The Deadly Assassin Robin by Tristan Storm

Chapter 1175 The Eight Gladiators

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The Ten Guardians and the Eight Gladiators of the Dark Night Alliance were not mere warriors. They were legends, echoes of an age when their blades had carved dominion from the chaos of warring titans.

They had not ruled the underworld–they had been the underworld, their names spoken in hushed reverence, their deeds etched into the marrow of history.

In those days, when the great powers vied for supremacy, their strength had been absolute.

The 30 strongest martial artists of the World of Darkness had fallen before them like dry leaves in an autumn wind, crushed beneath the weight of their mastery.

They had stood as equals with Draconia’s Twelve Great Warriors of Dragon Soul, Sakurania’s Northern Star Sword School, the sect of Dubh in Elaria, the dreaded Dark Lords of Caym in Marinaverdin, and Shepherd’s Panacea Ocean Warriors.

Each a giant in their own right. Each grasping for dominion. And for a time, none could be moved.

Then came the great shift.

It began 20 years ago, at the first Thalrex Order summit on Qacalisle Island.

The ink had barely dried on the accords when the world was upended.

The massacre at Dragon Manor had sent shockwaves through the underworld.

In the span of days, the mighty disappeared–vanishing into silence, as if they had never been.

Time pressed forward. The years turned like a slow wheel, grinding down all that had once seemed immutable.

The names that had once instilled terror faded to whispers in dark corners, little more than embers of a long–dead fire.

Then, from the bones of history, something stirred.

It was not vengeance that roused the old titans from slumber, nor lingering grudges best left buried. It was something greater, something older.

An artifact–a relic of the ancients.

No one could say what power it held, only that it was enough to send the most fearsome warriors of an era clawing back from oblivion, willing to sacrifice all to claim it.

Lonnie Schwartz, Guardian of the Dark Night Alliance, let out a low, knowing chuckle. His voice carried the ease of a man who had never known fear. “Divine Drakebane,” he said, lips curling, “the men before you today are the same warriors who once bent an entire age to their will.”

“Twenty years ago, we were untouchable.”

“For two decades, we trained in exile, in the frozen depths of Snow Valley, sharpening our power beyond reckoning.”

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Chapter 1175 The Eight Gladiators

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now?” Lonnie’s voice was smooth, almost mocking. “Now,

you, Divine Drakebane. No thirst for

and you–and those

something cruel glinting behind his eyes. “You have a wedding soon,

trinket that was never meant o

a whisper. You must know by now–this place is a snare, and the trap has already been

won’t stand with us.” Lonnie’s smirk deepened. “But

his voice cold as he slowly drew the Dragon

and still

death … thinking you

a relic, it’s not

shallow–minded fools were to reach the peak of your power,

here, I won’t waste time hunting

was bitter, filled with disdain. “You

words, the Eight Gladiators surged forward, their killing intent like a tidal wave breaking

a suffocating mass of darkness,

Robin’s pulse quickened.

parasites would

his voice echoing across the battlefield. “One last chance, and then- like the fools from

muttered, his voice sharp. “What gives you the nerve to speak so boldly in

a heartbeat, and then the dragon dagger flew from its

of parasites, cutting through them like a knife through butter, tearing a path through the densest part

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scream split the western sky, a cry of anguish

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west clutched at his throat, blood ouring between his fingers as his

agony

an instant, the mass of

jovial note, its edge still

the earth, his life’s blood trained by the Golden Dragon that circled above him, its wings sweeping the air

but the scene quickly turned grim as the ground beneath them began to churn

deadly, forming into a massive blade that shot toward Robin, its tip gleaming with murderous

spiked tendrils, green scorpions, and countless gas–like parasites–shifted and flowed around Robin, closing

from afar, his

the Dark Night Alliance! Even missing a piece, it will be more than

a grim satisfaction in his tone, “the perfect killing move created by the Eight Gladiators over the last

words now?” Robin sneered, his voice laced with contempt as he aimed the Divine Drakebane at the writhing mass of

cold light cut through the air, swift and

cloud of smoke now laid

air, and from it, the northwest Gladiator emerged, his