Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

Chapter 722: 722:My Property, My Rules

“Summon the Earth Princess to the sanctified pool for the rite.”

“Summon the Earth Prince to the sanctified pool for the rite.”

“Summon the Wolf Twins to the sanctified pool for the rite.”

Shouted orders rolled across the terraces as Samuel spread his arms, basking in the attention. His entourage made no effort to hide themselves as they stepped into the fog-wreathed pool.

Estrella and Caelum shared a look. Not to be outdone, the Wolf royals entered the waters with their retinue.

They had barely waded in when someone cried out, “The heavens answer! There’s going to be an awakening beyond Tri-Shift!”

The sanctified waters boiled. Ghostlight ringed the Sacred Mountain. Ruleforce condensed into white cascades and poured down, gathering upon those of royal blood.

“Four-Shift! From Umbral, a sovereign is born!”

A Fireborn man of pure blood stood up in the pool, muscles striated and sculpted, the very image of violent grace.

“One day I will shatter this eternal prison and cast my name across the stars,” he proclaimed.

Jealousy flickered in Samuel’s eyes. Veins stood out along his arms as he threw his head back and roared at the mountain, channeling boundless swagger and opening himself to the rules’ baptism.

The surrounding ranges seemed to answer. They rumbled and shook, avalanches thundering down. Dozens of slow-footed sanctum guards were buried in white.

Then, rings of white descended from on high, seeking to bind head and limbs. Samuel didn’t flinch. He laughed, ecstatic. “Godrings. I did it. I, Samuel, did it!”

“Sunforge Godrings.”

Nuhachit, fresh from his own awakening, went pale and puffed steam into the cold air, staring like everyone else. No one could look away.

“Five-Shift. An S-tier profession omen,” an elder mountain warden whispered, stunned. “This Earth King will be second only to the Sunforge Sacred Executor. He’ll reach the ninetieth heaven at minimum.”

Murmurs swelled. The gods had poor aim, it seemed. A patricidal tyrant had leapt the dragon gate to stand above millions. With the Earth Kingdom and the Godmaster at his back, who could stop his rise?

Orson’s gaze sharpened. The Ancient Sage’s Eye read Samuel’s current state. SS-tier profession, labeled Endless Blade, with five SS-tier modes he could rotate between. Filthy strong. The name suited a petty man.

And it was only the opening act.

“The mountains are singing again.”

“Look, more godrings… Ten? Ten at once on one person? Impossible!”

“What is today? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The mountain itself shuddered, avalanches rolling like surf. A max-level caster flashed out of the crowds and threw a continent-wide water shield up to hold back the disaster.

“Ten godrings,” someone choked. “All for one?”

A scream tore the air, a man’s and a woman’s layered together. Orson’s eyes widened. The source wasn’t some unknown prodigy, but the so-called prophecy twins, Estrella and Caelum.

The scene that followed made stomachs lurch. Their shared body split down the waist, blood slicking the stones. Intestines and organs spilled in ropes, and the twin voices shrieked.

But under the Fire God’s field, their flesh began to knit in plain view, limbs and torsos regrowing as if time were turning backward.

“Incredible. The bodies are parted, but the souls are still bound,” people muttered, half-fascinated, half-horrified.

Orson shivered. Could they recombine in battle? The image in his head—sister literally mounted atop brother while they fought—was not one he wanted to keep.

That said, if the royal reports held true, both were dual-class adventurers. If they synced thought-for-thought and played to each other’s strengths, their ceiling would be far beyond one plus one equals two. Better than simply riding a beast, even. Piloting a warbeast always cost attention and bled efficiency. Not so with two minds, one rhythm.

He and Aeloria were the outliers, capable of a single intent. They didn’t need to share a body to match this. Still… if the twins added five-shift rotation on top?

Orson felt a twinge of envy. With the right choreography, those class combos could turn into divine chains. It would take oceans of real combat to perfect. Swap at the wrong time and you’d trip over your own hands.

“I disappointed you,” came a small voice.

In the pool, Darulunina sank down, face blank, deaf to the parade of prodigies preening around her. She had awakened a single E-tier class. She had lost the right even to look up.

A bird with broken wings. A leopard without fangs. The mountain was closed to her. Avenging her father, her tribe—fantasy.

“Darulunina…” Nuhachit’s triumph curdled to ash. Of all of them, he had been counted the least likely. Now he was Firevenom’s hope. He looked at her, tongue tied, gut tearing. He would have given her his gift if he could. He wasn’t made for the top. A full belly, a pretty girl—that was his ceiling. Second-in-command at best, like his father.

“I don’t want the mountain. I want to go home with Darulunina,” a two-shift girl sobbed.

“You’re climbing,” Orson said, squeezing her shoulder with a smile. Firevenom had treated him like family. Family deserved a nudge.

He cared nothing for rules that barred single-shifts. Whoever blocked the way would die. Simple.

“Remember this feeling,” he told Darulunina softly. “This is the bottom.”

He parted the mist and stepped to the edge, hand out.

“Leave me. I don’t deserve you. Take them up,” she said, swatting him away, head down, fighting tears.

“I’m only a man. Deserving has nothing to do with it.”

He smiled like spring sunlight, scrubbing the wet from her hair. “I’ll be your wings. We’ll fly the stars.”

She stared up at him, fingers trembling as they curled into his palm. Warmth, the same warmth as his smile. And under it, something else—safety.

“Don’t forget, I’m a godchild. Son of the Fire God.”

He flashed teeth, baiting her into a laugh. “Technically, this mountain is family property. As heir, I inherit.”

She snorted despite herself.

“Listen to him. Firevenom’s out of its mind,” someone jeered. “Claiming the Sacred Mountain is his? Crawl back to whatever hole you came from.”

The speaker was a fresh Tri-Shift from the Earth Kingdom, the old king’s youngest brother—Samuel’s uncle by rank.

“I swear I’ll push the heavens,” Nuhachit shouted, eyes wet. “I swear it!”

“Now you’re thinking. Good at cards too,” Orson said, flicking his forehead and ignoring the chorus of sneers. He stripped off his cloak and let his true form show.

“An illusionist,” someone hissed. “He’s been hiding.”

“Divine blood. Black hair, black eyes… that lineage is too pure.”

The Earth Prince stared, stunned. Even Samuel, draped in his godrings, flinched, an inferiority itch crawling his skin. He snatched up a cloak to hide his Fireborn features.

“Even pure-blood godchildren don’t always get multi-shift,” he muttered to himself. “Some aren’t recognized at all. Some get burned.”

Heads nodded. The Sunforge had seen many “human godchildren.” Few left more than a whisper. Those with odd hair or eye colors sometimes didn’t even get the baptism. Some were bitten by the pool’s divinity.

The Godmaster was the prime example.