.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The imperial knights up front had their shields explode into pieces, toppling like wheat under a divine gale.

The frontline broke. Players saw it and their eyes lit up. The treasure trove was within reach.

This was the turning point!

“Madman, you absolute beast!”

“This is our moment! Let’s go, boys!”

A million players charged into the meat grinder with battle cries.

They knew they probably wouldn’t survive a single NPC blow—but they would make it count.

“Didn’t think he had that kind of courage,” murmured a red-armored female knight, flames licking off her shoulders.

“Not just courage—his tactical instincts are sharp. With the front line broken, their elementalists and priests are wide open to collapse.”

A silver-armored knight stepped forward. The crowd turned to him, awe lighting up their faces.

Several girls in the back squealed: “It’s the Silver Dragon Knight!”

“He made it?”

Orson grinned, walking up and giving Drunken Dream a brotherly hug.

“What can I say? Gotta show love to your own mount.”

Drunken Dream blushed and nodded awkwardly. “Boss.”

“Boss??”

The players around them nearly choked. The strongest Dragon Knight in the game… was calling Orgod “boss”?

Was this real?

There had always been rumors that Drunken Dream once solo’d Orgod, but now this?

“Alright, alright. Back off, Drunken Dream. Can’t you stay away from my master for two minutes?”

ShatteredCrown walked up with a frosty glare, literally bumping Drunken Dream aside with his hip.

“S-rank dual-element Archmage! ShatteredCrown!”

Magical Fiancée’s expression tightened.

This was the head of The King Family—a man with the title of Mini-Mage God. Rumor had it he was on the verge of unlocking an SS-rank class.

And yet, in front of Orgod, even he acted like an obedient child.

“Midfield. The Snow Witches, Merfolk, and Mountain Dwarf legions are yours.”

Orson turned to Bradley and the three major guild leaders.

ShatteredCrown: “No problem. Supreme and Moonlight Guilds can take the hits. We’ll clean up after.”

“You’re sly, but I’m not sure you’ll outscore us on this one.”

Empress chuckled mysteriously. Orson turned to glance at Moonlight Guild’s team—and spotted a familiar name: DragonHarbinger.

With a name that fierce, you’d expect a burly warlord. Instead, she was a calm, quiet female player.

A purple crown sat on her head. She was tall and graceful, and her eyes—one blue, one white—mirrored those of mixed-blood dragon NPCs.

A Dragon Tamer.

One of the former top aces of Dragon’s Kiss Guild.