Chapter 1138 Cannot Fail Rin
While Michael's traps were proving effective, he remained prepared for the possibility of facing assassins who managed to survive the deadly contraptions and make their way to the door.
"You're eerily calm and relaxed, lad," Rurik commented, his tone laced with tension.
"I told you I'm a god," Michael replied with an amused tone, but his attempt at humor earned him a punch in the shoulder from Rurik, who was clearly not in the mood for jokes.
"This is no time for jests, lad," Rurik grumbled in frustration.
Michael simply smiled, understanding Rurik's skepticism. He had revealed his true nature to Rurik, not as a jest but as a calculated decision. Rurik was a valuable ally to have, not just for his blacksmithing skills, but for his unwavering loyalty and trustworthiness.
It wasn't every day that Michael could recruit a four-star-level blacksmith, and he valued Rurik's presence and camaraderie. As the moments passed and the tension in the air grew, Michael remained ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
As Rurik continued to pace back and forth, he suddenly froze in his steps, his eyes widening in response to the blood-curdling screams that pierced the air. The agonizing cries reached their ears, causing a shiver to run down Rurik's spine.
Ayag, perched nearby, observed the unfolding chaos with a hint of amusement in his eyes. The traps seemed to be living up to their deadly reputation.
Rurik turned to Michael, his face a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "Could it be over?" he asked, his voice tinged with a glimmer of optimism.
Michael, however, shook his head calmly. "The traps can only do so much, my friend," he explained. "There may be survivors, and that's when our final cleanup begins."
They both understood that while the traps had done their part, there might still be assassins lurking, wounded but not defeated. Soon, the anguished screams soon transformed into guttural roars of anger and vows of vengeance. The surviving assassins, fueled by fury and pain, began shouting threats and curses as they regrouped.
"You'll pay for this, you bastards!" one of them bellowed.
"Prepare to meet your doom, blacksmiths!" another shouted with venom.
Amidst the cacophony of enraged voices, Michael calmly rose to his feet, his expression calm and unreadable. He turned to Rurik and uttered in a composed tone, "Get ready, Rurik. The real battle is about to begin."
The screams and footsteps of the assassins gradually faded away, leaving behind an eerie silence that enveloped Michael and Rurik. Rurik couldn't help but voice his discomfort.
"I don't like this silence, lad. It's making me uneasy."
Michael, maintaining his composure, whispered a command to Vedora, instructing them to go to their position and prepare for the assassins, "Go near the welcoming gift,"
As Vedroa got to their position, concealed in a shadowy corner, Michael couldn't help but smirk. He had a welcoming gift of his own for the assassins who would soon make their way to the heart of the forge.
"Aye," Rurik nodded in agreement. "They're likely to come charging through that door," he muttered, cold amusement dancing in his eyes. "And they have no bloody idea what's waiting for them on the other side."
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the hall as someone outside forcefully banged on the door, followed by a series of mysterious blue circles appearing.
"Well, at least they've got some brains among them," Michael couldn't help but chuckle softly. Rurik, on the other hand, was less amused and more panicked. "What are they doing, lad?" he whispered urgently, his grip on his battle-axe tightening.
Suddenly, several smoke bombs shot through the holes in the door and began to explode, releasing thick gray smoke that quickly filled the room. Rurik, in the midst of the smoke, panicked and shouted, "I can't see anything, lad! What's happening?"
Michael remained calm with an amused smile. He activated his Xray eyes, allowing him to see through the smoke. With his dark swords ready, he whispered to Rurik, "Stay close, and follow my lead."
In the smoke-filled room, Michael could sense the presence of the assassins as they cautiously entered. They might have had a clever plan, but Michael and Rurik had their own surprises waiting for them.
"Now," Michael's order cut through the thick smoke like a blade. In response, Sarba opened his mouth and created a few sparks that ignited a fuse hidden in the corner of the room.
As the fuse ignited, a circle of fire erupted in the center of the room, catching the assassins by surprise. Some were rushing toward Michael and Rurik, while others were already caught in the fiery trap.
The assassins screamed and shouted in panic as the flames danced around them, their dark robes catching fire. "ARGHHH!" one of them cried out.
"Put out the fire!" another yelled, but the smoke made it hard to see, and chaos ensued as they scrambled to escape the encroaching flames.
Meanwhile, Michael moved forward, his dark swords gleaming in the smoke-filled room. As he advanced, assassins emerged from the haze, their forms partially obscured by the gray curtain. The battle that unfolded in the thick smoke was a chaotic dance of death.
With a grace and agility that defied the encumbering smoke, Michael evaded their strikes with fluid movements. He parried their attacks with his dark swords, their ebony blades clashing against the weapons of the assassins. The battle was fierce, and the assassins were skilled fighters, their strikes precise and deadly.
The assassins wore glasses that allowed them to see through the smoke, giving them an advantage. They moved in and out of the haze, attacking Michael with a coordinated precision that spoke of their training. But Michael was no slouch either; he relied on his godly instincts and senses to anticipate their moves.
As the smoke-filled room became even more chaotic, another set of assassins joined the fray. Their soft murmurs and muttered curses were heard amid the turmoil, confirming their allegiance to Kranar.
"Kranar's lackeys are already here," one of the assassins whispered to his comrade.
Despite the dire circumstances, Michael couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. His X-ray vision allowed him to see through the smoke clearly, giving him an advantage over his opponents.
He was in his element, facing off against highly skilled opponents, and his godly abilities gave him an edge. With his dark swords in hand, he moved with a deadly grace, parrying strikes, and launching precise counterattacks.
As the battle raged on, Michael's skills and godly abilities allowed him to dispatch some of the assassins with brutal efficiency. His movements were so precise and his strikes so deadly that the assassins found themselves bewildered by the unexpected prowess of a seemingly ordinary blacksmith.
One assassin, caught off guard by Michael's lightning-fast strike, gasped for breath as he clutched his bleeding throat. With wide, disbelieving eyes, he uttered, "Who... who are you?"
Another, knocked to the ground with a powerful kick from Michael, groaned in pain. "A blacksmith shouldn't move like this," he muttered before losing consciousness.
"We... we underestimated them. These blacksmiths are... monsters." Amid the chaos, one of the assassins managed to stammer.
Michael's dark swords gleamed in the dim light of the smoke-filled room as he continued to move with deadly precision, taking down his adversaries one by one. The assassins were bewildered by the relentless and skillful attacks from the unassuming blacksmith, their confusion evident in their muttered exclamations and desperate attempts to defend themselves.
Amidst the chaotic battle, a desperate assassin shouted at his comrades, "Get the short one! He's the weak link!" With a collective nod, several assassins lunged at Rurik, determined to overwhelm him.
Michael, not wasting a moment, threw one of his dark swords with deadly precision. The sword sailed through the smoke-filled air and impaled one of the assassins to the wall, leaving him gasping for breath before falling lifelessly to the ground.
Another assassin, closing in on Rurik with lethal intent, was suddenly sent flying by a powerful kick from Michael. The unfortunate assassin crashed into the wall and was skewered by the very swords they had intended to use against the blacksmiths.
As Rin's assassins cautiously made their way toward the hall, they watched the unfolding scene from the doorways, hidden amidst the thick gray smoke. Their trained eyes carefully observed the chaos within the room.
Whispers and murmurs filled the air among Rin's assassins. "It shouldn't have taken this long for those assassins to deal with two blacksmiths." One of them spoke softly.
Another assassin nodded in agreement, replying, "You're right. Something's off about this. The traps, the way that blacksmith move... it's not natural. We need to proceed with caution."
The leader of Rin's assassins, though cautious, still held some confidence. "No matter how good that blacksmith is, he can't possibly survive against all of us," the leader stated with determination.
One of the other assassins chimed in, "If he's lucky, he'll die here instead of falling into Rin's hands."
Another one added, "But if we fail, Rin won't simply kill him. She'll play with us first, and then she'll finish him off. We can't afford to let that happen."
Amidst the thickening smoke, Rin's assassins knew they couldn't afford to fail this mission.
"Rin's been looking for sacrifices to offer to Xyloth lately. It better not be us. We have to succeed in this mission, or we might as well be dead." One of them, with a nervous tone, whispered.
They understood the gravity of their situation, feeling the pressure of not only confronting the mysterious blacksmith but also avoiding the grim fate that awaited those who failed Rin.
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