The Merchant and the Blacksmith (5)
Dalen stared out the window, locking eyes with the sniper across the street. The sniper flinched, and Dalen grinned.
His hand blurred.
Thwack—!
A hand axe sliced through the morning sunlight, tracing the path the arrow had just taken. It flew straight to the source—the sniper’s crossbow.
Crash!
The axe shattered the crossbow and embedded itself in the sniper’s face. Watching the sniper topple backward, Dalen dusted off his hands and expanded his senses.
Including the sniper he just took down, there were eleven assassins occupying the nearby rooftops. Two were directly above him, while the rest were scattered across various buildings.
“These aren’t just thugs. They’re trained assassins raised by the cult.”
Dalen rolled his shoulders. Stronger enemies meant more experience points, and leveling up was always welcome.
“Don’t come out until I return.”
”…Understood!”
Volkma’s voice, a tense whisper from under the bed, made Dalen chuckle. He tipped over the wardrobe beside the bed with a thud. The expensive clothes inside would serve as a makeshift shield against any stray arrows.
With the bed barricaded, Dalen leaped onto the window frame.
Thud!
He propelled himself upward, twisting mid-air to grab the roof’s edge with superhuman strength.
Whoosh—
“Who are you?!”
Landing on the roof, the waiting assassin recoiled in shock. Dalen didn’t give him a chance.
Crack!
His kick crushed the assassin’s face, shattering the white mask into pieces. Dalen ducked as a dagger whizzed past his head.
“Damn it!”
The assassin who threw the dagger cursed. Dalen launched himself off the roof.
Tap.
He flew like an arrow, landing on the opposite edge of the roof, past the assassin.
“Gah…”
The assassin coughed up blood, clutching his chest where a deep wound gushed crimson. He collapsed, trembling.
“That’s three.”
The first was the one he axed. The second and third were just now. Eight more to go.
Whizz—!
An arrow flew from afar. Dalen caught it effortlessly and turned to face the shooter.
On the roof across the street, a sniper aimed a crossbow at him. Dalen grinned fiercely.
”…!”
Even through the mask, the sniper’s shock was evident. Dalen leaped again.
The rooftop battle was one-sided.
The assassins hurled daggers and shot crossbows, trying to catch Dalen off guard. But none of their projectiles reached him.
Dalen dodged, deflected with his bare hands, or caught and returned them.
The last assassin died with a crossbow bolt through his head, one he had fired himself.
After dispatching the final assassin, Dalen expanded his senses once more. Nothing.
He returned to the first assassin he had taken down and retrieved his axe.
Crunch—!
As he pulled the axe free, the golden mask split in two and fell away. It was the distinctive mask of the Apostles of Reversion.
“Among the ten others, there was one more gold mask. The rest were white.”
Out of eleven, two wore gold masks, and nine wore white.
“They’re serious about this.”
The situation was tense. They weren’t just sending thugs; they had unleashed their Apostles and monsters.
“White masks and gold masks, no less.”
In the cult’s hierarchy, the lowest rank wore black masks, indicating temporary followers. Above them were the white masks, full members, and the gold masks, who were managers.
Though not as high as the silver masks, the white and gold masks were considered the main force of the Apostles of Reversion.
Revealing such a force meant they no longer intended to hide their identity.
“They won’t just sit back and take it.”
If this were a game, a character like Dalen would have easily overpowered them before they could react.
But this world was alive.
The entities driving the apocalypse scenario were no longer mere data governed by algorithms.
As thinking beings, they naturally adapted to variables. Dalen pondered their response.
“Not much time left until the grand plan unfolds…”
The grand plan meant all-out war with the city.
It was a fierce offensive by the cult to overthrow not just the Bronze District but beyond.
Given the scale, Dalen thought they would need at least two weeks to prepare.
And two weeks was enough time for him to hunt down and destroy their bases.
But the situation had changed.
“If they’re deploying their main force, they plan to move faster.”
Dalen’s mind raced.
“If their goal is to seize even part of the Bronze District quickly…”
Using his superhuman intelligence and deep knowledge, he reverse-engineered the cult’s plan and timeline.
“At most a week. As little as four days.”
Dalen tucked the axe into his belt.
If they changed their strategy, he had to adapt as well.
Once the attack began, the city would be in chaos. He needed to weaken their momentum beforehand.
“Sienna’s role just became crucial.”
After killing the sewer mage, Dalen had entrusted Sienna with a silver mask for investigation.
Now, with a showdown imminent, her swift information-gathering was more vital than ever.
To launch a preemptive strike, he needed to know where the enemy was concentrating their forces.
“I need to find her as soon as possible.”
He wasn’t worried about her capabilities.
Sienna’s underground network was unmatched in the Bronze District.
After ensuring Volkma’s safety, he would head to the Raven’s Nest for information.
As Dalen took a step forward, a sharp sound pierced the air.
Shing!
Instinctively, he swung his axe. The impact tingled his fingertips.
The object deflected by the axe was a long, thick steel needle.
“Throwing weapon.”
Tap.
A shadowy figure approached with light footsteps. It was an assassin in a black robe.
Whoosh—!
The assassin swung a gracefully curved dagger.
Dalen met it with his axe.
Swish!
There was no sensation of cutting. The assassin had withdrawn in an instant.
The assassin retreated swiftly, landing on the roof of a nearby building.
“Heh… So you’re the warrior. The one who killed Delric, the silver-masked mercenary.”
The voice was eerie, like the grating of metal saws.
“Ever since I heard, I’ve wanted to taste your blood. Heh heh… The blood of a brave warrior is always delicious.”
The assassin lifted his head. Between the black cloth wrapped around it, a silver mask gleamed.
A silver mask.
Like the sewer mage, he was a high-ranking member.
“An assassin with a silver mask. A low-level vampire. Specializes in throwing weapons and poison.”
Dalen’s high intelligence quickly recalled information about him.
He was one of the five silver-masked Apostles, and the most annoying boss in the game.
With a basic character, it was nearly impossible to react to his throwing weapons.
How would it be now?
Dalen’s lips curled into a smile.
The smile was partly due to the thrill from his powerful body, but there was another reason.
[You have discovered the body of an assassin who cuts through the night sky.]
A message appeared above the silver mask, listing the characters the assassin had consumed.
With the expectation that his already superhuman body would become even stronger, Dalen couldn’t help but smile.
“What a bold one.”
The silver-masked Apostle, Stray Lutherhafen, grinned.
Despite feeling the power of his throwing weapon, the warrior showed no fear, only a smile full of fighting spirit.
When he heard that another silver-masked Apostle, Delric, had been killed, he expected a formidable opponent.
But this was beyond his expectations.
“Truly, truly beyond expectations. My heart races at the thought of tasting his sweet blood.”
Stray licked his lips.
He didn’t think he would lose.
Though both were silver-masked Apostles, his power was worlds apart from Delric’s.
From the very beginning, Delric had been granted the silver mask for one reason: his unparalleled ability to control an army of hundreds of frogmen.
Despite not being able to stand against him for even ten seconds with his own strength, he strutted around as if he were a one-man army. It was infuriating.
“If it weren’t for the Grandmaster, I would have slit his throat myself.”
This wasn’t an idle threat.
Stray had both the will and the capability to do it. Even as he slit the throat of that insufferable wizard, the frogmen army under his command wouldn’t even notice his presence.
In other words, even the mercenary’s feat of defeating the silver-masked Delric wasn’t enough to intimidate him.
Ssshhh—!
Stray sheathed his dagger and drew out a different set of weapons. In his left hand, he held a long steel needle, and in his right, a tightly rolled leather pouch.
“This mercenary’s strength is monstrous. A head-on confrontation is out of the question.”
Stray shook his head. He had sensed it earlier when the mercenary had effortlessly deflected his hidden weapon and immediately swung an axe at him. The sheer force and speed of the axe, defying all inertia, were enough to astonish even a vampire like him.
But a direct fight wasn’t the only way to win.
In the end, victory wasn’t about who was stronger or faster, but who survived. And to survive, Stray was willing to use any method, even those others might call cowardly.
Step.
On the slanted rooftop, he moved slowly to the side. The mercenary’s gaze followed him, locked on like a hawk.
Stray watched the mercenary’s breathing and the movement of his shoulders, calculating the perfect timing.
Then, in a split second—
Whoosh!
He hurled the leather pouch from his right hand.
Whizz—!
The tightly wound pouch sliced through the air like a stone from a slingshot.
The mercenary’s axe flashed, moving at a speed even Stray’s keen senses struggled to track.
The leather pouch split in two, and Stray smirked.
Boom!
From the split pouch, a dark green smoke erupted, quickly enveloping the rooftop. It was a deadly poison mist, so toxic that mere contact would sear human flesh, and a single breath would bring a painful death.
Thud!
Stray kicked off the roof, clutching the steel needle as he plunged into the poisonous mist.
Though he was a lowly vampire incapable of casting spells, his body was still beyond human. Thanks to the vampire race’s natural resistance to toxins, Stray could withstand the poison mist to some extent.
“There he is.”
In the midst of the thick, dark green fog, the massive warrior stood motionless, as if dead.
Perhaps he was caught off guard by the unexpected attack, or maybe he was gritting his teeth, holding his collapsing body together. Or perhaps he was literally dead on his feet.
To ensure a decisive end, Stray extended his left hand, gripping the steel needle, aiming to pierce that thick neck in one swift motion.
Thud.
A hand as thick as a bear’s paw caught his in an instant.
“My eyes sting.”
The mercenary spoke, white vapor escaping his mouth with each word.
Ssshhh—
White smoke also rose from his entire body. Stray couldn’t comprehend the scene before him.
The mercenary spoke again.
“Reminds me of chemical warfare training in the army.”
“Chemi… what?”
The mercenary didn’t answer. He simply tightened his grip on Stray’s hand with emotionless eyes.
Crunch!
“Aaaaargh!”
Stray screamed in agony as his hand bones shattered into dozens of pieces.