Chapter 83: Worshippers of the Grotesque (4)
“This was quite entertaining.” Amidst the ruins of destruction, Ketal spoke cheerfully. He had observed how assassins fought, how they wielded their Aura, and how they maneuvered in battle. Each aspect had been intriguing to analyze.
I even fought something similar to the Ten Thousand Blossom Rain, Ketal thought. The experience had been thoroughly satisfying.
As Ketal laughed in delight, the family head, his voice laced with resignation, spoke. “Just kill me, you monster.”
From the very beginning, the family head knew that victory had never been an option. The moonlight provided just enough illumination to barely make out the surroundings. Even when focusing his Myst, his vision was not entirely clear—such was the darkness that enveloped them.
Yet, in that pitch-black environment, the barbarian had precisely tracked hundreds of flying daggers, identified the perfect points of contact to deflect them, and executed his plan flawlessly.
Ketal’s success had been absolute. Not a single tear marred his barbarian garb. It was as pristine as when he had first stepped into this place. His spatial awareness, reaction speed, and adaptability were beyond comprehension.
This barbarian was a monster. Even by the most conservative estimates, he was a powerhouse of Transcendent caliber—a warrior so rare that even the mightiest kingdoms would be fortunate to have one or two of his equal.
Why would someone like him be with the Akasha family? the family head thought. A mercenary like him had no reason to remain in a mere merchant family.
“I can’t kill you just yet,” Ketal said. There were still too many things he wished to ask the assassin, like how long they had been here and how they made their money.
This was a rare opportunity to directly question a fantasy-world assassin, and Ketal wasn’t about to let it slip away.
After a brief moment of thought, Ketal asked the first question that came to mind, “What is this Great Grotesque that you worship?”