Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

Darkbo stared at Cain for a long moment, and for a brief instant, a spark of light flickered in his murky, aged eyes. Then, unexpectedly...

The old Battle Saint actually took a step aside. A mist began to dissipate behind him, revealing a narrow, winding path. At the end of the path was the grand, ancient palace of the God-Emperor!

"So that's how it is?" Orson's gaze sharpened, his expression cold as steel. For once, he was faced with a god-tier connection rather than just someone spouting off nonsense. This was absurd—ridiculously absurd!

"The rightful heir of Celestial Fortress shall forever let the glory of the God-Emperor illuminate the land of Infinite Dimensions!" Cain sneered, confidently walking toward the God-Emperor's palace.

Orson remained silent, knowing that in the world of Infinite Dimensions, anything was possible. But even if Cain did manage to claim Celestial Fortress, Orson had the strength and confidence to take it back!

Just as Cain was gloating over his supposed victory, Darkbo, with his hands behind his back, chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with malice. "You may be a descendant of the God-Emperor, but that doesn't mean the God-Emperor's spirit will accept you."

Cain stiffened, freezing in place as a frown creased his brow. But he said nothing, responding coldly, "I will make him recognize me. No need for your concern, you God-Emperor's lackey."

This is it! Orson thought, grinding his teeth. The old man was already making personal insults! This was insane! Why wasn't Darkbo retaliating and just slashing Cain into pieces?

But Darkbo stayed unmoved, his gaze now turning to Orson. "Adventurer, I accept your challenge!"

Boom!

Suddenly, Darkbo let out a furious roar, his presence erupting with unimaginable power. Orson's expression changed in an instant. He gripped the Heavenly Fire Staff in his hands, feeling like a fragile boat in the middle of a violent storm—ready to capsize at any moment!

"I am the sword of death in the God-Emperor's hand, wielding the blood that blooms!" Darkbo declared, his words full of unrestrained madness.

His eyes burned with deadly intent as an overwhelming aura of slaughter filled the sky. His body became surrounded by tens of thousands of bones, rising to form a staircase that led to a blood-red arena far above.

"You've discovered the secret realm—The Bloodied Arena!" a system notification flashed.

Orson looked around as bone-chilling screams echoed from all directions. Shadows of souls poured out of the bones, crying in anguish as they twisted and writhed in torment.

"Slay ten thousand, forge supreme martial arts!"

"Slay a hundred thousand, sing my soul's song!"

"Slay a million, I am the King of Bloodshed!"

Darkbo's mad laughter filled the air, as he climbed up the steps of the blood-stained arena. Every step he took caused the spirits around him to fall to their knees in worship—these souls had been slaughtered by him in the past!

"State your name, challenger!" Darkbo's voice thundered from the top of the arena.

He transformed into a youthful, sinister-looking man, silver hair cascading like a waterfall.

Orson gazed up at him, his expression calm but resolute. "I am Orgod, the god of mortals. I am—Destiny!"

Darkbo's eyes narrowed slightly before bursting into even more savage laughter. "Destiny? Your death has already been sealed!"

"Your death is at hand! Hahahaha…"

A chilling, bone-shattering laugh rang in the air, as twisted faces formed from the surrounding souls, creeping forward to terrify Orson.

Any ordinary player would have felt a rush of fear in the face of such an eerie display. Even knowing it was a game, the human instinct to fear the unknown would stir anyone's nerves.

But Orson stood unmoving, his heart like a rock. Having faced true horrors in his past lives, the bloodiest and most terrifying sights no longer held any sway over him. His resolve was unshakable.

Orson stepped into the Bloodied Arena. His interface immediately flickered, turning everything—his inventory, equipment, and even his attributes—into grayed-out voids. His signature Heavenly Fire set was replaced with a basic novice robe.

"Ding-dong—"

"Bloodied Arena Rule 1: You temporarily lose all equipment, attribute bonuses, and class skills. You will engage in a five-round, best-of-three duel with Battle Saint Darkbo."

"Rule 2: For each round, both sides will randomly be assigned a basic class. You may customize the class' playstyle, select suitable equipment, and pick seven skills for battle."

"Rule 3: Due to the hell-level difficulty of this duel, you may choose to exit now. Otherwise, you risk losing everything."

Orson raised an eyebrow. Darkbo wasn't called the Battle Saint for nothing. His title wasn't just about being skilled in one class—it meant he was an all-around powerhouse, a King of All Combat.

"Fair duel, huh?" Orson's lips curled into a wry smile. "This will be fun."

Darkbo's icy gaze never left Orson's form, his voice dripping with superiority. "You're unlucky. I am the God-Emperor's personal guard, the epitome of the warrior class."

He drew a battle spear and shield, his voice booming with arrogance. "The warrior class represents the unflinching will of the Empire!"

Clearly, Darkbo believed the warrior class would heavily favor him in the first round.
Find more chapters on My Virtual Library Empire

"Oh?" Orson's lips twisted into a cold smile. He reached for a battle-worn spear on the rack and inspected its stats:

Ancient Spear

Rarity: Anti-Magic Level: 1 Class: Warrior Physical Attack: 1000 Attack Speed: 2.0 Crit Rate: 10% Maim Rate: 100% on Limbs Instant Death Rate: 100% on Head and Heart, 20% on Organs

As he suspected, in this special arena, both players' health and mana were capped at 10,000. With these cursed, anti-magic weapons, hitting the right spot could trigger instant death or maiming.

"You've chosen the spear warrior style," the system confirmed.

"You'll have 1 minute to select your skills."

Orson smirked, taking a quick glance at the available options. "A minute's too long. Let's end this quickly."

With that, he tightened his grip on the spear, charging straight at Darkbo, who was still in the midst of selecting his skills.

"You..." Darkbo barely had time to react as Orson reached him in an instant.

With a single thrust, Orson's spear grazed Darkbo's cheek.

"Unintentional Dragon's Roar!"

Darkbo roared in anger, his body exploding with a crimson shockwave, attempting to blast Orson away.

"B-class skill, Unintentional Dragon's Roar—an attack that can also be defensive!" Darkbo bellowed.

Orson simply smiled coldly, his eyes narrowed. "Too slow."

He instantly selected another skill. "Mountain Shattering Strike!"

The skill's description flashed on his screen:

Mountain Shattering Strike: Deals double damage to the target after consuming 500 MP. Also provides a 0.5-second invincibility against knockbacks and stuns.

Orson didn't budge, and as Darkbo's attack whizzed by, his spear pierced the Battle Saint's side, a critical hit registering.

"Crit—-4000!"

"20% instant death rate is too low," Orson muttered to himself, shaking his head in dissatisfaction.

Darkbo's eyes bulged in disbelief, and he immediately canceled his follow-up combo. "Destruction Piercer!"

Another B-class skill lashed out—his spear became a streak of black light aimed at Orson's chest.

Without hesitation, Orson quickly activated "Thunderstruck Step," a C-class skill that doubled his movement speed and increased attack speed by 50%.

A blur of motion. Orson evaded the attack and retaliated with a swift slash, breaking Darkbo's arm and forcing his skill's trajectory off course.

"Die!" Orson said, his expression cold.

In a blur, his spear thrust through the Battle Saint's head, heart, and vital organs in quick succession.

The once-mighty warrior now lay in a pool of blood.

Orson looked down at the fallen body and smirked. "Fast to adapt, decent for a regular player. But in the hands of a tester? You're nothing more than lambs for slaughter."