The Deadly Assassin Robin novel Chapter 1175

The Ten Guardians and the Eight Gladiators of the Dark Night Alliance were not mere warriors. They were legends, echoes of an age when their blades had carved dominion from the chaos of warring titans.

They had not ruled the underworld—they had been the underworld, their names spoken in hushed reverence, their deeds etched into the marrow of history.

In those days, when the great powers vied for supremacy, their strength had been absolute.

The 30 strongest martial artists of the World of Darkness had fallen before them like dry leaves in an autumn wind, crushed beneath the weight of their mastery.

They had stood as equals with Draconia's Twelve Great Warriors of Dragon Soul, Sakurania's Northern Star Sword School, the sect of Dubh in Elaria, the dreaded Dark Lords of Caym in Marinaverdin, and Shepherd's Panacea Ocean Warriors.

Each a giant in their own right. Each grasping for dominion. And for a time, none could be moved.

Then came the great shift.

It began 20 years ago, at the first Thalrex Order summit on Qacalisle Island.

The ink had barely dried on the accords when the world was upended.

The massacre at Dragon Manor had sent shockwaves through the underworld.

In the span of days, the mighty disappeared—vanishing into silence, as if they had never been.

Time pressed forward. The years turned like a slow wheel, grinding down all that had once seemed immutable.

The names that had once instilled terror faded to whispers in dark corners, little more than embers of a long-dead fire.

Then, from the bones of history, something stirred.

It was not vengeance that roused the old titans from slumber, nor lingering grudges best left buried. It was something greater, something older.

An artifact—a relic of the ancients.

No one could say what power it held, only that it was enough to send the most fearsome warriors of an era clawing back from oblivion, willing to sacrifice all to claim it.

Lonnie Schwartz, Guardian of the Dark Night Alliance, let out a low, knowing chuckle. His voice carried the ease of a man who had never known fear. "Divine Drakebane," he said, lips curling, "the men before you today are the same warriors who once bent an entire age to their will."

"Twenty years ago, we were untouchable."

"For two decades, we trained in exile, in the frozen depths of Snow Valley, sharpening our power beyond reckoning."

"The Dragon Slayer. The Young Lord Dragon. The Twelve Great Warriors of Dragon Soul. They were the pinnacle once. Once." "But now?" Lonnie's voice was smooth, almost mocking. "Now, they are nothing."

"We hold no personal quarrel with you, Divine Drakebane. No thirst for your blood."

"All we want is the relic. Surrender it, and you—and those you love—will leave this place unharmed."

His grin darkened, something cruel glinting behind his eyes. "You have a wedding soon, don't you?"

"Why cast it all aside for a trinket that was never meant to be yours?"

"You're a clever man." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You must know by now—this place is a snare, and the trap has already been sprung."

"Simmond won't stand with us." Lonnie's smirk deepened. "But he won't stand with you either."

"Is that so?" Robin asked, his voice cold as he slowly drew the Dragon Dagger. The gleam in his eyes sharpened, hard and unforgiving, like frozen steel.

"Twenty years ago, you failed. You threw everything at it and still couldn't get it. What makes you think you stand a chance now?"

"There's a kind of death ... thinking you can do what you clearly can't."

"Since this is a relic, it's not for the likes of you to wield!"

"Even if you filthy, shallow-minded fools were to reach the peak of your power, you wouldn't survive long enough to even lay a hand on it!"

He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Now that you're all here, I won't waste time hunting you down one by one. Today, I'll rid the world of you all in a single stroke."

Lonnie's laugh was bitter, filled with disdain. "You truly don't know your own limits, do you?"

At his words, the Eight Gladiators surged forward, their killing intent like a tidal wave breaking over the shore.

A sea of black parasites flooded the sky, a suffocating mass of darkness, closing in on Robin from every direction.

Robin's pulse quickened.

He knew that with even the smallest mistake, these billions of parasites would tear through his body, cell by cell, consuming him in seconds.

A rush of exhilaration surged through the dragon dgger. Bright, flashing light followed, and in mere moments, heads fell like overripe fruit, one after another.

The Eight Gladiators of the Dark Night Alliance, once feared across the land, were torn to shreds, their bodies vanishing into mist before the insatiable wrath of the Golden Dragon.

The fog began to disperse, revealing the bright, unforgiving sun high above.

The rear garden of the Landorne Hotel reeked of blood, yet aside from the scent, the place seemed as if untouched by the carnage.

With an air of detached indifference, Robin reached into his pocket and drew a handkerchief, methodically wiping the blood from the dragon dagger's gleaming blade.

Step by deliberate step, he advanced toward Lonnie and the three other guardians of the Dark Night Alliance, his gaze unflinching.

"So this is what you pathetic excuses for super martial art masters call strength?" His voice was dry, laced with disdain.

"I've never understood it. You, vile and unworthy as you are, seek to wield powers that should be beyond your reach. What is it about controlling these ancient relics that drives you to self-destruction?"

Lonnie and the others stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief.

They had heard the whispers about the terror of Divine Drakebane, but nothing could have prepared them for the overwhelming force they had just witnessed.

The Eight Gladiators, once the scourge of the realm, had fallen as easily as insects beneath a crushing blow from a god of death.

Lonnie inhaled sharply, trying to steady his nerves.

"Divine Drakebane," he spat, his voice trembling with fury, "you think killing Eight Gladiators will break the trap set for you today? You're gravely mistaken."

"Divine Drakebane, your loyalty—that is your weakness."

"You come here, and not even fear for your fiancée, Shirley, or your sister, who might be butchered in this very hotel?"

Robin's laugh was cold, devoid of any mirth. "You trash. Is there anything you can do but scheme and crawl through the dirt?"

"Divine Drakebane, wait!" Lonnie cried out, his voice desperate, pleading. "We can talk this through ... "

But Robin didn't even give him the chance to finish. He scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp. "Talk? To hell with your talk! No more words. Just die!"

A flash of icy brilliance streaked through the air, and the dragon dagger flew toward Lonnie's throat, its deadly tip aimed with perfect precision.