"Today's the day we make history!"
"Are we seriously afraid of a bunch of scrubs? Fight! Let's go!"
"I've been delivering food for ten years—finally, it's my turn to rise! Wait for me!!!"
"Usher alone sent IND's Poison King running for his life. I don't even wanna imagine what happens when it's Usher plus Orgod. That combo's gonna break the damn game!"
...
Unlike the heavy tension gripping other warzones, the US chat channels were bursting with bloodthirsty roars. Everyone was fired up, hyped beyond reason. It was as if every combat gene in the warzone had been activated at once.
More than an hour had passed since the launch of the global war campaign.
Once the meeting ended and the crowd dispersed…
"My friend," Drunken Dream greeted with a booming laugh, shaking Orson's hand warmly.
Orson smirked inwardly. My personal mount.
Beside Drunken Dream stood a tall, handsome young man—none other than Denoka, the son of the Silver Dragon King.