Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

“Who are you?!” the Frost Dragon Knight shouted in shock.

“A humble boiler room attendant from the Godslayer Guild,” the man replied with a faint smile, shaking his head.

The gathered Dragon Knights felt a chill run down their spines. Had they miscalculated? Was this not some frail, nameless adventurer?

This man before them radiated the aura of a peak King-tier—no, even stronger. His presence verged on that of a Demi-God Supreme.

“Do you realize under whose authority we come? The emissary of the divine realm—the current Pope of the Church of Light, Jenonis!” the Frost Dragon Knight said, barely masking the tremor in his voice. “Stand down, and I believe the God of Light may yet forgive you.”

“Jenonis?” The man’s handsome face wrinkled as if taken aback.

“If you understand that much, step aside. The Sky Fortress is ours now. Unless you plan to oppose an Archangel,” a Fire Dragon Knight sneered.

The man fell into deep thought for a moment, muttering, “Jenonis… never heard of him. Though I do recall killing the twenty-seventh pope myself.”

Silence. Complete and absolute.

“Aelon… it’s him…”

The Fire Dragon Knight turned to the Frost Knight beside him, his face pale as a sheet. Even his dragon began backing away in panic.

“Darkbo… It must be him! The Empire’s traitor!”

“A thousand years ago, during the imperial deathmatch arena… he ambushed Pope Philius. Defected to the Divine Legion!”

The memories came flooding back, shaking even the most battle-hardened of knights. Every one of them had studied the great events in Light Dragon Empire history.

“To think someone still remembers my name. Then allow me to reintroduce myself.”

Through a sea of blood-red mist, the man descended from the mountain of corpses and declared coldly:

“I am the Empire’s Saint Swordmaster. Nine-Time Arena Champion. Demon God War Saint—Darkbo.”

A gray blur swept forward.

Sword light surged like a tidal wave.

The ancient blade had no edge, yet its bloodlust pierced the very heavens.

The Frost Dragon Knight’s terrified expression froze in place. His grip on his lance slipped. Both hands severed cleanly at the wrist, blood gushing like a fountain.

The undefeated Nine-Crown Champion of the Empire, now restored to his prime through a Demon Ascension Pill, was stronger than ever—reaching for something even higher.

In his prime, only the God-Emperor Gaedashiram could restrain him.

Now, he was merely a forgotten old man working the boilers for the Godslayer Guild.

But that didn’t stop him from knowing a thing or two about combat.

Like S-rank swordplay. S-rank archery. S-rank magic. S-rank knight combat techniques…

He mastered every path except priesthood. His talent across all five base disciplines had long been the benchmark for Godslayer’s elite.

Darkbo’s relentless pursuit of technique allowed him to overcome the side effects of the Demon Ascension Pill through sheer force of will.

He had only one goal—to surpass the God-Emperor, to surpass Orgod!

To him, these pampered Empire Dragon Knights were nothing more than entitled brats playacting at war.

His gaze turned icy. A note of disgust crept into his brow. “Openings. Everywhere. Has the Empire fallen this far?”

The Frost Knight, seething in rage, tried to heal himself with Body Domination.

But the black warblade struck again, impaling his heart and shattering his soul.

“Too weak. All of you… far too weak.”

Darkbo seethed. This body, made to slay kings and gods, was now wasting time toying with children.

It was an insult to every worthy Dragon Knight he had ever dueled.

He was furious.

He roared in rage.

Before the vast gulf in skill, combat experience, and power, the Dragon Knights crumbled like paper.

Darkbo became a black whirlwind—sword in one hand, casting the dark spell Bloodrage with the other.

Even under siege from over a dozen Dragon Knights, he weaved in and out like smoke, harvesting heads without a single scratch.

In just minutes, the battlefield was littered with severed heads.

His eyes remained cold and merciless.

Sixteen Domain Lord-tier Dragon Knights had fallen. Not a single dragon mount harmed.

“Heh… ha… wait a second. Orgod beat this guy? Yeah right,” Raven muttered, dumbstruck.

Godslayer’s elite members were regularly “fair fight” sparring partners for Darkbo. It honed their techniques and forced them to the edge of death, pushing their limits.

And yet Raven, Godslayer’s top archer, had never beaten the old man in a balanced duel.

Only Wild Gale, a warrior purist, had ever managed a draw.

As for defeating Darkbo across all five core disciplines?

Only Orson had done that.

“The mighty dragon race… actually turned tail and ran.”

Godslayer’s members stood in stunned silence as over a dozen grounded dragons, unable to fly, squirmed like eels toward the edge of the fortress.

They preferred the risk of falling to their deaths over facing Darkbo.

They threw themselves from the fortress.

Darkbo sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes, indifferent to the fleeing beasts. Without riders, those dragons were no longer threats—wild, untamable for a long time to come.

After a while, he stood, walking toward Raven.

He tossed him a shovel.

Raven caught it in confusion.

“You want me to…?”

“Man the boiler. Don’t forget to feed in the mana crystals on time. I’m going to exile an angel.”

Darkbo spoke calmly and turned, gray-black blade in hand, heading toward the fortress teleportation array.

“Feeding the boiler…” Raven’s soul deflated.

He was the top archer in the guild—and now he was on boiler duty?

With a bitter sigh, he tossed the shovel to a guildmate and mounted his chimera, following Darkbo into the teleportation zone.

Meanwhile, on the battlefield below—

Sandstorms raged. Wind howled.

Orson frowned at Rockforce’s Forbidden Curse channeling. Unlike Dragon Kings who could almost insta-cast, human mages were slow.

But if it continued uninterrupted, the resulting sandstorm spell would devastate them. Maybe not a full wipe, but catastrophic nonetheless.

Boom!

A Hurricane Spear struck the Holy Light barrier and scattered.

“Annoying,” Orson muttered.

Jenonis and his troops hadn’t moved. They stood firm behind a divine barrier, clearly baiting him to strike first.

Fusion failed. Fusion penalty activated.

His heart sank. He had planned to use Chaos Fusion to bulldoze through.

But the spell failed, triggering a long cooldown.

Shield -1.1 million!

Shield -1 million!

…

Orson swung his Supreme Arcane Blade, Chaos Magic Balls hammering the shield. But it was all basic attacks against a 300-million-HP barrier.

“It’s over… Forbidden Curse is about to fire! And he’s still using autos? Why isn’t he charging in?!”

“Is this another of Orgod’s master plans? No, that green goblin beast and the Grey Dwarf King are getting stomped!”

“He’s out of gas… really is his last card…”

The chat lamented. For all Orson’s brilliance, the power gap was clear.

Even he seemed lost, throwing out ineffective moves.

“Push! Don’t let up!”

Iron Cavalry and Nightshade knew how dangerous the Forbidden Curse was.

They charged forward, leaving rivers of blood in their wake.

A wave of goblins in bizarre contraptions stormed out of the gates. But as they blew the frontlines apart, Jenonis merely raised his sword.

More Empire reinforcements flooded in to fill the breach.

Corpses piled high beneath Forever City. Thousands of souls rose each minute—only to respawn and return to the carnage.

It was a meat grinder.

Every meter of ground was bought with blood. A brutal tug-of-war played out—inch by bloody inch.

Falling goblin airships turned into kamikaze trucks, detonating in the enemy ranks. Nightshade’s eyes were red as he sprayed his mana gatlings.

Blood dyed the soil. Roars of beasts and dragons echoed.

They fought until their souls burned. Until Blood Burn kicked in.

Everyone knew: if that Forbidden Curse hit, the city could fall.

And Jenonis hadn’t even moved yet—nor had the 100,000 elite Imperial guards under his command.

Victory seemed impossible.

Despair loomed.

Iron Cavalry: “Push! Don’t ask questions, just f***ing charge!”

Magical Fiancée: “Glory Seekers, not one step back!”

Blank: “Slaughter is invincible!”

No one held back anymore.

They swung blades and daggers with their last drops of strength. Their eyes burned with hate, wanting to rip enemy flesh with their teeth.

And still, they believed—Orgod had one more card.

The US Triple Crown winner would turn the tide.

CRACK!

Orson’s eyes gleamed with resolve. He and Crimson Lizard King smashed the barrier at last.

“Behold the might of Rockforce, lowly otherworlders!” the king sneered, raising his staff beneath a massive sandstorm cloud.

Jenonis smirked at Orson. “Godslayer… you never stood a chance. Stop this pointless struggle.”

He spread his four wings, radiant with divine light, and soared forward—blocking Orson’s path high above.

Orson smiled darkly. “Took the bait…”

A voice whispered from the fog.

“Void Veil.”

A strange, dense mist engulfed Rockforce’s position.

He froze, stunned, as shadowy figures emerged—over ten thousand ghostly forms.

“S-rank air magic… that’s a Sky Mage spell!”

“Wait… is that Dragon’s Kiss Guild?!”

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