Divine Glitch: I Regressed With Endgame Knowledge

The commotion started in the middle of the tower and spread upward like wildfire. By the time the chaos reached the top floor, the brawl had engulfed nearly every player in the Eastern Summoning Tower.

No one was spared.

Ryan and his party were among the first to draw enemy attention. Positioned so close to the summoning orb's spawn point, they were impossible to miss. The moment the Dark Horde players turned their focus toward them, trouble came fast.

Two Orc rogues darted in from the side. Before Ryan could react, a sharper threat appeared—an Undead rogue materialized behind him, blades flashing.

-558.

The crimson number hung in the air above Ryan's head, but the Undead rogue froze mid-motion. A critical strike, one of his strongest, had barely dented the Paladin's health bar—only about a seventh gone.

It took him only a second to put the pieces together. There was only one Paladin in the tower who could take that kind of hit without flinching: Featherlight, the one whose Glorious Achievements had become almost legendary.

Ryan glanced over his shoulder, his mouth curving into a cold smile. Light flared from his hands as he unleashed Judgment. The rogue dodged the stun, but Ryan's enchanted weapon, Command, bit deep.

-841.

Another hit landed immediately after—a clean, heavy strike following a Fist of Light—ripping away more than seven hundred health.

Before the rogue could even think about retreating, Nonsense burst through the crowd, slamming into him with a swift, brutal strike. The rogue's health dropped below one hundred, and Nonsense finished the job without hesitation.

Ryan gave him a sideways look, the kind that clearly said he didn't appreciate the kill-steal, but he didn't waste time arguing. He raised his voice over the noise, rallying nearby allies to press the attack against the Dark Horde.

With Featherlight in the lead, they cut through enemy lines like a blade through cloth. Alliance of Light reinforcements arrived from the stairs above, swelling their numbers until they had a clear advantage. One push after another, the top floor was purged of Dark Horde players.

But the victory didn't last.

Players who had fought their way up from the lower levels came with grim news: the Alliance of Light forces below had been wiped out. The Dark Horde's buff from controlling the flight points—an 8% boost to both health and damage—was proving decisive. It might have sounded small, but in the middle of a chaotic melee, it was more than enough to tilt the balance.

Down below, Alliance players had fought to their last breath, only to find their opponents still standing with a sliver of health. Sometimes, that single point was the difference between life and death.

With more Dark Horde survivors climbing the tower, the Alliance's numbers began to thin. One by one, their defenders either leapt down the stairs to escape or pulled back to the entrance. From there, they shouted up at the enemies advancing down toward them.

"We need tanks on the stairs, with me! Healers, stay behind us and keep your focus here! Melee, protect the healers—watch for Dark Horde rogues coming back from resurrection to flank us! Ranged DPS, take the high ground and look for clean shots!"

Ryan continuously invited more players into his party. When they realized the organizer was the renowned Featherlight, their morale surged. Orders from him were followed without hesitation, each player falling into formation according to their role.

The staircase was broad enough for six or seven to stand shoulder to shoulder, but the two tanks at Ryan's side positioned themselves so perfectly that they formed an unbroken wall. No Dark Horde fighter would get through without breaking that line first.

Nightwalker, slipping in and out of the Aetherial Plane to avoid the crush of bodies, reappeared at Ryan's side with a smirk. The chaos boiling around them was, in no small part, his doing—and he was clearly proud of it.

The stairs themselves were steep, close to a forty-five degree incline, which worked in the Alliance's favor. Only a handful of Dark Horde players could attack the defenders at once.

Ryan activated his golden player ID, instantly drawing the attention of half a dozen ranged attackers.

"Damn, Guild Leader, that ID is blinding!" Moonlight Beauty shouted over the clash, grinning. The shimmering golden name, coupled with his arrogant title, turned heads even in the middle of battle. Ryan had no doubt the spectacle was already being screenshotted and posted on the forums.

He had chosen his position carefully—standing not at the staircase's bend but a few steps back—so that only two rows of enemies could reach him, and even within those rows, only the four in the center could get close enough to strike.

Spells and arrows pelted him relentlessly, his health bar dipping again and again, but the healers at his back kept pouring light into him. Ryan's own Divine Storm added bursts of healing to the mix, making his health fluctuate wildly, never dropping below a thousand. To the Dark Horde, it must have been infuriating.

"Truly, one man holding the pass against ten thousand!" a priest muttered, barely pausing in his casting. The sight of Featherlight standing unshaken on the staircase, holding back hundreds—maybe even a thousand—enemies, was almost unbelievable.

The golden ID above his head gleamed like a crown, and the arcs of light from his Divine Storm made him look like something out of legend. Some of the players behind him stared with open awe. A few guild members even whispered about disbanding and finding a way to join whatever guild Featherlight led.

The tanks flanking him weren't as lucky. Three full groups had already fallen, but fresh ones rushed in to take their place. Healers with resurrection spells pulled fallen allies back to their feet, while the rest rotated in and out to conserve mana—when one ran dry, another took over.

Through that constant cycle, Ryan had held the staircase for over ten minutes, long enough to make some Dark Horde fighters give up on breaking his defense entirely. Instead, they turned their attention to the easier prey—the tanks holding the flanks.