Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage-Chapter 498: Why Refuse? Are You Planning to Rebel?
Chapter 498: 498: Why Refuse? Are You Planning to Rebel?
“A loser’s proposal holds no weight. I, Usher, couldn’t care less,” he said with a calm smile. “Besides, I can secure four council votes for you.”
Orson’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the title above Usher’s head: Holy Envoy of the Dark Dragon Emperor.
Unlike the fractured power structure of the Light Dragon Empire’s four dragon kings, the dark dragon faction was a united front. The reason? None other than the Dark Dragon Emperor himself—a true sovereign of might, incomparable to the cowardly Bairinador.
“So his endgame aligns with mine.” Orson gave a slight nod.
Though the US region was rich in resources, true growth for players came from seizing resources across other districts. Usher wasn’t just any deep-pocketed powerhouse—he was born a ruler, a storm-bringer guided by fate.
Exiled to the dark faction, he still thrived. Now, with a swarm of online flunkies crediting him with the recent dragon kills, his image had become both omniscient and elusive. He neither denied nor confirmed anything, maintaining the mystique of an untouchable master.
Now appearing as a “challenger,” even a public 1v1 loss to Orson wouldn’t dent his rep much.
But if Orson were to fall in a “fair duel,” the blow would be devastating.
He understood US players well—they love building gods, but they love toppling them even more.
That was Usher’s brilliance.
Just then, ceremonial horns and drums sounded at the far end of the grand council hall. Brilliant beams of holy light danced across the space, and three radiant figures began to take shape.
“All hail the Great Light Emperor!”
“All hail the Immortal Holy Dragon King!”
“All hail the Supreme Archangel!”
Court ministers dropped to their knees in worship as the three figures solidified in the brilliance.
“An Archangel… the emissary of the Celestial Kingdom?”
The kings shuddered.
So the rumors were true—Jenonis had returned.
Orson’s smile grew as he spotted the golden-haired man at the center, four gleaming white wings unfolding gently behind his back. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the emperor, while even Tulikiki, the Holy Dragon King, was relegated behind them.
Using his Eye of the Firstborn, Orson saw right through the disguise and chuckled.
Jenonis, previously cast out by Orson and Fosset from Grevor’s body after a failed fusion, had now claimed a new host—a corpse no less than the former Pope of the Holy Light Church: Synophas, a man said to have been born blessed by the heavens but who died young under mysterious circumstances.
The perfect backup plan for Jenonis.
“All kings and War Supremes, rise and pay homage,” barked a cold-eyed minister, eyeing those seated atop the immortal thrones.
“Hmph. Pay homage? Are we lesser than they are?”
The scoff came from none other than the Lightning Dragon King, Velorith.
“Still the same old firebrand, I see,” laughed a man wreathed in dark flames. “When this is over, we’ll duel again. This time, I’ll light a fire you can’t extinguish.”
“You couldn’t handle it,” Velorith sneered, crushing his throne’s armrest to dust.
Their domains—both rooted in boosting self-power—had led to countless stalemates over the centuries.
“And where’s your mighty Rebellion, Dark Flame Dragon King?”
A deep voice rang from the ministers’ seats.
A burly, brown-haired general with a thick white beard stood up. Judging by his position next to the Four Dukes, he wasn’t just any imperial figure.
Marshal Charlemagne—a man known for strategy, not sovereignty.
“Great at holding cities, but not so much at conquering them,” Orson smirked under his breath.
In trials, Charlemagne was dubbed the Iron Wall Marshal, infamous for never winning a campaign against the Heaven Demons, but unbreakable in defense.
“No no, I’d say you’re the ones out of allies,” a honeyed voice purred beside Orson.
He turned—and nearly choked.
Lustbane Dragon King.
Practically naked, lips painted crimson, her voluptuous form radiated a primal charm that made grown kings forget their dignity.
Next to Orson, Alexander clenched his fists and silently recited a calming mantra.
Lustbane wasn’t just seductive—she was lethal. A succubus queen born of dragons, far stronger than any normal succubus. Her only flaw? She didn’t swing both ways.
Every man present felt her aura like a warm drug. Even the food before them was forgotten.
“Why’s everyone staring at me? Eat your damn food,” Orson muttered.
“Stay away from her. She’s extremely dangerous,” whispered Crimson Lizard King.
“Huh?”
Her tone… like Lustbane was Orson’s natural predator.
“Look, appreciate the view, sure. But I’m not falling for it. I’ve got dragon-scale willpower.” Orson waved her off with a straight face.
“Haha! Baron, you’re quite the charmer. I like your style!”
That laugh came from none other than the emperor himself—Bairinador. Fat, pockmarked, and waddling in armor three sizes too small, the man looked every inch the fool king.
“How about becoming my new vice-commander of the royal guard?” Bairinador said with a wink, tugging up his sagging belt.
“Consider carefully, Conqueror,” came a voice of steel.
Aetrexa, one of the Ten Dragon Knights, strode forward.
“Any disruptions will be exiled to the spatial rift. This is your only warning.”
She gave Velorith a sharp look.
“Not interested. I have other ambitions,” Orson said coolly.
“Indeed, indeed…” Bairinador muttered, stepping onto the imperial throne as if it were a coffee table, munching on an apple and slicing it with his ceremonial sword.
“The Archangel can handle the rest. I’m just here for the fruit.”
“Light Elf artifact: Skywalker Boots,” Alexander whispered, wide-eyed.
Usher added, “And a dwarf artifact—Dir’s Warblade.”
Orson smiled wickedly. The Eye of the Firstborn didn’t lie. That clown of an emperor was only Lord-Class, but he was decked out in god-tier artifacts worth empires.
Every piece could bankrupt a super guild.
“Emperor has offered you olive branch after olive branch—yet you refuse. What, are you planning to rebel?”
Jenonis stepped forward, voice like frost.
“Soros and Daloré died by your hand. If not for the Emperor’s mercy, you’d have been ash long ago.”
Orson raised a brow, then chuckled.
He tilted his head, flashed his trademark grin, and replied:
“…Are you talking to me?”
