Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

“I am the Sacred Executor. Monsters and vermin, stand down!”

Cetran’s voice was half-lucid, half-crazed as he lumbered after Orson, stumbling over mountains even while being pelted by attacks.

Orson smirked, replying lightly, “I am a god of mortals. No need for you to tire yourself out, old man—I’ll personally send you to reincarnation.”

Behind him, besides his light and dark Spirit King clones, his remaining illusions unleashed everything they had.

The sky turned into a downpour of Chaos Magic Balls, an apocalyptic rain of A-rank spells that lit up the night like falling stars.

Crit -300,000!

Crit -700,000!

Block!

Miss!

Orson shook his head. Without the Mirror of Folding to lock on precisely, too many of the shots went wide.

It was still enough to one-shot ordinary King bosses, but against Cetran, it was like scratching an iron wall. The damage reduction was savage.

Still, with the skies under his control, Orson had completely figured out the Sacred Executor’s weaknesses.

In his giant Aspect of the World form, Cetran couldn’t fly. His Forbidden-curse-tier attacks only reached a bit beyond ten kilometers—an absurd range by normal standards, but basically equivalent to Orson’s tutorial level.

And with the Sacred Executor’s wits muddled, he couldn’t adapt like an adventurer would. All he did was shout righteous slogans and barrel forward.

“Aspect of the World—ended!”

At last, the divine form vanished. The godlike Sacred Executor shriveled back into his wasted body, his health dropping to that of a typical King-level boss.

Gravity x10.

Starseal.

Awakened Hurricane Spear.

Awakened Judgment Flame.

Orson didn’t wait. His clones flooded the zone with overlapping AOE spells, quickly smashing Cetran to a sliver of life.

Moments later, the towering figure finally stopped struggling. He slumped to the ground.

A sharp crack rang out as the sacred demon-subduing rod in his hand split and crumbled to dust on the wind.

Long-dead memories seemed to awaken in Cetran’s eyes. A faint clarity replaced the haze.

“I am… we… in the end, we lost.” His raspy voice trembled.

The Crimson Lizard King landed, taking on human shape and keeping a wary watch.

Orson approached slowly. This being who once commanded the heavens now looked so pitiful. Something twisted painfully in his chest.

But he also understood—in this shattered world, any former hero tied to the Heaven Demons was a threat if allowed to recover.

BlazeKing would never have wanted Cetran to linger like some wretched half-corpse.

“I’ll take you home,” Orson whispered.

Cetran tilted his head to look at him. In that moment, Orson seemed to glimpse a regal figure, face bright and heroic, smiling warmly.

A man of unmatched righteousness.

“You are not him. You surpass him. Thank you,” Cetran murmured.

Orson blinked in shock. Before he could raise his Supreme Arcane Blade for the finishing blow, Cetran gave a small nod and, as if performing some trivial task, sliced off his own head.

His body fell still forever.

Orson’s emotions roiled. He drew in a deep breath, forcing himself calm. Then he knelt and began preparing the remains for travel.

This battered land didn’t deserve Cetran’s bones. Only the US, his true homeland, could cradle his soul.

“Quest update!”

“\\[Heavenly Spirit’s Heart]”

“Due to obtaining the side quest \\[Vortigon’s Reverse Scale], you’ve unlocked the Era of Immortals map.”

“Notice: you’ve acquired coordinates for the \\[True King Arthur’s Remains], bearer of the \\[Solarius Reverse Scale].”

“Notice: you’ve acquired coordinates for the \\[Mad Giant Jack’s Remains], bearer of the \\[Draconis Reverse Scale].”

“This quest has no failure penalty. You may challenge these foes or head directly to the World Tree Ruins for your final trial.”

Orson let out a bitter laugh. Sure, no penalty—besides dying horribly at any moment.

Still, even if he didn’t know what the final trial held, those other two rule restrictions massively nerfed his power. He had to prepare for the worst.

The lower-left mini-map lit up. Zoomed out, it gave him a full view of this ruined Era of Immortals.

“So small… barely a tenth the size of the Infinite Dimensions map,” he muttered.

Most of the terrain was blacked out, labeled \\[Utterly Destroyed: Spatial Maelstrom].

He shivered. What kind of apocalyptic battle could shatter a planet like this?

He flipped his hand, producing a golden scale.

\\[Lord of the Heavens Vortigon’s Reverse Scale]

\\[Rarity: True Divine Item]

\\[Note: collect alongside the Draconis and Solarius scales to unlock the Genesis Dragon Seal.]

\\[Genesis Dragon Seal]

\\[Effect: Break through your current tier limit once, reusable. (Cannot exceed Lesser God rank.)]

\\[Usable only by beasts.]

Orson’s eyes shone. “A true divine item? So there’s gear even above ancient artifacts?”

It made sense, he realized. In his past life, no one had gotten far enough in the fused world to even see such items.

Adventurers had simply assumed \\[Ancient Divine Items] were the pinnacle.

Take his Chaos Cauldron—it was a \\[Godly Relic], already far above normal artifacts.

He glanced at Aeloria, who was staring back with bright eyes.

“You lucked out,” he teased, waggling his brows.

She froze, cheeks flaring bright red. Suddenly flustered, she turned her head shyly.

“My lord… I… am willing.”

Thunk! Thunk!

Orson developed three dark lines on his forehead. He bonked her twice with his knuckles.

“Willing for what, you silly lizard? Get your head out of the gutter.”

He went back to studying the scale, leaving Aeloria rubbing her scalp in embarrassed confusion.

“Can’t exceed Lesser God rank…”

Orson squinted. That probably meant the three Ancient Dragon Gods were well beyond typical godhood.

These reverse scales were remnants—no wonder they couldn’t elevate a beast above a dragon god’s own tier.

He recalled Anubis’s corpse. That jackal-headed bastard was a Lesser God, the same level.

“Slaying the gods of the galaxy… could we really do that?”

His thoughts churned darkly. Even as the top of Infinite Dimensions, the deeper he probed these secrets, the more insignificant he felt.

Orson slapped his cheeks, forcing himself to focus.

Those concerns were too distant. Right now, he needed to complete the final Soul Seal trial.

Mounting the Crimson Lizard King again, he circled wide of the World Tree, scooping up the next Chaos Cauldron fragment on his way, and flew straight for the map’s mark: the Abyss of Fallen Gods.

“You’ve discovered the Abyss of Fallen Gods!”

It didn’t take long before they hovered above a breathtaking sight.

A jagged peak pierced the heavens like a colossal blade, so tall it seemed to rival the very galaxies.

From this height he could finally glimpse the whole formation—standing below, you’d never see its shape.

“Blood?”

At first he thought water ran down the rock. Closer, he realized thick streams of blood cascaded along the cliffs, carrying a nauseating metallic stench.

Below, they formed a vast, eerie crimson river.

At its source lay a gargantuan gray serpent corpse. Its head had been severed, whereabouts unknown.

Its coils wrapped around the spire, nearly blending into the stone itself.

“A serpent corpse that hasn’t rotted in ten thousand years?” Orson’s skin crawled. He checked its attributes.

\\[Lower God of the Galaxy: Apodavis Remains]

Of course—yet another fallen god. No wonder this was called the Abyss of Fallen Gods.

His eyes narrowed at the river of blood. The map showed the Chaos Cauldron fragment somewhere within.

But a river fed for millennia by divine ichor… there had to be horrific dangers lurking.

They landed by the shore, spotting scattered adventurer remains—far fewer than the mountains of bones from before.

Orson eyed his Supreme Soul Disc clone cooldowns. Once ready, he summoned a generic clone and kicked it into the river.

Splash.

The clone vanished from his interface instantly.

Asphyxiation -20,000!

“Damage isn’t bad. Manageable.”

Asphyxiation -200,000!

“Wait, what?”

He blinked, wondering if he’d misread that. The damage had jumped tenfold.

Asphyxiation -2,000,000!

In the time it took to process that, the damage spiked to twenty million.

His clone was dead, vaporized in mere seconds.

Orson stared, dumbstruck. “How the hell… am I supposed to fish anything out of there?”

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