NOVGO.NET Chapter 666: Because Cowboys Are Busy
Chapter 666: 666: Because Cowboys Are Busy
In just a few seconds, over a million gold coins from Orson’s inventory surged out like a golden river, all flowing directly toward Quarla.
“You’ve been affected by Golden Dragon Queen Quarla’s ability: Heaven-Thief’s Hand.”
“Gold -10%.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?!”
Orson’s mood instantly imploded. This “authority” was insane—more like straight-up robbery than any kind of magical effect.
Beside him, Blank stood frozen, eyes wide. She had just lost six pieces of ultra-rare legendary gear. Her loss was no small matter either.
“Chaos Immunity Triggered.”
“Godslayer’s twin thieves—truly unstoppable.”
Sienna’s expression said it all, like this was exactly what she expected.
“Triggers every two minutes. High chance to steal any item within range, including equipped gear, though that chance is a bit lower.”
Right as she finished her sentence, Orson looked over just in time to see Madman vanish from Quarla’s back and reappear behind a high-HP knight.
The rogue grabbed the man’s belt and, with one strike, drained half his health, his own HP cap skyrocketing in response.
Two quick slashes later, the knight crumpled.
“Shameless bastard,”
Blank snorted. As Madman’s long-time rival, she was clearly unimpressed.
With Quarla covering him, Madman’s HP had gone from barely 100,000 to over 3 million. And it was still climbing.
“Godslayer members can revive! Take him alive! Don’t let him escape!”
“Kill the dragon and hand the thief to the CIA—we’ll make him beg for death!”
A chorus of commands rang out. Several Maple Nation guild leaders were directing the chaos. The Demon God’s Banner field was their doing, packed with layered magical effects. Even a Dragon Queen was having trouble breaking out.
Hundreds of Infinite Dimensions enforcers were circling the battlefield with Forbidden Magic shackles in hand. Their goal was clear: capture, not kill. Their intel had to be solid—Godslayer members could revive even in death, so capturing was the only path.
“Return my treasure, you filthy thief!”
Powerful auras slammed across the battlefield.
Eight native Kings descended, among them two Dragon Knights riding full-fledged Dragon Kings.
They had pursued Quarla from the moment she appeared. Most of her wounds came from them alone—an unmistakable show of force.
“Great. He pissed off a King’s nest. Let him die,”
Blank muttered, glancing at Orson.
Orson knew what she meant: have Madman dismiss his beast and self-terminate.
With eight Kings, eight Demon God banners, and Godslayer’s top thief caught in the middle—rescue seemed impossible.
“Relax,” Orson said with a soft laugh. “The Demon God’s Banner targets enemies. Are we enemies, my lovely lamb?”
“…What kind of psycho picks a name like that?” Blank groaned, resisting the urge to slap him.
Still, Orson’s comment clicked.
Blank’s eyes lit up.
“You mean…”
“Exactly. Baldy asked for fire support, didn’t he? I’m just being helpful,” Orson shrugged.
The three of them had blended into the Maple Nation war party. That meant the Demon God’s Banner and all eight King authorities had no effect on them—because technically, they were allies.
At that moment, a dragon knight named Gino surged forward, roaring.
His mount was bizarre—a metallic Dragon King, radiating a dark steel glow. Half-living, half-machine.
“This thing’s got no pain receptors and physical immunity—what a disgusting mechanical mutt!”
Madman cursed.
The mech-dragon didn’t have breath attacks like most dragons. Instead, it boasted absurdly high physical resistance.
Madman had held his own against two kings earlier, but this thing had wrecked him solo.
Gino raised his lance, rallying his charge. The metallic beast unfurled its wings and dove forward, tanking Quarla’s golden flames with ease.
Roar!
Quarla bared her fangs and slammed a claw into the mech-dragon’s neck.
“Bite him, disciple!”
“Shut it! I’m stabbing as hard as I can!”
Madman leapt back into action, landing atop the mech-dragon’s saddle and stabbing Gino square in the chest.
Crit Resist -27,000!
Poison Resist -20,000!
Poison Resist…
Despite his relentless assault, Madman couldn’t break through the mech-dragon’s armor. The bastard barely had over 100 million HP, but his defense was off the charts. Even heart-stabs barely registered.
Gino kicked him off and pressed the attack.
Madman ducked the lance sweep, barely rolling back behind Quarla—right back into the pressure cooker.
“Good… very good. You’re a worthy candidate. Join my elite intelligence unit,”
came a smug voice from a floating throne among the Maple Nation forces.
It was an old man with an unmistakable sneer.
“Shut up, fake-ass bastard.”
Madman spat. He knew this guy. Just another body double, like the others.
“A wise man once said—”
“Yeah, your mom.”
Madman cut him off with a sneer and a string of obscenities.
“Take him alive. We’ll interrogate him slowly,”
Parlenzo muttered darkly.
The Kings closed in. Madman’s grip on his blade tightened.
“Guess backup’s not coming…”
He smirked bitterly, eyes flashing.
He was ready to off himself.
Better that than let these psychos torture him. And he knew damn well Sienna and Orson wouldn’t let this go. If he got caught, it’d screw over Godslayer’s global momentum.
Besides, if he died, everything he stole would drop—part of Quarla’s authority.
As Godslayer’s vice leader, sure, he was greedy and afraid of death. But he wasn’t going to screw over the guild.
“Chill out. I got you.”
A voice whispered in his ear, light as music.
Madman froze, glancing around. That bastard wasn’t anywhere nearby.
“Don’t mess with me now,”
he muttered.
He looked down at his gear and sighed.
“God, I had like a million in gold on me. Damn shame…”
He gripped his blade tight, ready to slice himself.
Then—
Baldy, seeing Madman was cornered, sniffed out a golden opportunity.
“I’m going in! Cover me!”
he shouted to Orson.
“On it!”
Orson smirked, raising his disguised magic-energy rifle.
With a crackle of gunfire, spells shot forward like a hailstorm.
Whisper of the Wind!
Chaos Magic Ball!
A barrage of dark red fireballs—each the size of a basin—rained toward the enemy.
“My man, how’s your magic rifle firing that fast?! And from that far?!”
Baldy stared at Orson in awe.
“It’s simple. Because cowboys are busy.”
Orson adjusted his hat with a grin, unable to hold back the smirk curling across his face.
The entire warband gawked. Their ’western gunslinger’ was unloading spells faster than they could even count.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Crit -3.1 million!
Crit -2.9 million!
Crippling Strike -11 million!
Then, a stunned silence.
The mech-dragon let out a dying groan.
Its massive body collapsed under Quarla’s crushing weight, who seized the opening to tear into its metal hide.
“What are you doing?!”
One of Parlenzo’s guild leaders roared.
“A C-class adventurer… doing over 3 million crits?”
Baldy’s jaw dropped, flashing a set of pristine white teeth.
“Wait! Sh*t! You hit the wrong target, dumbass!”
“Oh? My bad. I’m usually a raid captain back in my guild. Guess I got mixed up,”
Orson said, feigning innocence.
“Want me to take over? I can lead the group, no problem.”
“My God! Even Orgod from the US server is garbage compared to you! Please—take the reins!”
“Yeah, let him lead! Whatever loot drops, we want a piece of it!”
Baldy’s teammates were practically drooling, ready to offer sacrifices for a chance at the upcoming rewards.
Baldy hesitated, then caved to the peer pressure.
“Just… aim properly, yeah?”
“Absolutely. I’ll aim just a little better.”
Orson nodded solemnly—and smoothly took the squad leader role.
“Accidental friendly fire? No way. This guy hits harder than a freakin’ NPC. Something’s off here…”
Madman stared at the damage source, eyes narrowing.
His gaze locked on the cowboy hat.
“Orlog…?”
A flicker of realization.
“Motherfu—!”
“Face your judgment, vermin.”
Orson raised his Supreme Arcane Blade and struck a heroic pose.
The two women beside him stared at the dramatic display, three lines of black frustration appearing on their foreheads.
Seriously?
How the hell could this guy be such a showoff?