Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage - Chapter 635 - 635: 635 Saryantos
“Nifex?”
“Wait… did I already chop that guy down once?”
Orson stood there blankly for a moment, then instinctively tried to check this man’s stats.
“No response?”
His brow furrowed. The familiar interface failed to appear.
It was the first time this had ever happened. Even if someone possessed relics or divine items that masked their full attributes, the most basic things—name and title—would still show.
Suddenly, a spark of realization hit.
Nifex. That was Ignis’s old name.
Which meant… the man standing before him was—
Divine-Winged Blood Phoenix.
Ignis’s father. The husband of that hot-headed phoenix matriarch.
Orson’s heart skipped a beat.
He remembered how the phoenix had once spoken of being forever separated from her mate.
She’d even crafted a divine wine—Phoenix’s Lament—and entrusted Orson to pour it out in mourning for the Divine-Winged Blood Phoenix.
“So… another corpse?”
He braced himself for the possibility, but quickly shook his head.
He couldn’t see the man’s stats, but the feeling this figure gave off was completely different from the three ancient war gods he’d met before.
This man was calm, sane—he radiated vitality, not decay.
Orson had to admit, it made sense why the phoenix’s earlier gift hadn’t triggered a hidden quest.
The old bird wasn’t dead at all.
So of course there was no hidden quest to mourn him.
“How did you do it?”
Orson felt a chill deep in his chest. Confronted with an entirely unknown opponent, his instincts tensed.
“The hidden stat trick, you mean?”
Divine-Winged Blood Phoenix smiled faintly.
Orson eased off just a little and nodded.
He figured if this being intended him harm, he’d have acted already.
Besides… weren’t they kind of family?
Even if not for Orson’s sake, surely for Ignis’s.
“Well, it’s simple. Become a lower god.”
Saryantos—his true name—spoke casually.
“Right… simple…”
Orson stood there petrified.
So he was actually face to face with a living true god.
Thinking about it, it tracked.
To truly break free from the grip of the galactic gods, one had to rise to stand among them.
“You received a gift from my friend,” Saryantos went on, “so becoming a lower god is only a matter of time. But whether you can go further… that will depend on your own fortune.”
He gave Orson a nod and gestured toward the main hall.
“Hungry, aren’t you?”
Grumble, grumble…
Both Orson’s and Aeloria’s stomachs growled on cue.
They exchanged an awkward look.
“Come on, let’s eat first.” Orson chuckled, ruffling Aeloria’s mane.
But Aeloria didn’t move. Her brows knit tight with caution, her soul voice resonating:
“My lord, I cannot defeat him.”
Orson simply gave her a calm smile.
If trouble came, they’d handle it. Nothing worth panicking over.
He squared his shoulders and walked into the hall.
Inside, sunlight poured down.
Orson felt goosebumps break across his skin.
The vast hall was largely empty, save for four statues—life-sized, so they didn’t seem ostentatious.
Three were instantly recognizable: King Arthur, Cetran, Giant Jack.
But it was the fourth that truly seized his attention.
A statue of a young man, straight as a pine, clad in black, sharp-featured and striking.
Sword brows angled toward his temples, dark hair falling loosely to frame his rugged face.
His deep eyes seemed to hide an icy abyss, his whole stance casual yet defiant.
In one hand, he held a war halberd pointed at the heavens—radiating a will to slay all.
The Butcher.
The Godslayer.
BlazeKing.
The same man who’d gifted Orson the Super God-grade Soul Seal, who’d taken control of Orson’s destiny.
“Wait here, I’ll fetch some food.”
Saryantos brought over a simple wooden table and chairs—handmade, from the look of it.
“Hey old man, you and the fire-breathing brat—what’s your actual relationship? ‘Cause you two kinda look alike.”
Berenice suddenly popped up on Saryantos’s head, hopping up and down.
Orson’s heart nearly stopped.
Damn reckless little egg—if she pissed this guy off, they’d all be dead meat.
“Get down, you fool! Show some respect to our elder!”
Orson snapped.
But Saryantos didn’t seem the least bit offended.
Instead, he picked Berenice up in his hands with interest, smiling.
“A relic of the two Dragon Emperors of Infinite Dimensions… looks like even they realized only by surpassing godhood can they break free.”
Then he shook his head, sighing.
“If Solarius were here, she would’ve loved this little one.”
His voice grew wistful.
“Whether dragons or drakes, the sky is their true domain—not groveling in the palms of gods.”
Orson felt his scalp prickle.
That was no casual remark.
He’d thought Berenice was just some persecuted wretch. Now it seemed the truth was far bigger.
Saryantos hadn’t said the light and dark dragon kings—he’d said Dragon Emperors.
According to Infinite Dimensions lore, both clans had produced Dragon Emperors, which was why their territories could harbor multiple dragon kings.
It was likely the blessings given to Berenice by Rebellion and Tulikiki were schemes by the two Dragon Emperors.
Their goal: to let Berenice surpass godhood and forever free dragonkind from divine control.
Soon after, Saryantos returned with huge barrels of potatoes, corn, and assorted meat and vegetables.
“This world is a poor place for crops…” he muttered, eyes glinting with a peculiar greed.
“If you want booze, there’s no food. If you want food, there’s no wine. Otherwise I’d show you my brewing skills.”
“Wine? I got plenty!”
Orson brightened.
His potions were all gone, but he still had loads of booze from Barrel Town.
A flash of spatial light, and a dozen bottles of aged liquor appeared on the table.
“Wonderful! Truly splendid!”
Saryantos was so excited he nearly jumped.
Grabbing a bottle of Lucid Dream, he downed half in a single gulp.
“This… smells like something I once brewed myself…”
He sniffed deeply, puzzled.
“No… didn’t I finish it all eight hundred years ago?”
Orson laughed and explained where the wine had come from.
When Saryantos heard how that silly girl had passed down his brewing craft, his eyes turned red.
He laughed through tears, gulping another mouthful.
“It was my fault…”
“This is from her.”
Orson placed a pristine bottle of Phoenix’s Lament on the table.
Saryantos stroked its intricate pattern, falling silent.
The hall grew still, save for Aeloria contentedly munching away.
“She flew from the Necrostar Region to Twin Suns, then chased all the way to your Blue Star… yet we could never meet. I wronged her,” he whispered.
“Necrostar Region?”
Orson’s brow lifted.
Twin Suns was obviously this Era of Immortals.
Blue Star was Infinite Dimensions.
So neither of them originally hailed from either world?
“That’s the homeland of the phoenix race, deep in the galactic core.
As you see, in your terms—I’m already a stray dog.”
Saryantos composed himself, carefully putting away the Phoenix’s Lament.
“They came. They devoured everything.
We aren’t adventurers, but we and the adventurers walk the same doomed road.
My people were born strong—natural weapons of the gods.
But too few to sway the tide. In the end, gods and mortals alike were buried in that land.”
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