Yet in the distance, Gangtie Kuangchao spotted the opposing faction player at a single glance. A textbook villainous grin spread across his face beneath his exoskeleton scales.
"Jiejiejie... What a pleasant surprise. To think there are actually players who joined the Thrace faction."
*Bzzzt—*
The chainsword in the Dragonscale Marine's hands revved at high speed, letting out a spine-tingling buzz. Bending his knees slightly, he coiled his strength, ready to leap.
Gazing at the monstrous Dragonscale Marine across the way, the Royal Knight Commander backed away with a weeping face, shouting desperately, "Big bro, I'm just a noob! Don't kill me!"
"A noob?"
Gangtie Kuangchao couldn't care less. Raising his chainsword high, he leaped over ten meters into the air, lunging toward the Royal Knight Commander on the other side of the rampart.
"Then let me teach you a lesson! Eat my blade!"
"Wait—stay away from me!" In a panic, the Royal Knight Commander raised his double-barreled shotgun and fired right at the Dragonscale Marine's chest.
Yet the Dragonscale Marine's exoskeleton plating was astonishingly tough. The outdated buckshot couldn't even breach his defense, leaving behind nothing more than faint white scratches.
"Stop him!"
"Kill the Imperial!"
Armed with blades and swords, Thracian defenders swarmed forward, seeking to overwhelm and slaughter Gangtie Kuangchao through sheer numbers.
Gangtie Kuangchao, however, plunged straight into the crowd. Spinning his body in a rapid blur, he swept his chainsword horizontally. Over a dozen helmeted heads flew into the air, jets of blood spouting like geysers from the necks of the headless corpses.
Witnessing the gruesome fate of his comrades, the Royal Knight Commander fled without looking back, wailing inwardly, *Is this motherfucker really a player? Even a boss wouldn't be this insane!*
"Trying to run?"
Watching the player flee with his back exposed, Gangtie Kuangchao gave a sinister smirk and raised his boltgun.
*Bang!*
Everything went black before the Royal Knight Commander's eyes, and he knew he was done for.
Metallic shrapnel embedded across his back, shredding flesh and blood. Under the massive kinetic impact, his battered body flew forward, slamming violently against the fortress wall and painting it with gore.
[You have slain a Thracian junior officer. Obtained 1 Gold Coin, 250 Faction Contribution, and 500 Experience.]
Gangtie Kuangchao dramatically blew the gunsmoke from his muzzle, chuckling breezily, "That was effortless. This beats pushing paperwork at the office by a mile! Truly, murder and arson earn a gold belt, while hard labor only makes you a corporate slave."
"Monster, d-don't get cocky!"
"Kill him!"
"Charge together! He's just a trapped beast surrounded by us!"
Gangtie Kuangchao snorted coldly. Spinning like a top, he pulled the trigger again and again, unleashing a storm of metal around himself.
Within moments, blood soaked the stonework, and the ground was carpeted with severed limbs and viscera. Around Gangtie Kuangchao, not a single Thracian was left standing.
Meanwhile, along another defense line of Auguste, an Elemental Tower poured forth a relentless barrage of lightning, fire, and frost, wiping out every player within a hundred meters.
*Boom!*
With a deafening crash, another bolt of lightning as thick as a bowl struck down from the Elemental Tower, blasting several players attempting to scale the wall into charred fragments.
"Ignorant mortals, how could you ever comprehend the wonders of magic? The rich arcane heritage left by Holy Fadlan is a peak none of you could ever hope to reach in this lifetime!"
A wizard of the Thracian Arcane Legion hovered high in the air. His expression was cold as frost as he waved his staff, his red-gold robes snapping in the wind, suffused with vast surges of magical power.
Thunder and flames circled around him, crashing down continuously from the heavens to mercilessly annihilate the surrounding players.
Just then, an earth-shaking roar erupted from beneath the walls, shattering the clouds above and nearly knocking the wizard out of midair.
"Insolent demon!"
A five-meter-tall monk with knotty, bulging muscles appeared beneath the ramparts in a formidable fury.
This monstrous monk possessed six thick arms, each ending in a fist the size of a casserole pot, and his smooth bald head reflected a blinding gleam—none other than the famed monk player Dawei Tianlong.
*Damn it, what is that thing?*
*A human monk?*
*No, a giant over five meters tall with six arms looks nothing like a normal human being!*
The Thracian wizard squinted against the glaring reflection, furrowing his brow in bewilderment, but he still swung his staff toward the bizarre monk.
*Boom!*
A thick lightning strike plunged from the heavens, blasting a scorched crater into the ground, but the monk was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, a massive six-armed shadow fell across the ramparts. Looking up in horror, the Thracian wizard saw the six-armed monk plummeting straight down from high above, fists flailing, face contorted with rage.
"Prajñā pāramitā! Flying Dragon in the Heavens! Die, monster!"
The Thracian wizard hastily raised his staff, conjuring a pale blue protective magic circle before him.
Yet the six-armed monk flailed his arms as his fists blurred into countless afterimages. Ki blasts shaped like fists rained down like a tempest, instantly shattering the ward.
Drawing upon the energy of the Elemental Tower, the Thracian wizard summoned countless bolts of lightning that surged forward like dancing silver serpents, weaving into a cage of lightning to trap the monk within.
"Insignificant parlor tricks, yet you dare display them before an expert?!"
Fearless, Dawei Tianlong shielded himself with ki, barreling right through the lightning cage under the barrage of bolts. His pot-sized fist drove straight toward the Thracian wizard's skull.
*Boom!*
Unable to dodge in time, the Thracian wizard's head burst like a melon. Fragments of skull sprayed in all directions, splattering red and white across the stone.
"Kill him! Heavens, that monster killed Lord Karl!"
"Fire!"
The Thracian soldiers also noticed this uninvited intruder. In an instant, several solar ballistas aimed at him, unleashing great glowing bolts trailing beams of light, while hundreds of bullets tore toward him.
Dawei Tianlong flung the Thracian wizard's headless corpse to block a volley of bullets, then kicked off the wall, using Step of the Wind to nimbly weave around the base of the Elemental Tower.
He then unleashed a furious flurry of punches, smashing the foundational supports one by one until the Elemental Tower began to tremble, teetering precariously.
*Crack—*
Lightning crackled across the tower, sparks arcing over its surface, and the elemental core at its apex flickered erratically, growing wildly unstable.
"Hurry and lend me a hand!"
At Dawei Tianlong's shout, eighteen towering monks painted in shimmering gold dust stepped forth, sprinting to form up behind him—the Eighteen Arhats of the Shaolin Temple Guild!
"Wh-what are they trying to do?"
"Madmen!"
"Kill them, quickly! Those maniacs want to topple the Elemental Tower!"
The Thracian soldiers poured down a hail of bullets and arrows, yet these gleaming golden monks proved invulnerable, their bodies like bronze and iron, utterly immune to ordinary attacks.
"Hahahaha! This poor monk is going to give you a magnificent gift! Monks of the Shaolin Temple—push!"
Dawei Tianlong roared with laughter. Blue veins bulged across all six of his arms as he shoved against the Elemental Tower with colossal force.
At his command, the eighteen golden monks strained in unison, heaving against the tower. The tens of meters tall magic spire first tilted slightly amidst deafening rumbles, then toppled irreversibly toward the ramparts of Auguste.
"No, stop—"
*Boom!*
The elemental core, brimming with magic power, detonated in a cataclysmic explosion, blasting a massive gaping breach into the wall and leaving not a single defending soldier alive.
"The Abbot is mighty!"
"Badass!"
Hands on his hips, Dawei Tianlong declared smugly, "As the saying goes, 'Saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda.' Our Shaolin Temple just wiped out hundreds of trash mobs, so we must have built over a thousand stories of pagodas straight into the earth by now!"
Watching the blood-soaked monster of a monk, a nearby player's lips twitched slightly. "Uh, Amitabha, the Abbot is truly brimming with benevolence. You're probably close to achieving complete merit."
The players were no longer the mere battlefield freeloaders of the past.
Forming a legion of over a thousand extraordinary beings above level ten and hundreds of thousands of classed individuals, they were a formidable force no matter which plane they were set upon.
With the players entering the fray, the Empire's offensive grew even fiercer, and Imperial figures had already appeared along multiple sections of Auguste's walls.
"Imperials..."
Atop the Sun God Tower, Wilhelm's expression twisted into a hideous scowl. Uncontrollable fury burned within his golden eyes, where sun wheels spun within his pupils.
Drawing the Spear of Final Judgment, a beam of golden light pierced straight into the sky. Six feathered wings unfurled behind him, and melodious sacred hymns echoed once more.
"In my name as Lord of Thrace and Successor of Fadlan—Holy Guards, destroy them!"
In an instant, hundreds of winged angels soared into the air, raising blazing flaming swords as they dove toward the Imperials who had breached Auguste.
*Slash—*
Golden blades of light sheared through the sky and tore into the ground, cutting over a dozen players along their path into ribbons of flesh.
Chains erupted from beneath the earth, binding the players tightly and dragging them underground despite their desperate struggles.
"Careful, these elite mobs hit hard!"
"Don't get hit, you'll be one-shotted!"
The six-winged Holy Guard commanders raised their swords together, releasing pillars of golden light that shot straight into the heavens as they chanted in unison, "Sinful souls be cleansed in ash; our Lord reigns eternal—"
*Boom—*
Countless torrents of golden-red fire descended from their blades, their brilliant radiance staining the night sky in gold and crimson.
Like divine retribution raining from the heavens, the flames crashed down upon the Imperials inside Auguste, incinerating them completely.
Yet thunderous war drums surged, and heavily armored dragon-blessed paladins marched onto the chaotic battlefield in orderly strides.
"The Dragon Lord Above All!"
Anthony raised his spear bearing the Imperial banner and unleashed a roar.
Embers infused with the will and conviction of the paladins rose into the air, coalescing into a colossal crimson dragon that manifested across the sky, lunging straight toward the Holy Guards.
"Not good! Block it!"
The Holy Guard commanders blanched, but the dragon phantom was far too swift. Torrents of dragonflame erupted from its ferocious maw, burning several Holy Guards to cinders.
Sweeping forward with claws slicing the air, tips gleaming with pure white fire, the attack struck not merely at flesh, but targeted the very soul and essence.
*Riiip—*
It tore away the golden spiritual auras enveloping the Holy Guards, completely shredding their radiant, beautiful facade.
Countless pure white feathers drifted down from the sky, only to transform into blood-stained black plumage. The golden armor of the Holy Guards dimmed, turning into glowing-red infernal iron.
Their flawless faces twisted into hideous contortions, webbed with cracks leaking dark crimson blood, while eerie smiles formed at the corners of their mouths like shattered marionettes.
"Heavenly plumage scorches the eyes, flaming blades cleave the helm; sacred hymns brand the brow, divine gaze like burning torches..."
Yet they seemed utterly oblivious to their own grotesque transformation, continuing to chant their so-called "sacred hymns," praising Wilhelm's deeds, proclaiming their loyalty and sanctity.
An army soaked in blood and reeking of infernal sulfur chanting melodious holy hymns—the scene was grotesque and uncanny beyond measure.
"Wh-what is that?"
"Could those monsters... be His Majesty Wilhelm's Holy Guards?"
"Is... isn't that my dead brother? Am I seeing things? How could he be here?"
"Are... are they even alive?"
"Amaunator above, that's the missing Count Zolman! The defected godblood—he's among them too!"
Looking upon the drastically transformed Holy Guards in the sky, many Thracian soldiers cried out in shock and horror, their clamor echoing over the ramparts.
Curiously, those who reacted with the greatest distress were mostly troops transferred from other provinces, while the native defenders of Auguste remained unperturbed, their expressions dull and numb, as though they had known all along.
Gazing at those hollow-eyed hellish puppets, Dayev suddenly recognized a familiar figure—Baron Clarence, his close friend from years ago, missing for so long and rumored to have died in the battle of the Holy City, now standing right before his eyes.
At once, Dayev felt as though a heavy hammer had struck his heart. His face turned deathly pale, and his hand gripping the longsword trembled.
"Th-this... how could this be? How could His Majesty have fallen into such madness?" he muttered in utter disbelief.
Combined with General Carlyle's words, he had likely guessed the whole story:
Everyone in Auguste who had resisted the infernal contract had been arrested by the mad King Wilhelm and turned into puppets, their souls sacrificed to devils!
Dayev felt his heart sink as if plunged into an icehouse, yet he also felt a trace of relief.
If he hadn't been exiled to the border back then, he too would probably have been one of this terrifying army, his soul suffering eternal torment in Hell.
Now, the Holy Guards had finally unveiled their true nature.
They were hollow shells stripped of their souls, infernal puppets crafted from living Thracians—and Wilhelm's most "loyal" confidants!
"What in the world are they?!"
"What has the kingdom been colluding with? Where did our fallen countrymen go?"
"Your Majesty, this is sacrilege!"
The devout believers of the Sun God shouted in fury, demanding an explanation from their king.
Yet Dayev knew full well: these faithful would never receive an answer—for the king they served was already sick to the core, beyond all salvation.
Chapter 706