The Deadly Assassin Robin novel Chapter 1181

In the dead of the night, Robin reached the frost-covered town of Borealis, blanketed in a thick layer of snow.

The town was situated more than 200 miles from the enigmatic and barren Snow Valley, a place shrouded in mystery.

Robin had no plans to spend the night in Borealis.

His destination was the Snowy Inn; a resting spot located 10 miles to the north of the town.

There, he intended to replenish his supplies of food and water and acquire a couple of snow vehicles—sleds and snowmobiles—essential for the journey ahead.

Snow Valley was still a great distance away, and traveling on foot would take far too much time.

He needed to move swiftly, confront Baird, and make it back to Harmonfield before the New Year to honor his wedding vow to Shirley.

Beyond the snowy town, the terrain stretched out in an endless expanse of icy wilderness, vast and unforgiving.

After trekking for roughly 30 minutes, Robin finally arrived at the renowned Snowy Inn.

In this isolated and brutal corner of the frozen plains, Snowy Inn stood as a rare sanctuary, offering warmth and provisions to weary travelers.

The inn was run by a middle-aged Italian man in his 40s named Doran Sameel.

Two decades earlier, he had established this inn on the outskirts of Borealis, catering primarily to travelers by providing food, shelter, and snow vehicles.

However, everything at the inn came at an exorbitant cost, with prices dozens of times higher than usual.

Despite the freezing temperatures, treacherous landscape, and the constant dangers of avalanches or wild animals, numerous warriors and merchant groups passed through this inn each year on their way to Snow Valley.

Yet, almost no one who ventured into Snow Valley ever came back.

The handful who did return were either driven to madness or had lost their sanity in some way.

Soon after, they disappeared without a trace.

Within the martial world, whispers circulated that these individuals vanished mysteriously, as if the land itself had consumed them.

As time went on, the stories about Snow Valley grew stranger and more distorted.

Some spoke of an ancient relic, mentioned in legends, that had appeared in Snow Valley.

It was said that whoever claimed this relic would gain the power to dominate the world.

Others believed that Snow Valley held unimaginable treasures—an essence stone, extracted from the jaws of a mythical creature.

This essence stone was said to have accumulated the purest energy over a thousand years.

A warrior who possessed it would experience a dramatic surge in their abilities.

An ordinary person who obtained it could extend their lifespan by 50 years.

Several wealthy merchants had once offered fortunes in exchange for the stone and the relic.

Consequently, countless treasure hunters journeyed to Snow Valley.

But none returned successful. Many lost their lives in pursuit of what remained forever out of reach.

For those driven by greed, bravery and recklessness often went hand in hand.

Though no one had ever succeeded, the stream of dreamers heading toward Snow Valley never dried up.

Over time, Snowy Inn became an essential stop for those chasing these unattainable treasures.

Robin stood at the entrance of the inn.

Though it was late, the inn was bustling with activity, filled with light and noise.

Travelers packed the central dining area, drinking, laughing, and shouting over one another.

As Robin stepped inside, the lively inn suddenly fell silent.

Every pair of eyes in the inn locked onto Robin as he entered.

Shaking off the snow clinging to his clothes, Robin scanned the room, looking for an unoccupied table.

The innkeeper, Doran, quickly motioned for Robin to sit down and brought over two pitchers of heated wine, accompanied by a large platter of steaming beef weighing ten pounds.

This was the inn's standard meal for two, priced at a steep 2,000 dollars.

Next to the two towering figures, Robin appeared almost diminutive.

The Borealis men's fists were like iron hammers—one punch from them could easily send Robin flying.

Everyone in the World of Darkness knew these two were no ordinary men.

One was named Will Labert, the other was Virgil Bates. Both had served as mercenaries for Borealis.

Their reputation for ruthless killing had earned them the nickname "Borealis Tigers" during their service.

Six or seven years ago, they had encountered a super martial arts master from the Dark List, Lucas, ranked 28th. Will had killed Lucas with a single punch.

"Kid," Doran said with a smile, "are you going to give up the snowmobiles, or do you want to take your chances with them?

"What I'm saying is, behind the inn, I have sleds you can buy instead—they're a bit cheaper."

Robin grabbed Doran by the collar, his voice icy. "I've already bought the snowmobiles. How I deal with this is my business, not yours."

Doran forced a smile. "Alright, sir. Just a friendly warning. They're not exactly pushovers."

Robin stared into Doran's eyes for a long moment before giving a dismissive smile. "Have you been waiting for someone here all these years?"

Doran paused briefly, then chuckled. "I'm just here for survival. The business here is quite profitable."

Robin released him. "Fill up the two snowmobiles with fuel, and bring me two extra cans."

Doran shrugged. "Of course, sir. I'll take care of it right away."

He then turned to the two Borealis men and flashed them a peculiar smile. "Will, let me give you some advice. Show enough respect, or you might just be messing with a legendary killer you're not ready for."

"That guy? A killer?" Will and Virgil exchanged a laugh. "The only true killer in the world is Divine Drakebane!

"Look at him! He's too small to be a killer—I'd only believe it if he were to slaughter some chickens!" they jeered.

The inn erupted with raucous laughter.

Virgil slammed his fist onto the beef on Robin's plate with a loud thud. "Kid, either fight me for the snowmobiles or step aside. They're ours!"