NOVGO.NET Chapter 770: Return!
Chapter 770: 770: Return!
“Aeloria. Berenice.”
A small, genuine smile touched Orson’s face. Seeing the two of them alive took the edge off the storm in his chest.
Aeloria lowered her blood-bright eyes, dropped to one knee, and stayed the same battle-hungry dragon he remembered. “I will follow my master and cut down the gods.”
“And I… I’ll manage your money.”
Berenice tossed her hair, proud as ever. His presence rattled her, but she still forced her spine straight.
“Good.” Orson nodded.
“Friend, you’re back. We’ve been waiting.”
“I know.”
Drunken Dream walked up beside him. The flashy rich kid energy was gone. What replaced it was bedrock.
Looking at his old “mount,” Orson felt a pinch behind the ribs. He didn’t want to imagine what the man had lived through. He could’ve used the “Heaven’s Eye” to give him a better future. In the end, Drunken Dream still became the last steel-spined son of House Platinum. The only difference was, the soft ones from House Sheehan died with honor, not in cowardice.
“Madman invites you to join the guild [Godslayer].”
A prompt popped. Orson’s mouth crooked. He clicked accept.
Guild Chat:
“OH! OH! OH! It’s really the old guildmaster!”
Old Yin: “What, you needed confirmation? Who else can smack godspawn and alien dogs around like they’re his kids?”
“He’s the founder of Godslayer!”
Stewart: “Sobbing IRL. Boss, I missed you so much it hurt.”
Ethan: “Old man, old man, undefeated! Old man, old man, mom’s gonna make you kneel on instant noodles when she gets back~~”
“Knock it off! We’re in a war, remember?”
Madman tried to bark them down.
It did absolutely nothing.
Ethan: “Stop DM’ing me. Didn’t we bag a godspawn already?”
Ethan: “When we’re back, we’re branding him with a mosquito coil until he coughs up all his loot.”
Chloe: “If possible… I want a full integrated armor set.”
Lil’ Stewart: “I’m brewing magic toxins. Heard the Plague World’s got the good stuff. Boss, if it’s convenient, kidnap one for research.”
The channel devolved into a zoo. Orson rubbed his temples. Led by that little disaster-in-chief, the kids wouldn’t shut up about dragging back a few god-tier aliens for science.
“Ignore them, bro. Eyes front.”
Madman stayed sharp, then glanced over and nearly had a stroke.
Orson was still chatting with the babies.
“Why aren’t they claiming my gift packs?” Orson blinked at him.
“Gift… packs?”
Madman stared. Was this a boss fight or a holiday event?
Bradley hit the floor laughing, clutching his half-healed ribs. “You’re killing me. Every one of these kids is loaded. Dumping gift packs? They won’t even bend down to pick ’em up, Orson.”
“The times have changed?”
Orson’s embarrassment showed. When he joined Infinite Dimensions, he had nothing, grinding for ShatteredCrown as a booster. Now every kid in Godslayer wore a full Temu anti-magic set. Even the crafters were in full legendary with a belt of magitech. Every Godslayer member was a walking vault. Outside the upper crust of other worlds, almost nobody lived like this.
Aurex took Taran and retreated deeper into the temple. The foreign elites realized dog-piling wouldn’t work and fell back toward the sanctum.
On the mountain ridge, massive god-shrines burst into spears of light stabbing skyward. A pressure rolled out that made teeth itch.
“This is bad. Divine wills are descending. Move! Break those shrines and we bail!” Madman snapped.
“Divine possession is that strong?”
Orson asked it like he was asking the weather. Madman was ready to cry. “I get that you’re cracked, but we can’t afford another disaster.”
“Then no rush. Perfect time to share a few thoughts from the heart.”
Orson’s smile did that crooked thing. Bradley’s eyes lit up, immediately fanning the flames. “Yes, sir. Make ’em cry for mama.”
“Bradley, I swear your torture quota isn’t full yet!” Madman shot back.
Bradley’s face darkened. He cut his glare toward Madman and growled, “So I just take a thousand cuts and that’s it? Why? Answer me.”
Madman faltered. He knew Bradley wasn’t posturing. He’d never found the chance to pull him out, and the guilt made arguing feel cheap. He shut up and stood with the two real madmen.
Ethan: “Old man, they’re gonna kill me with asks. They don’t want money, they want bodies!”
Ethan: “Just grab one. No—grab ten. Ten’s good. Best if they’re from different worlds.”
His idiot son buzzed in Orson’s ear like a housefly. Big Dad Energy found it exhausting. So much for a tender father and respectful son.
He finally understood why nobody coddled the kid. That belly-flop tantrum for “new toys”? Unbeatable.
“DoomBringer’s more reasonable… no, wait, he isn’t.”
He thought of Oliver storming off. For a second, he almost praised the kid. Then he remembered how the boy talked—pure Usher—and his skin crawled.
Over the chorus of new-gen whining, Orson rifled his inventory and winced. In Sunforge he’d spent years mowing demons, not farming cool drops. He had war merits by the boat, but those weren’t transferable. Worse, he had no idea what kids liked now.
“Forget it. Bagging aliens to-go is the safest bet,” he muttered.
He raised a hand. Elemental hands unfolded in the sky, grabbed two warships lining up a run, and shook them like maracas.
“What is this maniac doing?”
“Crap! Summon your flyers, now!”
Dozens spilled out of the ships, quick to call their mounts.
“You weren’t planning on taking off, were you?”
Orson arched a brow. The Sky Sovereign title lit like a brand. With Aeloria bordering on Lower God, anything below god-tier bent the knee.
“My mount won’t fly—ahhh—help!”
Screams erupted. Orson wasn’t an omniscient roster nerd. With this many, who had time to check which world was which or study their races? He took the simple route: the weirder the ship looked, the harder he targeted it.
He didn’t say a word. He just cracked cans and shook out prizes.
They weren’t weak. From ten thousand meters, most hit the ground maimed instead of dead.
“What is this supposed to mean…”
“Gods, what kind of villain is this? He wants to enslave us? We proud adventurers of Galehowl World—enslaved?”
They staggered upright—and thousands of blood-contract sigils bloomed overhead.
“I’m a principled guy,” Orson’s voice floated across the plaza. “There aren’t many choices. Invade my homeworld and there is no surrender. Accept the bind… or die.”
Panic jolted through them. They tried to sprint for the inner temple.
From the start Orson had noticed the main sanctum wasn’t normal. The outer wards were a braid of divine laws, with a trillion HP and layered magic dampening and physical reduction. Even a mid-tier god couldn’t just walk through it.
“Chaos! Hear your Lord’s decree!”
Cain’s metal wings snapped wide and flashed. Heads hit stone. The stampede froze.
Orson smiled crookedly again. Cain’s outburst wasn’t random. The main sanctum stood on the footprint of his old lord’s manor. A circle of gods, god-weapons, and big shots holding court in his living room?
Yeah. Cain was pissed.