This hidden mission was faction-based—every attacker came from the Dark Dragon Empire.
Ever since Usher had pioneered the Dark Dragon path, new players could now choose the Dark Dragon Empire as their starting faction during character creation in Infinite Dimensions.
Naturally, that led to a number of unaffiliated players thinking Orson was easy prey. Knives out, they charged in hoping to score an ambush kill.
They didn't realize they were poking a sleeping beast.
Orsix didn't hold back.
The infamous coachman carved his way through waves of attackers, sending a clear message—this world was cruel, and you couldn't half-ass a hit job.
"Mission Complete: Rescue the Golden Duke's Household!"
+1000 free attribute points
The journey back to Riftrock City went off without a hitch. Orson submitted the mission with ease.
Golden Duke Kassadin had been stripped of his title, reduced to a commoner. But at least his wife and daughter had survived.
With the former duke out of the picture, the Witch's father ascended to the title—bringing with him command of a 300,000-strong NPC army.
And the one holding that man's life and legacy in his hand… was Orson.
Meanwhile, on the frontlines of Riftrock City, all three battlefronts were locked in brutal stalemates.
But Orson didn't immediately deploy the new Golden Duke's forces. Sometimes the smartest play was to hold your trump card.
Slaughter Spree: "Eighth and Ninth battalions are wiped. Lost three dragon mounts!"
Blank: "Res wagon convoy's en route. Rally at Riftrock City, move fast!"
Bradley: "I can send you five mechs. That's all I've got. Hold the line."
ShatteredCrown: "Slaughter's underperforming. Mid lane's a breeze—I'm roasting these guys like marshmallows!"
Against the overwhelming might of the empire's elite NPCs—even with titans like the Silver Dragon Knight and Demon Emperor leading the charge—the pressure was intense.
Especially on the flanks, where Slaughter Guild took the brunt.
The chaos had exposed their rear line to a surprise ambush from Spirit Tribe assassins. Over two thousand clerics were slaughtered in mere seconds.
"Don't disgrace the boss! Get your asses in there!" Slaughter Spree roared, weaving through the sky on his wind dragon.
With a sharp thrust of his lance, he skewered three Spirit Tribe assassins mid-air. A breath of wind followed, shredding them into ash.
"These damn NPCs are a thousand times easier to kill than Orgod!"
Even when surrounded by two water dragon riders, his mount twisted in the air, kicking up tornados and slipping between them with uncanny grace.
Dragon Curse: Ballad of the Storm
The wind dragon's deep growl summoned four spiraling twisters, sending dozens of assassins airborne.
Slaughter's archers took aim, unleashing a flurry of arrow skills that turned the levitating enemies into pincushions.
"Ulysses, you beast! Wreck them all!"
The knights guarding the clerics were fired up. Even when their skills were on cooldown, they tanked with sheer willpower—protecting the last 400 clerics with their bodies.
A flash of white light appeared behind Slaughter Spree.
He sensed something wrong and turned.
The glowing figure danced like lightning—landing silently on the wind dragon's back.
He raised his lance to block, but the shadow ducked low, disappearing from sight.
Spirit Tribe Moonstep.
A-Class movement skill—Slaughter had seen Kongyue use it. It was virtually untraceable by the naked eye.
"How the hell is this guy flying?" he muttered, panic rising. He spammed skills, hoping for a lucky block.
But he underestimated his opponent's intelligence.
A low voice dripped with contempt. "Clumsy and slow. This is the so-called Dragon Knight of the adventurers?"
Slaughter Spree's attack patterns fell apart.
With several sharp cuts, he dropped—shocked—onto the ground. The wind dragon vanished into the battle space.
The Spirit Tribe prince revealed his face, severed Slaughter's head with a flick, and retrieved a glowing, wing-shaped artifact.
The relic granted flight—paired with Spirit Tribe assassination techniques, it made him nearly untouchable in chaotic warfare.
Awakening: Spirit Tribe Moonstep
But just as Preston touched down, a voice rang in his ear.
His blades shuddered.
Eyes wide, he turned to face a gray-armored rogue: Blank.
"You… how do you know our secret art?!"
"Dark Spirit Tribe Queen," she replied coolly, her body already twisting into shadow.
Preston's face hardened. His blades moved like lightning.
He hurled a dagger behind him, intercepting Blank's incoming strike.
Blank's brow furrowed. Her B-rank skill couldn't keep up. A sharp kick from Preston knocked one of her legendary daggers out of her grip.
She immediately lost a chunk of her offensive power.
Shadowstep: Night Gate
She landed a paralyzing palm strike on his wrist, rolled forward with fluid grace, and stabbed deep into his back.
Crippling Strike -1.5 million
"You dare!" Preston roared.
The Spirit Tribe prince—cut down by the art of their hated dark kin—was beyond insulted.
He lashed out with both blades.
Blank dodged instinctively but forgot one thing: he still had his relic.
A blinding flash of light.
Chasewing Halo activated.
Preston closed the distance in a blink.
His blade pierced her shoulder, draining her HP in a flash.
Blank gritted her teeth.
Even with matching skills, this NPC was faster, more refined, and blessed with a relic.
She popped a high-tier red potion, but it wasn't enough.
"Die, heretic!" Preston shrieked, charging again.
"Don't give up, Emma," Blank thought. "As long as I'm alive, I won't let myself regret this."
The Bruce Family's pride wouldn't let her be someone else's burden.
She could see every twitch of Preston's muscles. His breathing. His heartbeat.
The blade grazed her forehead—cutting a few strands of hair.
"I feel… lighter," she realized.
With a rogue's grace no normal player could match, she dodged the impossible.
Awakening: Shadowfang Assault
An A-Class assassination skill—grants perfect dodge and a guaranteed deathblow on your next strike.
Blood sprayed. Preston's neck nearly severed.
Lethal Strike -7 million!
For a Saint Lord with 70 million HP, that wasn't lethal.
But to be wounded—by a rogue? Unthinkable shame.
"Give me more time, and I'd win a one-on-one… but I can't risk the cleric line."
Blank retreated, gulping Rootless Water to prepare for round two. She planned to kite him into her guild's healers.
Letting Preston into the support line would be catastrophic.
"You're dead, you filthy woman!" Preston howled.
He charged, bloodlust overtaking him. He ditched all protection, lunging straight into a wall of knight shields to kill her.
"Damn fanatic," Blank cursed.
Her HP was low, skills on cooldown—but she couldn't watch her teammates fall.
A lance of elemental energy tore across the sky, curved mid-air, and impaled Preston square in the gut.
Lethal Strike -12 million!
"Tell me," said a cold voice, "who exactly were you going to crush?"
Dust exploded skyward.
A man in a skull mask slammed into the earth like a meteor. The ground cracked beneath his feet.
He rose from the crater, dark-red battle aura glowing like firelight.
"Showing off again?" Blank's cheeks flushed. Her eyes—visible beyond her mask—sparkled.
A dark-gold gauntlet pulled her into a firm embrace.
A low voice rumbled in her ear.
"Maybe. But if you died in my line of sight, I'd feel guilty."