He sat on a bit of string stretched between a table and the back of one of the assassins. He was blocking the hammer of his second opponent with a stool, handling it the same way he usually wielded his gigantic blade.
“I’d like to see you come up with something better!” Hadjar retorted.
Reversing the grip on his knife, he repelled a sword Technique that looked like a swarm of ghostly, emerald-colored insects. One swing of his kitchen knife was enough to turn the enemy’s attack into a pile of dead insects on the floor.
“Sure, easily! Style of an innkeeper’s daughter!”
And then, with a deliberately squeaky ‘Hiya!’ meant to irritate his foes even more, Nero jumped back and launched himself off the back of the other swordsman. Soaring through the air, he spread his arms and legs like a starfish, then, after suddenly twisting around at the last second, struck his foe’s cheekbone with the seat of the stool. The man was hit so forcefully that he flew back and his head ended up stuck in the wall. Nero landed on the floor, beaming as if he’d single-handedly seized the capital of the nomads.
“And?” Hadjar asked, absently fencing as he did so. His opponent was sweating, his movements were swift and precise. His daggers flickered with such speed that they left green afterimages in the air, and Hadjar... leaned on the nearest table, turned toward Nero, and blocked all the assassin’s strikes using just his left hand, still wielding the same kitchen knife from before.
“Think about it, Hadj. Come on, I know you can do that much. Style of an innkeeper’s daughter.” Nero shook his stool, ‘accidentally’ hitting the other killer with it. “It’s like I slapped him for trying to scam me.”
“But he didn’t try to scam you.”
“But he could have, theoretically!”
“Theoretically…” Hadjar rolled his eyes. “My friend is an idiot.”
“That’s just hurtful!”
With a loud cry, the swordsman, who had finally come to his senses, rushed in to help his partner. Realizing that he wouldn’t be able to handle two opponents armed with just a knife, Hadjar quickly found a way out.
Continuing to repel the deluge of inept attacks, he reached out toward one of the jugs with the toe of his left foot. Hooking the handle, he yanked the jug toward him, catching it in midair. Then, a moment before the second foe almost managed to cut Hadjar’s neck with his blade, the General jerked his body to the side slightly. The assassin hadn’t expected that and lost his balance. Hadjar used the man’s own momentum to add to the force of the kick, the jug acting as an improvised, blunt weapon. Now there were two bodies hanging side by side, embedded in the wall.
Nero couldn’t let the precious drink spill. He quickly dispatched his other foe with a solid kick, falling to the floor and tilting his head up, making sure the stream of alcohol didn’t fall to the floor. Now there were three bodies decorating the wall.
Hadjar lifted his friend back up, and then slammed his foot forcefully into the side of the last assassin standing, or, rather, lying on his stomach. He was launched at the same wall. But the hit had been too hasty and thus too powerful.
“You ruined everything,” Nero sighed.
He watched longingly at what could’ve been true art. The kick had been so strong that all four men had fallen out into the street. Along with a piece of the wall.
“Assassins are weak nowadays,” Nero continued to lament. “Do you remember how it used to be? When the Axes would come for our heads every night? That had been fun, but now...”
“Well, they might have more for us,” Hadjar offered, his grin bloodthirsty.
He looked at their beaten foes as they stood up. They seemed to have one last trump card up their sleeve.
Chapter 228
The assassins got up. They tried to maintain their pretentious air. Alas, that was quite a difficult thing to do, given their torn cloaks, trembling legs, bloody limbs, and their supposed targets’ mocking laughter.
“Prepare yourselves, you poor mortals,” the leader said, spitting out blood. “Now you’ll be nothing more-”
“Wait a minute,” Nero dropped his fork, which he’d been holding in his hands that whole time, and put his hands on his hips. “Did you just call us ‘poor mortals’?”
Silence descended upon the street. Only the creaking of a passing cart’s wheels could be heard.
“I agree, that is quite an insult,” Hadjar sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.
“They probably don’t know who we are,” Nero said dismissively. “You’ve got the wrong people, guys. Could’ve happened to anyone.”
Hadjar turned to his friend and tilted his head to the side.
“And who are we again?”
Nero swore angrily, “Why haven’t you learned your lines yet? We’re... well... What are they called?”
Nero’s next bit of improvised mockery was unfortunately interrupted because the assassins couldn’t stand the ridicule any longer. Pillars of multicolored energy started swirling around them, each of which contained some poisonous acid.
Hadjar noticed Nero stiffen in surprise and anger. The memories of how fiercely he’d fought against the claws of death — after being poisoned by the venom of ‘The Black Gates’ sect — were still too vivid. But such was the life of a warrior: their courage was often nothing more than bravado masking their reticence and fear.
The hired killers’ energies merged to form a lilac haze. It thickened until it turned into a giant scorpion. The hammer blows directed at this Technique became its pincers. The two swords formed its tail and sting, and the daggers filled that sting with a poison that was so strong it corroded the pavement.
Nero and Hadjar instantly got serious. They stood shoulder to shoulder and drew their blades — the short, classic one and the heavy, gigantic one. The scorpion charged them.
Moon Beam flashed and the spectators forgot how to breathe. It seemed to them like this simple swing had cut off all sounds, the wind, and even a
