Chapter 1137 A Bloody Welcome II
After the traps were ready, Michael waited in the spacious hall with several forges for the assassins. Rurik walked back and forth with a battle axe, tension evident on his face.
"Ghost, there is an update to this situation," Michael heard Pink's voice in his ear.
"What is it?" asked Michael. Since Pink was here, Michael didn't have to multitask by watching the feed from the Spiders and fighting at the same time. Instead, he could focus solely on what he does best, killing.
"I can see three distinct groups of assassins moving toward you. All of them are wearing black robes, but they are heading into the guild in three directions. One group is talking about winning the war for Kranar, while the other talks about their worship of Rainar while sneaking toward you," Pink informed Michael.
"What about the third?" Michael asked as he sharpened his dark sword with a sharpening stone, creating sparks of fire. In Rurik's tension, he didn't notice the dark sword gleaming under the eerie light in Michael's hand.
"That's the weird thing. They are not talking," said Pink. Strangely, Michael could sense disgust and shock in Pink's voice.
"Then what are they doing?" Michael asked.
"They are… drinking blood… or it seems. They are drinking a red liquid. I doubt it's watermelon juice."
"Drinking blood? Eww," Sarba, sitting atop Michael's shoulder and listening to the conversation, growled in disgust.
"Keep an eye on them," said Michael calmly.
Then, finally, Rurik turned his gaze to Michael but failed to notice the sword in Michael's hand.
"So, lad, do you have a plan? Or do you expect them all to die in your traps?" asked Rurik.
"First of all, just relax and sit down. You are going to get exhausted before the battle even begins," Michael amused.
"As for the plan, the traps will take care of as many as they can. But we will still have to fight them here. Don't worry, you won't die here," Michael calmly said.
"Why? Because you claim you are-" Rurik's words choked midway when he saw the sword in Michael's hand.
Despite everything and the tension, the sword's craftsmanship made him forget about everything. He instinctively walked toward the sword, its blade as dark as night.
Rurik's eyes widened as he examined the dark blade in awe. "What kind of sword is this, and where did you get it?" he asked in astonishment.
"I forged it myself," Michael calmly replied and unsheathed a second dark sword, the pair gleaming ominously in the dim light.
Rurik was taken aback. "I've never seen such metal before," he admitted, his curiosity piqued. "What kind of ore did you use to forge these blades?"
"Now is not the time, Rurik. We have assassins to deal with," Michael calmly replied as he stood up. He was still wearing his ordinary black robes and had not activated his armor. The skull containing his dark armor dangled around his neck.
Every passing second felt like an eternity as they waited for the approaching assassins.
"They're heading towards your first trap, Ghost," Pink informed Michael.
As the dark-robed figures continued to sneak into the building, their movements were swift and silent. They communicated in hushed whispers, reminding themselves of their mission: to eliminate the two blacksmiths at any cost.
The narrow hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before them. The darkness only added to their unease as they approached their targets.
"Remember," one of the figures whispered, "the two blacksmiths are just across the hallway. Stay quiet, and we'll finish this quickly."
Suddenly, a faint but ominous click echoed through the hallway. The figures froze, their hearts pounding in their chests.
"What was that?" one of them asked in a hushed voice, anxiety creeping into their tone.
Before they could react, the traps sprang to life. Some released concealed blades, swinging out from hidden compartments in the walls, while others shot out arrows with deadly precision. There were even traps that released a scorching barrage of molten metal if triggered.
The hallway became a scene of gruesome chaos. The concealed blades slashed through the dark robes, slicing flesh and bone with terrifying efficiency.
"Ahh! What's happening?!" one figure screamed in terror as blades cut through their cloaks and into their bodies. The metallic clang of the traps filled the air.
Arrows found their marks, piercing hearts and lungs, leaving behind a trail of death and agony.
"No! Get back!" another figure shouted as they desperately tried to shield themselves from the relentless barrage. Arrows pierced limbs and torsos, sending agonizing cries echoing through the hallway.
The molten metal spewed forth, scalding any unfortunate soul in its path.
"Aaargh! It burns!" a figure cried out as searing liquid splashed across their legs and torso, causing flesh to sizzle and burn.
The dark-robed figures had no time to react, and their attempts to evade the traps only led to more brutal injuries. Blood sprayed across the walls and floor as the traps continued their relentless assault.
In mere moments, the hallway was transformed into a nightmarish tableau of death, with lifeless bodies strewn about, and those who survived left writhing in pain.
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In another dimly lit hallway, a new group of black-robed figures cautiously entered the guild. Their mission was clear: they had to either destroy the weapons that had been forged or deliver them to God Kranar, regardless of any obstacles they might encounter.
As they moved deeper into the guild, the figures exchanged hushed whispers. One of them voiced their growing unease, "Something feels off about this place."
"Yeah, it's too quiet. I don't like it." Another figure nodded in agreement, their eyes darting around nervously.
Their leader, a tall and imposing figure, growled impatiently, "Quit your whining! We have a mission to complete, and if we fail, Kranar will roast us alive with his lightning!"
The tension in the group grew as they pressed forward, each step filled with uncertainty. They remained on high alert, determined to accomplish their mission, but the eerie silence of the guild sent shivers down their spines, hinting at the horrors that might await them.
Suddenly, as they cautiously advanced, the silence was broken by an ominous click beneath one of the dark-robed figures' feet. The figure froze, his eyes widening as he realized he had triggered something.
"I stepped onto something," he whispered to his comrades, his voice trembling with fear.
Before they could react, the trap sprang to life with a brutal and deadly efficiency. Hidden mechanisms unleashed a series of terrifying events that turned the narrow hallway into a nightmarish deathtrap.
Bear traps snapped shut with bone-crushing force, capturing the legs of two of the figures. They screamed in agony as their limbs were mangled, blood gushing from their wounds.
Oil cascaded from concealed containers on the ceiling, dousing the figures in a flammable liquid. Panic swept through the group as they realized their impending doom.
With a deafening whoosh, fire erupted from the sides of the walls, igniting the oil-soaked figures in a fiery inferno. Their screams of agony filled the air as they thrashed about, their black robes aflame.
As the traps sprang to life, the dark-robed figures were seized by shock and terror, their voices erupting into a chorus of panicked shouts and screams.
"By the gods, what's happening?"
The bear traps clamped down on their victims' legs with a sickening crunch, causing excruciating pain that elicited horrifying cries of agony.
Oil poured from the ceiling, drenching the figures in a flammable liquid, making them realize their desperate situation.
"We're covered in oil! Get it off!"
Then, the fiery eruption from the walls engulfed them in searing flames. Their robes ignited in an instant, and the air filled with the acrid stench of burning flesh as they thrashed about in a futile attempt to extinguish the fire.
"Put it out! Put it out!"
Hidden blades impaled some of the figures, their piercing screams joining the cacophony of suffering.
"Help me! I'm stuck!"
Amidst the chaos, small explosives detonated, unleashing a deadly hail of shrapnel that tore through flesh and bone.
The corridor descended into horrific pandemonium as the figures met their gruesome end, their voices and pleas drowned out by the merciless traps. Blood spattered the walls, and the once-quiet hallway bore witness to a nightmarish scene of violence and death.
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Somewhere else in the guild, another group of black-robed figures gathered in a dimly lit chamber. In the center of their circle sat a goblet filled with a mysterious red liquid, its surface shimmering in the dim light.
They murmured among themselves, their voices hushed yet tinged with anxiety. They were well aware of the gravity of their mission.
"Our orders are clear," one of them spoke, his voice trembling. "We are to retrieve the Book that Rin desires from the blacksmiths."
A shiver ran through the assembled figures, a testament to the fear that Rin instilled in them. She was not known for her love of books or literature, and her unusual request had sparked suspicion.
"But what in the hells does Rin want with a book? She's not exactly the reading type," one figure mumbled, his voice trembling with uncertainty.
"She's more the murdering type. If we fail her, she'll find creative ways to slowly kill us, revive us, and then kill us again." A third figure scoffed, though the unease in their voice was palpable.
The ominous silence that followed hung heavy in the chamber as they contemplated the consequences of failure. The red liquid in the goblet seemed to pulse with an eerie energy...something far sinister than Michael had ever faced,
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