Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

A father already?

That fast?!

Orson’s heart pounded like a drum. As the mightiest archmage in Infinite Dimensions, he actually slipped on the threshold and nearly faceplanted.

Utter disgrace!

He steadied himself, emotions tangled beyond belief. He didn’t even know how he should face Emma.

“What if it’s all a misunderstanding? Wouldn’t I be freaking out over nothing?”

His nerves were shot. He could clearly feel he wasn’t ready—some guilty part of him even hoped it wasn’t true.

Give him the battlefield, cutting down Heaven Demons by the legion—he was in his element there.

But being a dad? That was a thousand times trickier, way beyond anything he’d ever prepared for.

Panicking, Orson rounded the corner past the tea house—only to skid to a halt, brows drawing tight.

Blank was standing there, blocking his way.

“You’re… you’re rushing again. If there’s anything… anything hard to say, just tell me, alright?”

Words tumbled out of Orson’s mouth in a clumsy rush—and he instantly regretted them, wishing he could slap himself.

Calling it “hard to say” was absurd. Who described being a mother that way?

“Shut up.”

Blank didn’t even turn to look at him. She drew her Forbidden Magic dagger, her voice cold as frost.

Orson’s gut clenched. Surely it couldn’t be that serious…

Was this what they called pregnancy mood swings?

He clamped his mouth shut immediately, not daring to provoke her for a second.

“Master. We meet again.”

A soft, almost teasing voice rang out.

Orson’s expression dropped like a stone. His heart crashed into his gut as he snapped his gaze toward the dwarven forge.

There stood a lithe figure, curves rivaling Aeloria’s, draped in a flowing white gown that danced in the breeze like a blooming lily—pure, graceful, and impossibly radiant.

A halo of blinding white flame cloaked her so thoroughly her real appearance was hard to discern.

“That bitch again. Nearly burned my buddy alive just now with that fire magic,”

grumbled a few adventurers waiting on Veijander to forge their gear. They immediately drew weapons, brilliant light from top-tier equipment flaring to life.

Anyone forging with Veijander was no ordinary schmuck. Even the weakest of them sported full legendary sets. In the blink of an eye, they’d formed a small but terrifying force.

“Forever City doesn’t ban killing. Wipe her out! She must be loaded with rare loot!”

A cadre leader from the guild Sky Scar’s eyes gleamed with greed. He raised his twin-edged greatsword and charged. Four underlings flanked wide, poised for a pincer strike.

“Heaven’s Flame.”

The woman in white gave a soft laugh, almost playful. With a casual wave, several clusters of white fire drifted out.

The Sky Scar leader was hit instantly. His blade clattered to the ground as he clutched his hands in agony, howling.

“Holy burn effect! Shit—it’s draining 10% HP per second, potions can’t clear it!”

Sky Scar’s priests frantically cast heals, rez spells, shields—every heavy-hitting buff they had.

All they got in return was the same cold system notice: [Skill ineffective].

Everyone watching broke into a cold sweat. Two rogues slipped into stealth, hoping to flee.

But the white flames seemed alive, hunting them through shadow itself. Not even invisibility could save them.

“Enough.”

Orson’s face darkened. His voice cracked out like a whip.

He flicked his Supreme Arcane Blade, precisely controlling his Chaos Magic Ball’s power to blast off the Sky Scar leader’s arms.

“You… thank you, my lord…!”

The guild master of Sky Scar grit through the pain. He’d started to curse—then realized the holy burn had stopped.

“Drink. Revive.”

Orson coldly tossed out four vials of Rootless Water. The battered adventurers scrambled to gulp them down.

Bodies that had been reduced to piles of ash sprang back to life on the spot.

The crowd was terrified. Faces turned pale as sheets.

Sky Scar might not be a top-tier guild, but even their elites had cracked the regional top 100 power rankings before.

Yet here, a woman they’d never seen before had nearly annihilated them instantly.

If the city lord hadn’t intervened, they’d all be corpses.

[Six-Winged Seraph — Favored of Divinity]

[Pope of the Light Dragon Empire]

[Bathed in divine light. Unable to discern target attributes.]

Orson’s eyes narrowed. Not even the Ancient Sage’s Eye could pierce her veil.

But that voice—he knew it all too well.

Snow Dream.

“You used to say esports required an unshakable mind, total composure. So why are you panicking like this?”

Snow Dream revealed her face, lips a soft red, a faint playful charm lingering between her brows.

“Why are you here?”

Orson’s gut went tight. His voice was like ice.

“Forever City welcomes all non-hostile adventurers. Why, am I the sole exception? That’s what your darling sister said, after all.”

Snow Dream giggled, strolling toward him and Blank.

“Leave.” This copy was generated from content at MV|LEMPYR.

Blank only needed one word. She slipped on her mask, her form blurring into shadowy motion.

“Technically, I should call you ‘Master’s wife.’ But you did steal from us…”

Snow Dream’s gaze drifted pointedly to Orson’s new right arm. Her lips curved into a sly smile.

“No matter. Think of it as a gift for the child.”

“Child?”

Orson jolted, flicking his eyes toward Blank, uncertain.

Blank’s ears turned scarlet. She shot him a frosty glare. “This is between her and me. Stay out of it.”

Orson’s expression wavered. Ever since Snow Dream had been poached by Dragon’s Kiss, she’d worked under Usher.

But now… he felt it. Her threat far outstripped Usher’s.

It wasn’t her Soul Seals or class tier. It was pure instinct.

She was cunning beyond belief, now head of the Holy Light Church. Even if that church was a pale shadow of its former glory, held in check by Ursula, it meant nothing.

Snow Dream was his creation—a monster Orson had personally forged.

She’d clawed her way up, stronger and sharper every time she nearly broke. Her individual power and sheer will were terrifying.

Snow Dream and Blank locked eyes, a razor meeting a whetstone. Neither backed down.

“Blank. Careful. Yesterday, if I’d wanted to keep you, I could have. But I let you leave unharmed.”

“Oh? Sure it wasn’t me sparing your life?”

Blank sneered. She blurred into a voidlike silhouette, attacking without warning.

Snow Dream didn’t flinch. Her eyes closed, her expression as calm as still water. “Pregnant women shouldn’t overexert themselves. I look forward to meeting that little one. Don’t spoil it.”

She gave Orson a wicked smile, lifted her staff, and closed her eyes.

Clang!

Clang!

Blades sparked off the staff. Blank’s eyes narrowed—this was a mage blocking her attacks?

Snow Dream’s agility was average at best, yet every move was stripped of excess, predicting Blank’s strikes by sound alone.

“You have no right to speak of my child!”

Blank’s voice was low and lethal. the Spirit Tribe Moonstep flared beneath her feet, sending her agility surging.

“Is that so?”

Snow Dream’s smile vanished into shadow. Holy flames burst around her, swallowing the space in searing white, chasing even Blank’s lightning-fast dodges.

Orson’s eyes were cold as he watched. Emma’s pride would never allow him to step in.

But he had faith in the woman she’d become.

Burning reduced by 99% – 3000!

Burning reduced by 99% – 2700!

The Fire Ward Sigil!

Blank gave a chilly little snort. A strange sigil glowed over her chest, shielding her from nearly all the burn.

Snow Dream’s eyes darkened. Her staff lifted again. “Awaken — Divine Wind Halberds…”

Storms howled. A phantom wind goddess rose behind her. Seven divine halberds plunged from the heavens, dragging Blank’s lithe body toward their kill zone.

“Too slow. I could kill you a hundred times over.”

Blank laughed icily. Snow Dream’s spell hadn’t even fallen before a flash of steel swept by—

No hesitation, no flourish.

A fatal strike.

A flower of blood.

Then a clean blade, flicked dry.

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