Divine Glitch: I Regressed With Endgame Knowledge

Leaving Epitaph to return to Reaper's Scythe's camp and deliver their report—an act that no doubt unleashed the full fury of Reaper's Call's leadership, Ryan and his companions finally reached the eastern Summoning Circle.

A dense, black mist hung over the area, swallowing the light and muffling sound. Countless players came and went through the haze, their figures flickering in and out of view. Every so often, the dying cries of a Gnoll split the gloom, quickly cut short by the weapons of passing adventurers.

The moment they stepped into the fog, visibility dropped to almost nothing. Somewhere in the dark, unique monsters known as Gnoll Rogues lay in wait, striking at the careless. But with so many players constantly sweeping through, even these ambushers were in short supply. By the time Ryan's group reached their destination, they had only managed to slay a single one.

The spire loomed ahead—an immense tower vanishing into the clouds. Its base sprawled across thousands of square feet, ringed by enormous Gnoll statues, each one carved in lifelike detail and standing over ten meters tall. To most players, they were mere decoration. Ryan, however, knew better. When the Level 25 dungeon known as the Gnoll Temple eventually opened, nearly every one of those statues would awaken as elite monsters, patrolling the spire's perimeter and guarding the entrance. A handful would remain still until a player ventured too close, then spring to life and strike without warning.

Ryan's eyes drifted southeast toward Bloodfang Stone Forest, where the Level 25 Guardians prowled. Taking one down could even yield an Epic-grade item. But he had no interest in fighting over Guardian loot anymore. Those battles were magnets for player conflict, and the rewards no longer tempted him. By the time he reached Level 30, a Level 25 Epic would barely surpass a Level 30 Rare, and his own base stats already made such gains negligible. What mattered now was leveling as quickly as possible. Gear perfection could wait until the Level 40 cap, when every stat truly counted.

Turning back to the spire, Ryan signaled to Moonlight Beauty and Nonsense. The Summoning Circle needed to be destroyed.

They joined the steady stream of players moving inside. The spire's ground floor opened into a wide chamber, from which a wooden staircase spiraled upward toward the unseen heights. Each level was thick with Gnoll defenders, but under the constant onslaught of so many adventurers, the creatures fell almost as soon as they appeared. Their bodies collapsed into puddles of tar-like liquid, which quickly evaporated into a drifting mist that rose toward the top of the tower. Outside, this vapor fed the swirling black haze.

Every so often, a pulse of purple light rolled through the spire. With each flash, more Gnolls materialized—summoned by the runes carved into the walls themselves. Those markings, etched in endless spirals and lines, were the foundation of the Summoning Circle. At the tower's peak, guarded by an army of Gnolls, lay the Summoning Orb, the beating heart of the circle. Destroying it would collapse the summoning magic entirely, completing a crucial part of Ryan's mission.

The staircase groaned underfoot as they climbed. Gnolls continued to spawn in their path, throwing themselves at the intruders with snarling fury. With so many other players around, Ryan saw no need to unleash his Divine Storm. Instead, he fought steadily, cutting them down one by one, methodically pushing upward like any other well-armored Protection Paladin.

The higher they climbed, the thicker the crowd became. More and more players threw themselves at the freshly spawned Gnolls ahead, cutting down anything that appeared in their path. Any stragglers that spawned behind them were quickly intercepted by newcomers flooding into the tower.

For Ryan, it made for an unexpectedly smooth ascent. The crowd was a strange mix of races—some normally bitter enemies—but here they passed one another without a glance, their focus entirely on the mission at hand.

Moonlight Beauty's gaze lingered on a group of opposing faction players. A flicker of mischief crossed her face, but before she could act, Nonsense grabbed her arm.

"Moonlight," he said quietly, "if you start something now, the blame lands squarely on us. The Dark Horde will turn on us, and even the Alliance of Light will hate us for wasting their mission time."

Moonlight hesitated, then let the idea drop. Ryan, who had been about to say the same thing, raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

The tide of players spilled onto the top floor, where a glowing golden orb floated at the center of the chamber. Dozens were already hammering away at it. The Summoning Orb's health, nearly ten thousand points, melted under the combined assault. With a sharp crack, the orb shattered in a burst of light.

"Damn, just a step too late." Ryan skidded to a halt, frustration tightening his jaw. He'd been sprinting from the moment he saw the orb intact, knowing that even a single strike would secure mission credit. But its health had plummeted too quickly. He hadn't landed a single blow.

"We'll wait for it to respawn," he said with a sigh. He led Moonlight Beauty and Nonsense to the empty space where the orb had been, idly cutting down the occasional Gnoll that spawned nearby.

Fifteen minutes. That was the orb's respawn time. Long enough for irritation to set in, especially as more players arrived in the Arid Plains, each completing the first step of their mission and adding to the congestion inside the spire.

It was only a matter of time before things boiled over.

Ryan and his companions had been hoping to see the two factions turn on each other, and at last, the moment came. A commotion began on the lower floors—distant at first, then growing louder. Shouts, crashes, and the unmistakable rhythm of combat rolled up the staircase.

When they learned what had triggered it, Ryan couldn't help but smile.

The problem was the spire's design. Everyone relied on the same narrow wooden staircase to go up and down. At first, players had kept to a simple system: left side for going up, right side for going down. But a group that had finished their mission and was heading out suddenly found the downward lane blocked. Some impatient climbers had spotted gaps in the descending flow and claimed the entire staircase for themselves, forcing everyone else into a single upward lane.

The newcomers behind them assumed that was just how it worked. They followed without thinking, jamming themselves into the upward current. But this was the open wilderness—there was no body phasing to keep opposing groups apart. The narrow staircase forced players shoulder to shoulder, and there was no safe way to turn back.

In theory, someone could jump down to escape. In practice, the fall from this height meant certain death.

And so, when a descending group finally met an ascending one head-on, the leaders happened to belong to opposing factions. No way to talk, no way to pass. Weapons came out. Tempers flared.

The powder keg had been lit.