Chapter 159: 159 Encountering Another Assassination

Chapter 159: Another Assassination Attempt

At the Ushan Arena, the spectators on the stands roared and howled, cheering on the three brave gladiators.

But the outcome of battle never changes with numbers.

The Green-Skinned Troll was a Level Three beast—its movement was lightning-fast, and it likely possessed earth-based supernatural abilities, making it formidable in both defense and offense.

Worse still, it knew how to wield weapons to amplify its power. In its grip now was the longsword left behind by the previous gladiator, still slick with his blood.

The first knight was split clean in two by a single slash. The second was smashed against the wall, lifeless. The third was seized by the throat, his neck twisted with a sickening crack.

The Green-Skinned Troll sank back onto the ground, wounded and exhausted from the frenzy. It needed to feed—to replenish its strength.

It reached into its skull like pulling honey from a jar—the crisp, crunching sound sent shivers down every spine.

A brief silence fell over the arena. Then the crowd erupted.

They debated the troll’s ferocity, refused to accept its victory, screaming for the organizers to send up new gladiators—to end this demon’s life.

Yet the organizers seemed to be waiting—for the clamor, for the shouts, even watching as coins, silver, and even gold pieces rained down from the stands, striking the arena floor where the beast crouched.

The troll, halfway through devouring the first corpse, tossed it aside and turned to the second.

“This is just waiting for it to recover its strength!”

No thrill stirred in Ronin. Only coldness. This wasn’t how he should feel.

“You don’t seem interested in the gladiatorial show?”

Blanchi tilted her head, her pale violet eyes blinking softly. She noticed his face—pale, grim, utterly devoid of excitement or gasps since the fight began.

“Perhaps not,” Ronin replied vaguely. “If those four mid-rank knights were mine, they’d serve a greater purpose. My Mountain Village is desperately short of hands.”

Blanchi considered this, nodding in understanding. Then she added, “With fame, you’ll become an outstanding lord—and followers will come. I believe in you, Ronin.”

Fame.

Ronin couldn’t help but wonder—if he truly married Blanchi someday, would that grant him enough fame to draw legions of followers?

But he knew fame alone wasn’t enough. He needed power—power to intimidate, to command absolute obedience.

If he wished to say, “I came, I saw, I conquered, I remade,” he must possess the strength to shatter every barrier.

As he thought, the announcer’s voice boomed again.

“The intermission is over.”

“Since everyone so desperately wants this demon dead, let us now introduce today’s elite gladiator!”

He paused dramatically, then pointed west.

“Welcome—Mondo, our champion!”

The western gate clanged open.

A towering giant, two meters tall, stepped into the arena.

He wore no armor—no smith could forge a suit large enough for his frame.

The moment he entered, the crowd went berserk.

Nobles and merchants hurled coins, desperate for this champion to slay the troll.

The Green-Skinned Troll sensed the difference in this opponent. It dropped its meal, snatched up the longsword, and braced itself.

This time, the gladiator did not charge.

From his belt, he drew a scroll.

Ronin’s eyes narrowed.

A spell scroll.

Could such artifacts be used in the arena?

No time to question it.

The gladiator unrolled the scroll, poured his battle aura into it.

Instantly, white mist billowed forth.

It spread with terrifying speed—within seconds, it swallowed the entire arena floor, then surged upward toward the stands.

“What’s happening?”

“How are we supposed to see anything now?”

The crowd erupted in protest.

They didn’t care if it was against the rules—they cared only that they miss not a single moment of the spectacle.

Even if the troll died in that fog, what good was it if they couldn’t see?

“Is that… Level Three Water Magic: Condensed Mist?”

Ronin frowned, puzzled by the tactic.

Blanchi shook her head. “Look at its explosive expansion—it’s Level Four: Mist Burst.”

*Hssss…*

Suddenly, a plume of mist rose from the stands—then another, then another—each merging seamlessly with the fog below.

The area grew thick, opaque. Spectators vanished beneath the haze, replaced only by curses and shouts.

Almost simultaneously, a second, then a third mist cloud erupted from the stands.

In an instant, the clouds fused into one vast, suffocating veil—engulfing the entire stands, the arena floor, every soul within.

“This isn’t right.”

Ronin felt danger drawing near.

He activated Wind’s Gaze.

In the elemental vision, he saw multiple figures sprinting toward their private viewing box.

“Assassination?”

“Targeting me? Or Blanchi?”

No answer.

They had planned it perfectly.

Three rushed Mico the knight. Two lunged at Macken. One each for Ronin and Blanchi.

But the assassin heading for Blanchi was closest.

*Whoosh!*

*Whoosh!*

*Whoosh!*

The air tore with speed, slicing through the mist—but the fog’s vastness swallowed even the strongest gusts.

“Watch out!”

Ronin stepped forward, pulling Blanchi into his arms, his hand tightening around the Flameblade.

*Clang!*

His blade intercepted the assassin’s strike—just in time.

If the princess died here, Ushan Domain would be ruined. And as her escort, he would bear the blame.

“You—”

Blanchi stared at Ronin in shock. She hadn’t expected this low-rank knight to react so swiftly—to shield her from death.

No time to think.

A second attack tore through the mist—a razor-edged howl of wind.

“Wind Blade!”

Ronin no longer held back.

Battle aura exploded outward, encasing both him and Blanchi in a shimmering armor of energy.

Blanchi’s heart hammered. Her eyes widened.

“Battle Armor—this is the mark of a High Knight!”

She widened her eyes at Luo Ning—this youth, barely more than a boy, was a High Knight?

Had she remembered correctly, wasn’t Luo Ning only seventeen this year?

“Oh my God—a seventeen-year-old High Knight?”

Suddenly, her mind felt dizzy, spinning out of control.

A wind blade howled toward him; Luo Ning precisely caught its rhythm, and a massive flame slash cleaved it cleanly in two.

“Macken, deal with the assassins—then go aid Misi.”

Misi, outwardly the strongest among them, was also the one the assassins targeted most fiercely—now trapped, unable to break free.

As he spoke, Luo Ning cradled Branqi with one arm and leapt effortlessly away from his former position.

Magic and mental energy converged at the tip of his blade, etching the incantation pattern of the Level-One Wind Spell: Gentle Breeze.

With his strength, casting a Level-One spell was swift—almost as fast as a breath. Finally, the spell he had long dismissed as useless proved its worth.

As the gentle breeze stirred, the thick fog around them was swept aside, revealing the shadows of the assassins.

(End of Chapter)