Chapter 135: 135 Capture

Chapter 135: Grappling

The Swift Spell, a third-tier wind magic, originated from the magic core of the Storm Wolf.

Though mastering it posed considerable difficulty for most mages, for Luo Ning—a high-level master with superlative affinity—it presented no great challenge.

Now, under the spell’s enhancement, his speed surged dramatically.

Luo Ning felt his body lighter than ever before; a mere step carried him three or five meters, and in the blink of an eye, he stood before the assassin.

“Surprised?”

He slashed his sword—so swift the blade screamed through the air. On the Flowflame Blade, aura split into wind and fire, their layers intensifying the flames until they roared like a living inferno.

“This sword…”

The assassin’s gaze flickered to the intricate engravings along the blade’s edge, his heart jolting. “This isn’t an ordinary blade—it’s an enchanted weapon!”

Enchanted weapons were the pinnacle of pinnacles. Only master craftsmen capable of manipulating arcane materials could forge them.

Typically, each such weapon was born from the hands of a powerful mage, as rare and precious as a magical scroll.

The black-clad assassin wanted to curse his mother.

The man he was meant to kill not only possessed a fifth-tier protective armor scroll, but wielded an enchanted weapon that made even seasoned warriors drool.

How many treasures had Wushan Castle bestowed upon this man?

Luo Ning wasn’t a castaway—he was a wealthy lord in disguise.

He even began to suspect: had Wushan Castle deliberately stripped Luo Ning of his inheritance?

“But even with an enchanted weapon, I’m still one rank above him.”

The assassin knew he must end this swiftly, break free from this grueling duel. His counterattacks left nothing reserved.

Their blades clashed in an unbroken rhythm, alternating offense and defense, the shockwaves from their colliding aura ripping into the ground, leaving craters of varying sizes.

Onlookers—servants—cried out in terror, scrambling behind stone pillars and walls, peering nervously at the battle in the courtyard.

Until today, they had never realized their lord’s strength ran so deep.

Luo Ning struck with ferocious speed, his swordplay growing wilder than a gale. With the Swift Spell’s boost, he darted behind his foe and drove his blade toward the assassin’s spine.

But the assassin had anticipated it—sidestepped the thrust, and spun back with a counter.

This sequence had repeated many times. Yet Luo Ning, as if finding his rhythm in the chaos, grew ever more adept—not only in relentless assault, but in dismantling the assassin’s powerful strikes with growing precision.

Meanwhile, the black-clad assassin, like Rayson crushed under Riedal’s pressure, grew increasingly desperate.

Assassins devoted most of their lives to the art of stealth—strike once, vanish. Close-quarters combat was neither their strength nor their specialty.

Just as the duel reached its peak, a figure shot into the fray—aura surging, unstoppable—crashing into the assassin before Luo Ning could intervene.

A thunderous boom erupted. The colliding auras hurled the assassin backward, his armor fracturing, before he slammed into a flowerbed—stone and earth exploding outward in a spray of shrapnel.

“My Lord, are you alright?”

Macken appeared in the center of the battlefield, his own armor shattered, face pale with alarm.

“I’m fine.”

Luo Ning gasped for breath. The intense offensive had drained his stamina and aura severely—but apart from the initial wound, he had suffered no further injuries.

He gestured for Macken to stand aside, then stepped slowly toward the fallen assassin.

“What’s your name?”

Luo Ning asked. “Why come to Mountain Grove to kill me?”

As he spoke, he traced the runes of the Swift Spell anew, renewing the magic upon himself.

The assassin, oblivious to this subtle act, felt dread creeping up his spine.

Facing Luo Ning alone had already been a struggle. Now, Macken—the very man from the intelligence reports—had appeared.

This assassination was no longer about success.

It was about survival.

The assassin said nothing in reply.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, voice trembling with awe:

“Seventeen years old, and already a high-level master knight? If the world learned of this, Wushan Domain would tremble.”

The most talked-about subject in Wushan Castle had always been the succession: first Viggins, then Luo Ning. No matter how hard Rulans trained them, they were dismissed as worthless mud.

Yet here, before their eyes, Luo Ning stood—not merely capable, but undeniable in raw power.

“Thank you for your admiration,” Luo Ning chuckled. “Let me guess—you were hired by the Sain Domain?”

The assassin remained silent, shifting the subject.

“I’ve attempted assassinations many times. Even when I failed, I always escaped unseen. I’m curious—how did you track me?”

Macken’s mind snapped into focus.

Now he understood how the assassin had infiltrated the castle.

Invisibility. Stealth.

He began planning how to prevent this from ever happening again.

Luo Ning grew furious at the evasion.

“You still don’t understand your situation? Then let me make it clear.”

The fight resumed—this time, it ended swiftly.

Perhaps Macken’s earlier collision had injured the assassin’s leg. His movements, once fluid, now stumbled. Under Luo Ning’s relentless onslaught, he offered no more than a few feeble parries.

*Thwip!*

The Flowflame Blade pierced the assassin’s arm. His grip shattered. The sword clattered to the ground.

As he screamed in agony, Luo Ning swept his leg—knocking the man flat. Then he stamped down on the assassin’s left ankle.

A sickening crack echoed.

His mobility was broken.

“Macken, confiscate his weapons.” Luo Ning concluded.

Macken called out, and David and the others surged forward, dragging the assassin upright, stripping his coat, and removing every hidden item from his belt—daggers, vials, pouches.

“Wait.”

Luo Ning’s pupils contracted. His gaze locked onto the assassin’s upper left chest.

Macken followed his stare.

There, embroidered in fine thread, was a white skull.

“My Lord… he’s from the Skull Society?”

“Obvious.”

In the past few months, Luo Ning had learned of three Skull Society assassinations:

The attempt on the Heir of the Green family in Lake Town.

The attempt on his father, Count Viggins.

And now—this.

The first had been thwarted by chance—Marina and Malik Green had survived.

The second had cost Viggins his leg.

Both had touched Luo Ning’s life.

But he never imagined the third would target him directly.

Was this what they meant by “poverty brings no friends in the city, wealth draws distant kin from the mountains”?

At first, Luo Ning had assumed Rayson had sent the killer.

But now, seeing the skull emblem, other possibilities bloomed.

Motives for his death were many.

The puppeteers behind them, more than one.

“Macken,” Luo Ning said quietly, “I need information from his mouth.

Don’t let him die.”

Luo Ning instructed again, warning, “I’ve heard assassins are skilled at hiding poison—search every inch of his body, not a single hair strand overlooked. Don’t let him kill himself.”

Then he tossed two spell scrolls to the man. “These are ‘Cure Wounds’ scrolls crafted by Elrond—if he slashes his wrists or cuts his throat, use them promptly to save him.”

“Remember, I want his information, not his corpse.”

“Understood, my lord!”

McKen knew this was about interrogation—he had some skill in that area.

So he took the scrolls and gestured for David and the others to take the assassin away.

(End of Chapter)