Online Game: Starting With SSS-Ranked Summons-Chapter 595: Arthur’s Revenge [1]

Arthur watched with cold satisfaction as the two hundred awakeners organised themselves into combat formations. James took command naturally, his mind working through coordination despite the hopeless situation.

"Ranged attackers in the back! Melee fighters form the vanguard! Support specialists maintain buffs and healing!" James's voice carried authority born from countless battles. "We coordinate everything—no individual heroics. Our only chance is an overwhelming, synchronised assault!"

The awakeners moved despite their terror. Lightning cracklers positioned themselves alongside fire mages and ice specialists. Earth manipulators created defensive barriers. Wind users prepared mobility enhancements. The coordination was impressive—these were America's elite, after all.

Charlotte watched from her position beside Arthur, staff held ready but not interfering. This was Arthur's moment, his justice to dispense.

Ryker positioned himself in the melee vanguard. Despite being forced to kneel moments before, rage burned in his eyes as he gripped his military-issue blade. His face twisted with hatred directed at the cousin who'd somehow surpassed him so completely.

This is wrong, Ryker's thoughts raged. I'm supposed to be better than him. I'm the legitimate Fate heir. He's just street trash who got lucky!

Donald huddled in the middle ranks, his mind already calculating excuses and escape plans despite knowing neither would save him.

Raymond stood with other B-Class fighters, his expression resigned. Unlike Ryker's rage or Donald's scheming, Raymond simply accepted that he'd chosen the wrong side and would pay for that choice.

James raised his hand, blue flames coalescing into a concentrated sphere of heat that distorted the air around it. His S-Rank talent at full power could melt steel, reduce demons to ash, and burn through most defences.

"On my mark!" James called out. "Three... two... one... NOW!"

The assault erupted with fury as Arthur watched with his hands crossed.

Lightning bolts converged on Arthur's position from five different angles. Fireballs the size of cars launched alongside ice spears that could pierce concrete. Earth spikes erupted from below while wind blades sliced through the air from above. Metal manipulation sent razor-sharp projectiles spinning toward vital points.

The melee fighters charged simultaneously, weapons glowing with enhancement skills and talent effects. Ryker led the charge, his blade aimed at Arthur's throat with murderous intent.

The combined magical barrage painted the bunker in brilliant light, the heat and pressure enough to liquify stone. Any normal person—even most legendary-rank creatures—would have been instantly obliterated by such overwhelming firepower.

Arthur stood perfectly still in the centre of the storm.

The lightning struck first—five bolts converging on his position with megawatt intensity. They connected with his armour and simply... dissipated. The Robe of Darkness absorbed the electrical energy without even flickering, its epic-rank enchantments treating S-Class lightning as minor static discharge.

The fireballs detonated against him next, flames washing over his position in a wave that reached temperatures exceeding volcanic eruptions. Arthur's armour glowed briefly from the heat but suffered zero damage.

Ice spears shattered against his chest plate without leaving marks. Earth spikes crumbled on impact with his boots. Wind blades skittered off his armour like insects hitting glass. Metal projectiles pinged harmlessly away, unable to penetrate even the cloth portions of his equipment.

Through the smoke and magical chaos, Ryker reached Arthur first, his Enhanced Strength driving his blade toward his cousin's exposed neck with killing force.

The military-issue weapon—rare-rank, enhanced for cutting through powerful defences—struck Arthur's neck with perfect precision.

And stopped completely.

The blade didn't penetrate the skin. Didn't leave a scratch. Didn't even indent the flesh.

Arthur's passive Iron Fortress skill, combined with his massive Damage Resistance stat and natural physical toughness, made his unarmored skin harder than the rare-rank weapon trying to cut it.

Ryker's eyes widened with disbelief as the blade refused to penetrate, his strength meaning nothing against the gulf in their capabilities.

Arthur's hand moved casually, almost lazily, and grabbed the blade between two fingers. With minimal effort, he crushed the rare-rank weapon like it was made of cheap aluminium, metal fragments falling to the ground with tinkling sounds.

"Annoying fly," Arthur said quietly.

His fist drove forward, not enhanced by spatial manipulation, not empowered by talents, just pure physical strength backed by attributes that exceeded everyone present and struck Ryker's chest.

CRACK!

The sound of breaking ribs echoed through the bunker as Ryker's body crumpled like paper. The impact launched him backwards through the air, his body ragdolling across the chamber before slamming into the reinforced wall hard enough to leave a crater.

Ryker slumped to the ground, consciousness fleeing as his body struggled to handle the attack.

One down. One hundred ninety-nine to go.

The other melee fighters reached Arthur's position simultaneously, weapons striking from every angle with coordinated precision. Swords, spears, hammers, axes, all enhanced by talents and skills rained down on Arthur's armoured form in a storm of steel.

Every weapon bounced off harmlessly. Every strike failed to leave even the faintest scratch.

Arthur moved through them like wind through grass. His movements were economical, precise, devastating. A palm strike to one fighter's sternum sent him flying. A leg sweep took down three simultaneously. An elbow to someone's jaw rendered them instantly unconscious.

He wasn't using any of his talents. Wasn't summoning creatures to fight for him. Wasn't activating domain effects beyond the space itself.

Just raw physical prowess, combat experience, and attributes so far beyond theirs that the gap might as well have been infinite.

James watched with growing horror as Arthur dismantled the melee vanguard in seconds. Twenty fighters down before they could even coordinate a second assault wave.

"Ranged assault! Maximum power! Don't hold back!" James roared desperately.

Every mage, every ranged specialist, every support caster channelled everything they had into a final collective strike. This was desperation—burn all their mana, exhaust every resource, hit Arthur with enough concentrated power to level a city block.

Lightning, fire, ice, earth, metal, wind, light, darkness—every element humanity's awakeners could command converged on Arthur's position in an apocalyptic display of destruction.

The temperature spiked and plummeted simultaneously as conflicting elements collided.

Charlotte had to shield her eyes from the blinding light, the display of power genuinely impressive despite being futile.

When the magical storm finally cleared, smoke and debris filling the bunker, everyone stared desperately toward where Arthur had been standing.

He remained in the exact same position, his expression unchanged.

There was no scratch on his armour. Not a mark on his skin. Not even his hair was disturbed.

"Impossible," someone whispered, the word carrying absolute defeat.

Arthur's smile widened.

"It appears to me that you failed...it's my turn now."