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

no personal quarrel with you, Divine Drakebane. No thirst

we want is the relic. Surrender it, and

grin darkened, something cruel glinting behind his

all aside for a trinket that was never meant o

a clever man.” His voice dropped to a whisper. You must know

smirk deepened. “But he won’t stand

cold as he slowly drew the Dragon Dagger. The gleam in his eyes sharpened, hard and

failed. You threw everything at it and still couldn’t get it. What makes

death … thinking you

is a relic, it’s not for the likes of

you filthy, shallow–minded fools were to reach the peak of your power, you wouldn’t survive long enough to even lay a hand

won’t waste time hunting you down one by one. Today, I’ll rid the world of you all in a

disdain. “You truly don’t know your own limits,

killing intent like a tidal wave breaking over the

black parasites flooded the sky, a suffocating mass of

Robin’s pulse quickened.

with even the smallest mistake, these billions of parasites would tear through his body, cell by cell,

battlefield. “One last chance, and then- like the fools

sharp. “What gives you the nerve to speak

words hung in the air for a heartbeat, and then the dragon dagger flew from its sheath

a knife through butter, tearing a path through the

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scream split the western sky,

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the west clutched at his throat, blood ouring between

agony

mass of

jovial note, its edge still humming

the earth, his life’s blood trained by the Golden Dragon

terror and suffocation filled the air, but the scene quickly turned grim as the ground beneath them began to churn

forming

silver spear–tipped creatures, red spiked tendrils, green scorpions, and countless gas–like parasites–shifted and flowed around Robin, closing in from every

Lonnie called from afar, his voice laced with

Dark Night Alliance! Even missing a piece, it

tone, “the perfect killing move created by the Eight Gladiators over the last two decades. No one has ever survived

with contempt as he aimed the Divine

flash of cold light cut through the air, swift and decisive, slicing through the heart of

of smoke now

and from it, the northwest Gladiator emerged, his