Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage-Chapter 528: Usher’s Path to Kingship

"You’ve disabled guild chat."

"You’ve disabled private messaging."

Usher’s eyes were cold and razor-sharp.

He shut out every distraction, surrendering his mind entirely to the primal rhythm of battle and the grip of his longbow.

"I, Usher, challenge you to a one-on-one duel!" he declared, his voice deep and thunderous, brimming with unshakable resolve.

"Orgod! Do you dare accept?!"

Victory or defeat—this would define everything.

"You’re wasting time putting on a show," Orson replied flatly, casually peeling back the motive behind Usher’s theatrics. "Three and a half minutes left. Use them wisely."

He wasn’t wrong.

Usher needed the world to see. He needed witnesses—to reclaim everything he had once lost in front of countless players.

Now, he had to prove he could win it back.

Orson had promised not to use his mount.

And given how absurdly broken the Crimson Lizard King was, that was more than just "pulling punches."

That was dropping the Pacific Ocean on a guy and calling it fair.

Usher, of course, said nothing about it. He didn’t want anyone to see he’d already flinched. He knew if the mount came into play, he’d be crushed. No question.

Orson’s comment pulled back the curtain.

Usher didn’t respond. Instead, his feet began to move—faster and faster.

"KILL! KILL HIM!!!"

"Kill him and show the Godslayer Guild that Orgod will fall—in both worlds!"

Skyslasher and the others screamed in unison.

TitanBreaker, still holding onto some semblance of rationality, hesitated, cheeks burning with secondhand embarrassment.

But it was too late.

The storm had come.

They hated this man too much.

They wanted to tear him apart, drink his blood, rip him limb from limb.

Dry leaves swirled into the air.

Usher launched forward like a living arrow, charging up the corpse-laden hill toward Orgod.

Under normal conditions, an archer had the longest range of any base class in Infinite Dimensions.

And as an S-tier Demon Archer empowered by Soul Seals and unique relics, Usher’s range stretched five kilometers—on par with dragon-tier monsters.

But the man sitting cross-legged before him?

He wasn’t normal.

For him, even five kilometers meant nothing.

Usher was forced to close the distance. He knew it was the only way he’d have even a sliver of a chance.

"A rogue’s speed, a tank’s health pool, and the offensive power of a greatsword warrior..."

Orson narrowed his eyes, tracking Usher’s blurred figure like a hawk.

In his past life, Usher had never been this formidable.

But now?

He was nearing the 30% Weaponization Threshold—the boundary where game abilities began bleeding into the real world.

Orson understood all too well.

That feeling of being more.

More than human.

More than flesh.

To mortals, such beings were indistinguishable from gods.

"The Flame Dragon."

Orson stood.

With a single sweep of his Supreme Arcane Blade, a roaring dragon made of fire erupted and hurtled toward Usher.

The distance between them was less than a kilometer.

With expert anticipation, Orson placed the Flame Dragon directly along Usher’s predicted path.

Usher, still wearing a cocky smile, planted a foot hard and pivoted.

A hellish trail of fire marked his dodge, narrowly avoiding the incoming barrage.

He leapt into the air, string taut, bow raised. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

"Demonshot!"

The bowstring thrummed with a guttural, monstrous growl.

A flash of dark energy zipped through the sky—its arrowhead morphed into a screaming demon face, fangs gnashing as it shot toward Orson.

CRIT - 65,000!

Demonshot Buff: Applied!

Attack Power Reduced.

Healing Efficiency Reduced.

Blood mist burst from Orson’s shoulder. A sizable damage number floated above him.

"He landed it!" Skyslasher roared. "Told you! Close-range and Usher wins!"

"Wait, what? That fake Orgod just took the hit? He didn’t even try to dodge? What a joke."

"Yep. Cheap knockoff. No way it’s as strong as the real one. Clone skills are always half-baked."

The stream chat exploded in confusion.

How could the same Orgod who treated high-level Nakah cultists like rag dolls get tagged this easily?

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

Dragon’s Kiss Guild erupted in joy. They could practically taste their revenge.

But Ivy and a few others frowned, eyes narrowing.

"He’s too damn calm. This bastard’s hiding something."

BOOM.

The earth trembled.

Four grotesque corpses materialized around Orson.

They were faceless, their torsos etched with black runes. Each bore a gaping wound in the chest—a hole that led straight into the abyss.

The smell of rot and dark magic thickened.

"A-ha," Orson muttered. "This is the real play, huh? A-rank dark arrow skill. Short-term paralysis plus percentage-based HP decay."

Usher gave no reply—just a silent nod.

"What the hell?" Ivy whispered. "That spell had already formed. He should’ve dodged and been hit. How the hell did he figure it out and stand there like it was nothing?"

"Easy," Orson said with a smile, glancing at her through the screen. "He pulled the string twice, but only one attack came. No basic shot, no skill overlap."

He tapped his ear. "You think I’m some noob?"

That’s it!

Infinite Dimensions’ Arcane God wasn’t some fluke.

Realization washed over the onlookers like ice water.

"This... this is who we’ve been trying to beat?" EclipseRider murmured, swallowing hard.

"If he weren’t strong, he wouldn’t be Orgod," Ivy said quietly.

Her fingers trembled slightly.

She remembered the pro league.

The day Orgod made her look like a total amateur.

His reading of patterns, his game sense—he dismantled her in real time.

It had made her question her entire career.

Back then, she only had one thought:

"Why am I even here? I suck. I should quit."

Because everyone knew it—though none would admit it aloud:

As long as he stood on the battlefield, no one else would ever be the main character.

Usher didn’t flinch.

Even with his trump card unraveled, he stood tall, eyes burning bright.

"To be born into this world means to rise above it. I will become a king."

There was no giving up in his bones. Only the fire of destiny.

He would walk the king’s road.

Not even someone who shattered the leaderboards could block his path.

"You’re strong. But I, Usher... will be stronger!"

He let out a roar, black hair dancing wildly, a wild smile cutting across his face.

He didn’t care for weaklings.

Only the strongest kills could validate his dream.

Only by slaying the supreme could he prove himself worthy.

"Sakan! Let demon blood bless my flesh!"

His bow howled as demonic energy surged.

A towering demon spirit erupted behind him, crowned with a twisting set of black, bull-like horns.

Attack Speed: Overflowing.

Attack Power: Overflowing.

"S-rank Signature Art: Corrupt Dragon Bow!"

Usher howled to the heavens.

One man to stand above heaven and earth.

Only he would be hailed as king.

Even Orson turned slightly, murmuring to himself.

"Can’t deny it. He really has leveled up..."

SWISH SWISH SWISH!!

SWISH SWISH SWISH!!

Arrows rained down like hellfire, eclipsing the moon in black light.

"Fifty shots a second? You’ve gotta be kidding me!"

SirLagsALot practically leapt out of his seat, shouting, "That’s the real cheating! Straight-up pay-to-win madness!"

Usher wasn’t just talented—he was destined.

Misfortune only sharpened him further.

He was a one-man army.

A siege engine in human form.

Orson’s brow twitched. A rare seriousness crept onto his face.

He smiled faintly.

"Almost... almost worthy of being called a proper opponent."