The Deadly Assassin Robin by Tristan Storm

The Deadly Novelssss 1239

Chapter 1239 A Magnificent End

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For 20 days, the Borcalis night sky had been ravaged by blizzards. Then, suddenly, the storm stopped.

The thick, ancient clouds, once suffocating the land, cracked open. A brilliant, searing white light pierced through the darkness.

A full moon emerged, its icy glow cutting through the night.

Thousands of stars followed, each burning fiercely in the brief moment between seconds.

The moon’s cold rays washed over the endless snowfield.

The thick smoke still coiled in the air, heavy with the stench of death.

Blood had frozen, solidifying into jagged ice.

Lifeless bodies, torn apart by explosions, littered the frozen wasteland.

Each shattered corpse was a stark reminder: peace had never existed here.

The law of survival had always been simple: the strong survive, the weak fall.

Civilization? Harmony? Beauty? Illusions. Mere facades built by the powerful to conceal the truth.

Only those at the top knew the unflinching reality. In the end, the strongest fist decided everything.

Moonlight glinted off Gustov’s trembling body, casting a ghostly glow.

His arm–the one that had thrown countless punishing strikes–swelled with visible damage.

He understood now.

Robin had barely used 30% of his power during their exchange.

Had Robin gone all out, Gustov would’ve been nothing but a smear of blood after the first punch.

Gustov’s fury erupted. “Divine Drakebane! Why didn’t you use your full strength? Are you trying to mock me?!”

Robin’s gaze flicked up, his eyebrow arched lazily.

“The reason I didn’t use everything I had,” he said smoothly, “is because I remember the bond you shared with my grandfather, Dragon Lord.”

“Twenty punches of mercy are over.”

“From now on, we fight for our own reasons.”

“Get ready. I won’t hold back.”

Gustov froze, his rage replaced by a flicker of respect..

a brief spark of acknowledgment

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deep breath, gathering every

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countless battles, clenched tighter, the force of 70 years of training coiling

It.

like an

his boots tearing through the frozen carth, leaving deep craters in his

massive frame rebounded, lifting three

strike of his

cold moonlight, his

of war, descending

raised his fist, the raw, deadly power of centuries packed into the blow.

a mountain, unshaken. With a single hand, he met

The impact was deafening.

crack tore through

as if it, too, had

hundred feet backward, his arm disintegrating midair into a spray

through the air like a missile, charging

brace himself, Robin’s

sound of it was

caved in

erupted from his mouth, staining

deep crimson–like a blade stained with blood,

of his wrist, Robin sent Gustov’s nearly six–foot–five frame flying another 150 feet, crashing to the ground with

world fell still.

and deliberate, as he approached the

a countdown. A toll. A death bell

officials, frozen in place, felt their hearts rise

was the end of

legend of Tanqueria’s Cod of War shattered

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air, thick as

One spark. One mistake.

the world would crupt in a

stood still, his eyes sharp

his chest,

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way. “Mr. Morrison, think this through. Your arrogance might just

chill ran down

Divine Drakebane was no one a diplomat

battle unfolding was the fight of the planet’s strongest

risen through favors, had