My Magic Has No Upper Limit

"You tell me. If that Zelir guy had died, that would’ve been the end of it. With him gone, there’d be no proof, and it would’ve been hard for the Mage’s Guild to investigate."

"But not only was he not sacrificed, he made it out alive!"

"Anyone with a bit of backbone wouldn’t be able to stand for that, right?"

"So that’s when the real show started... Zelir’s Adventurer Squad immediately stormed the Wenmir estate, took down the Guard Team inside, and straight up seized the Patriarch."

"They say even the Security Team and the town mayor were alerted, but it was no use when they arrived. They couldn’t do anything about Zelir. It wasn’t until the Mage’s Guild stepped in that things settled down."

"In the end, the investigation found that it really was related to a Cult."

The skinny man spread his hands.

"Then there was nothing left to argue about."

"The Mage’s Guild took action personally, stripping him of his title for starters. After that, the Church and others will probably get involved. Anyway, that Patriarch Wenmir is in for a world of hurt."

"I see..."

Hill nodded thoughtfully, but then a flicker of surprise crossed her face.

’Zelir... He’d do something like that?’

"So... back to us."

Seeing that the story was over and the beauty’s attention was about to drift away, the skinny man’s restless heart began to stir.

He rubbed his hands together and involuntarily leaned closer to Hill, his eyes glinting with unconcealed desire.

"You see, I’ve been chatting with you for so long, but I still don’t even know your name, beautiful."

It wasn’t just the skinny man; the circle of mercenaries who had been listening in now had their own ulterior motives.

The simple story-listening atmosphere had changed.

A thick, viscous malice seemed to permeate the air.

A few of the mercenaries, though still pretending to drink, had their attention firmly fixed on Hill.

Some even quietly shifted their chairs, subtly blocking Hill’s path of escape.

In the taverns of Blood Fang Town, a woman who was single, beautiful, and seemingly weak was the easiest to be seen as prey.

"My name?"

Hill didn’t even shift her posture.

She continued to rest her chin languidly on her hand, her fingertips lightly tracing the rim of her cup, her voice carrying a faint sense of detachment.

"We were just fortunate enough to meet here by chance. Asking for a name... isn’t that a bit too personal?"

"Hey! What’s so personal about it?"

The skinny man let out a lecherous chuckle, the wrinkles on his face bunching together.

His courage growing, he grinned and said,

"Since we were fortunate enough to meet, we could do some even *more* personal things."

"Come on!"

The skinny man slammed a large mug of ale on the table. "Have a few drinks with us."

"I’ll pass on the drinks, but thank you for the information."

Hill gave a slight smile and prepared to stand up and leave. "I hope you all have a fun night."

"Don’t be in such a hurry to leave. I haven’t had my fun yet. I still want to..."

Seeing the prize that was right in front of him about to slip away, the skinny man couldn’t just sit there.

Emboldened by the alcohol and the support of his companions, he reached out directly, preparing to grab Hill’s robe.

"SHWIIING!"

A cold gleam of light flashed into existence, accompanied by the shriek of a blade slicing through the air.

Fast. Too fast.

The people around only saw a flash of silver.

Before the skinny man’s hand could even touch Hill’s robe, his palm was pierced through!

"THUD!!!"

A dagger pinned the skinny man’s hand firmly to the wooden table, the force of the impact making the mugs on the tabletop jump.

The power behind it was simply staggering.

The sharp edge not only pierced the palm bone in an instant but had buried itself completely through the back of the skinny man’s hand.

The rest of the blade plunged deep into the solid wood tabletop, leaving only the black hilt exposed, radiating a cold aura.

It all happened so suddenly that even his nerves couldn’t keep up with the speed of the penetration.

The skinny man froze for a moment, staring blankly at his right hand, pinned fast to the table.

Only then did the immense pain register in his brain.

"AGGGHHH!!!"

A bloodcurdling scream instantly pierced the tavern’s din.

The skinny man’s face contorted, snot and tears bursting from him in that instant.

He instinctively tried to pull his hand back, but it was undoubtedly a foolish move—the blade grated against the bone again, inflicting a second wave of agony.

He convulsed from the pain, nearly collapsing to his knees on the spot.

"What’s the matter... Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to touch people without their permission?" Hill’s expression remained perfectly pleasant.

"Dammit!"

The other mercenaries at the table finally snapped out of it.

"CRASH!"

The sound of chairs toppling over filled the air.

Led by the scar-faced man with the fleshy cheeks, the remaining three mercenaries violently kicked their stools away.

Their right hands moved with extreme familiarity to the weapons at their waists.

But just as they were about to draw their blades, a tingling numbness suddenly pricked at the space between their eyebrows.

It was the sixth sense of being targeted for death.

At some point, the woman had filled the gaps between the fingers of both her hands with Flying Sabers meant for throwing.

Eight blades in total. And there were only four of them.

Moreover, the mercenaries could clearly see a heart-stopping current of air swirling around each blade.

’It’s Fighting Qi...’

The mercenaries swallowed in unison.

At that moment, the air seemed to freeze. The four burly men all stopped their movements to draw their blades.

’This woman... is a Middle Level Professional!’

And obviously an Assassin.

The four of them were all Junior Professionals.

At this distance, targeted between the eyes by a Middle Level Assassin’s throwing blades, there was absolutely no chance of escape. If they moved, they would die.

The commotion at their table had naturally attracted attention from elsewhere.

In a tavern, brawls were as common as could be.

Usually, people would keep drinking while cheering them on, even placing bets on who would win.

But this time, after seeing the dangerous aura swirling around Hill’s Flying Sabers, everyone wisely backed away and remained silent.

The patrons at the neighboring tables were even quicker, grabbing their mugs and retreating without a sound, not even bothering with the stools they had been sitting on.

A vacuum was forcefully created in the crowded hall.

’Just don’t let the blood splash on me when the fighting starts.’

Even the skinny man, after seeing Hill’s Fighting Qi, swallowed the curses that were about to leave his lips.

’I thought she was just a dumb little chick. I was planning to use some rough tactics to get her into bed.’

’Who would’ve thought she was a Middle Level Assassin.’

’Fuck... what was I thinking, trying to make a move on a Middle Level Assassin.’

"Are you still going to draw your blades?"

Hill’s voice broke the silence at the table.

Her gaze swept over them.

The mercenaries all felt a chill on their necks.

"N-No... no need..."

The scar-faced leader was the first to back down.

His face, which usually looked fierce and menacing, was now plastered with a stiff and servile smile.

He very carefully released his grip on his hilt and slowly pushed the blade, which was already three inches out, back into its sheath.