I'm really not a dragon.

Captain Arthur Hilbo of the Mermaid gazed uneasily out the window. A week earlier, he had received an anonymous letter.

The other party asked him to go to the legendary island of Lantan, known for its magical machines, to transport a batch of goods back to port.

The reward was very substantial. He hadn't earned that much in the past five years of continuous sailing—a full 800,000 dragon gold coins, not including the cost of the goods.

Upon arriving in Lantan, he discovered that the so-called cargo was a newly developed gunpowder, highly flammable, explosive, and extremely unstable. Just one barrel of gunpowder could blow a castle into the sky.

The cargo was not much, and his ship's hold could hold it all. As for safety, the supplier guaranteed that the gunpowder would not explode midway and said that three excellent alchemists could accompany him throughout the journey.

It seemed that all he had to do was nod, and he would have 800,000 dragon coins in his hands. This was perhaps the easiest money he could ever earn in his life.

However, he refused.

He worked his way up from the outer city to the lower city, achieving what many people only dream of.

He knew that there was no such thing as a free lunch. If he could earn 800,000 gold coins just by delivering a shipment, then the people living in the upper city must be a herd of nags.

But when the screams of agony rose from the deck, he regretted it. Perhaps life is a circle. Perhaps he had never truly left the outer city. Perhaps a contemptible death was his destiny.

Arthur Hilbo clutched the Message Stone to his chest, a magical artifact that granted him the effect of a Message spell once a day.

He could only write a limited vocabulary, but that was enough for him.

"To Captain Gild Ifrek, this may be your first mate's last request: if I die, please take care of Alice and the others for me. I love them."

He held a wand with an Ammonite crystal at the top, and on the table sat a flaming scimitar carved with a dragon's head.

This is his ship; the captain lives and dies with the ship.

-

The scalding water droplets fell on my skin, bringing a warm and soothing sensation.

Suen took a deep breath, expanding his lungs to their limit, his muscles straining against his clothes with a tearing sound. Then, his chest suddenly contracted, and fire and roars surged from his throat.

"roar!"

The wave-like dragon breath instantly dispersed the water mist and pounced towards the bandaged, evil creature.

"So you're a dragon vein sorcerer after all!"

The wax artist chuckled, and with a flick of his wrist, a throwing knife struck the fleeing sailor in the throat, causing a violent burst of blood to erupt.

Baal's assassins are known as the "Bleeders" because the wounds they create are usually difficult to heal, and even minor injuries can result in an exaggerated amount of blood loss.

As Baal's reaper, the Wax Artist also possesses the [Bloodlust] ability, allowing him to instantly teleport to the vicinity of a bleeding target.

He not only dodged the dragon's breath, but he also didn't spare the dying sailor.

"Come, you pathetic wretch! Dedicate yourself to the cause of murder!"

The wax artist crushed the sailor's throat, and a black, demonic blade pierced the dead man's chest. In an instant, countless root-like vein patterns appeared on the corpse.

A surge of negative energy gathered inside the cabin, causing the deceased's hair to fall out rapidly, and their face to decompose quickly, revealing the bone beneath.

[Awaken the Dead]

The bandaged arm held the zombie's head aloft. With a forceful tug, the wax artist split the spirit in two, creating two identical undead.

[Wax Art: Lost-Wax Reproduction]

"Go! Tear everyone apart!"

The wax artist released his hand, and two identical zombies howled as they lunged at the living creatures inside the cabin.

Suen gripped the staff like a baseball bat and delivered a heavy blow to the oncoming zombie.

The staff, which should have been used by the spellcaster to perform profound and mysterious spells, was in Su En's hands as powerful as a fine metal rod.

With each swing, a whooshing sound arose, as if a mere touch would shatter the zombie's bones and limbs, leaving it only able to crawl and writhe on the ground.

This is true.

The zombie roared and was knocked back, rolling two or three times in the murky seawater. When it finally got up, its arms and legs were like broken tree branches.

Suen pulled out an iron plate, spun it around two and a half times, and hurled it at another zombie.

Click!

With a chilling cutting sound, the zombie's lower body stumbled and rushed towards the sailor.

His upper body remained in place, helplessly watching his internal organs gradually spill out.

"Ugh!! Ugh!"

The two sailors in the cabin were disgusted.

Taking advantage of the situation, Suen called out, "There are Baal's assassins! You all need to get out of here!"

The name "Baal's Assassin" was like a bucket of ice water poured over their hearts. The two had previously held onto a sliver of hope that hiding to the side would protect them from the brunt of the attack, but now they wished they had two more legs and scrambled toward the exit.

The wax artist glanced indifferently at the two fleeing individuals, held a gemstone in his hand, and with a squeeze of his index finger and thumb, the gemstone shattered, emitting a burst of purplish-red light.

The purplish-red light enveloped the two fleeing individuals.

"Children, I am not the Baal assassin. Can't you tell I am the real Baal assassin?!"

The wax artist's ethereal voice seemed to come from within the light.

[Charm Technique]

The two sailors exchanged a dazed glance, then stopped in their tracks, their eyes darting back and forth between Suen and the wax artist, filled with innocence and confusion.

"You have tarnished the honor of a monk's birth!"

Suen gritted his teeth and, relying on his own will, vaguely showed signs of entering the "Wrath of a High Mage". Terrifying-looking blood vessels, like the roots of an old tree, crawled all over his face and continued to spread towards his neck.

Body temperature rises sharply, and the seawater on the body evaporates rapidly, forming a thin layer of white mist.

Suen exhaled a breath of flame, and his legs shot towards the wax artist as if they were equipped with rocket launchers.

"As a dragon vein sorcerer, you've mastered quite a few tricks, like the barbarian's rage. And that strange thrusting force—is it air magic?"

The wax artist's eyes widened with wariness, and he raised his fingertip and blew hard.

A spark grew larger in the wind, quickly turning into a rolling fireball that flew towards Suen, exploding into a shower of golden-red sparks on his chest.

[Magic trick, fire-making technique]

Suen coughed, blood gushing from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth.

The flames had little effect on Suen, but the force contained within the fireball caused Suen a stinging pain all over his body.

Wanderers seem to all have this ability to take advantage of someone's unpreparedness and cause harm.

This guy wants to wear him down.

Suen's charge did not stop; instead, it accelerated. He gripped the staff as if it were a spear and thrust it toward the wax artist's face.

Whoosh!

The wax artist stared in shock at the crack-like hole that had appeared beside him.

This power and speed,

This guy is definitely not some kind of dragon vein sorcerer!

The thought flashed through the wax artist's mind, and his magic blade, like a venomous snake, burrowed towards Suen's armpit.

puff!

A finger-width wound instantly appeared between Suen's ribs, cutting through the subcutaneous scales, causing blood to flow freely. If the wound had been slightly off, it could have pierced through the flesh and torn open the lungs.

Instead of retreating, Su En advanced, clamping the blade between his left arms, and frost gradually covered his clenched teeth.

The wax artist was stunned, shocked to discover that what was flowing from Suen's mouth was not fire.

Instead, it was a surge of cold air!

How is that possible!

How can a person have two completely opposite breathing organs?

Both of them were covered in seawater. At this moment, the cold air surged up, and the ice seemed to have a life of its own, covering their entire bodies inch by inch from the soles of their feet. With the slightest movement, they felt numb and sluggish all over, and their bodies felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

The difference is that Suen is in a berserk state, so his sense of pain is not as acute. He can barely move by brute force.

"You can't escape!"

Suen's teeth chattered, and he let out a mocking laugh.

"You... too!" the wax artist retorted.

Suen grinned, the crisp sound of ice cracking echoing on his face. He struggled to control his left hand, which felt like it had Parkinson's syndrome, as he fumbled for his backpack and pulled out a vial of medicine.

Then, to the wax artist's incredulous gaze, the cap was crushed, and the viscous medicine fell onto Suen's trembling teeth, slowly sliding down her throat along the gap.

A warm current surged from his stomach to his limbs and bones.

The power of this characteristic—drug addiction—is thus revealed.

He was as if he had been enchanted with a "heroic spirit" spell.

Su En was filled with fearlessness, and his body was surging with a continuous flow of life force.

With the added bonus of "High Mage's Wrath", his body adapted to the cold much faster than the wax artist's.

Suen looked at him with ill intent, his right hand clenched into a fist, then relaxed into a palm, and impatiently pressed it against the wax artist's cheek.

"What...are you...going to...do...?" the wax artist stammered.

"Watch closely, this slap is going to be really cool!" Su En stretched out his arm and swung his broad hand behind his head.

[Muscle Mage Spell: Burning Hand]

"etc……"

Crack! A clap of thunder echoed inside the cabin!

Despite the dark and damp drainage compartment, the wax artist still saw a sky full of stars.

The head didn't seem to be its own head, and the body didn't seem to be its own body.

The loud noise also startled the two sailors who were under the spell.

The two came to their senses and noticed the wax artist immersed in the ice. His neck was twisted at a terrifying ninety degrees, and he was tightly gripping the shimmering magic blade. He looked like he had been dead for a while.

In an instant, a greedy desire surged into their minds. The powerful barbarian was trapped by his own frost and temporarily unable to move. Baal's assassin was dead.

Lady Luck has already presented you with an opportunity; if you don't seize it, you'll be unworthy of the name of the goddess's blessing.

One person tried to pry open the wax artist's arms, while another person gripped the magic blade and tried to pull it outwards with all their might.

However, they overlooked one problem.

Normally, magical creations would dissipate shortly after their master's death, but the waxy arms gripping the magic blades did not.

puff!

As expected, the demonic blade pierced the sailor's abdomen.

As the blade was pulled out, the sailor's life was also pulled out. His flesh withered and shrank little by little, falling to the ground as nothing but a handful of dust.

"Thank you so much! If it had been any later, I might really have died!"

The crimson essence of life entered the wax artist's mouth and nose, and his crooked neck snapped back into place with a crack.

He sincerely thanked the sailor, whose face was filled with fear and who was screaming wildly, for his companion's sacrifice to save his life.

The Black Blade can not only strip away the victim's soul, but also extract life essence to heal itself.

If it weren't for this demonic blade, he would already be dead.

"Hey! The battle doesn't seem to be over yet!"

Suen picked up the staff that had fallen to the ground and slung it over her shoulder.

He drew the Blood Skull Ritual Dagger from his waist with a backhand motion, spitting a mouthful of icy blood onto the blade. The blood awakened the magic of the blade, and a blinding murderous aura emanated from him.

"You can actually use the Blood Skull Ritual Dagger?"

The wax artist's Adam's apple bobbed suddenly, his lips twitched uncontrollably, and then burst into an exaggerated, grotesque laugh: "Ah, a strange assassin, you truly delight me!"

"You must have done incredibly dirty and despicable things, even worse than me, to have such a dazzling murderous brilliance. So why can't you join the great murderer's cause!"

"hehe!"

Sun possesses the soul of the Third Disciple, which may be the reason why he can use the Murder Aura. Hmm, if you don't look closely, Sun really didn't notice that the wax artist also carries the Murder Aura.

This faint glimmer of light was like a candle touching an electric light compared to Suen.

The Murder Aura makes anything it radiates exceptionally vulnerable. While it won't make armor as thin as paper, it will make victims more prone to bleeding and injury. (Vulnerability Effect)

Despite his exhaustion, Suen rekindled "Mage's Wrath," and this time, fine dragon scale marks appeared on his skin.

"Oh, although I'd love to continue exchanging combat techniques with you, it's getting too late. Please, let's leave each other alone!"

So much time has passed, Helena and her group should have completed their assassination mission.

Okay, the wax artist admits he was a bit pretentious at first.

Once Suen reunites with the rest of the Baal assassins, there is no way he can leave the city alive.

Su En shook her head and said firmly, "You are the only one who absolutely cannot leave. You must stay!"

In the next breath, Suen vanished into thin air.

The wax artist's face changed drastically. This damned barbarian was like a leech clinging to his bone!

Where did he learn the skills of the Three Gods' disciples from?

Without hesitation, the wax artist swung his magic blade into the blind spot of his vision.

Ding!

The pitch-black demonic blade collided with the scarlet blade, the powerful force making the wax artist's hand go numb, feeling as if his bones were about to break. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a staff appear in Su En's hand, stabbing towards his head like a harpoon.

"O all-powerful murderer! I beg you!"

The wax artist's body suddenly multiplied from one to several, and the mirror images were shattered in just a few breaths. Feeling the frantic howling wind behind his head, the wax artist fled in panic, disregarding everything.

Outside the deck, it was already a sea of ​​fire.

Blood stained the Mermaid ship red.

Three Baal assassins are closing in on their final target, Captain Arthur Hillbo.

It's a miracle that this captain has survived this long. His face is branded with the curse of the cursed sword, and he has suffered multiple serious injuries. The blood flowing from him has a strong stench of decay.

His left arm was severed at the root, and the severed forearm fell into the hands of the berserker whose face was covered with battle marks. Helia tore at the forearm muscles, biting until her mouth was full of blood.

"It doesn't taste good!"

Haliya giggled mischievously, tossing her arm into the seawater. "I think his heart would taste better than his hand!"

Just then, the sliding door to the deck storage passage suddenly opened.

A slender, pale figure, wrapped in bandages, crawled out of the narrow, crowded connecting passage using both hands and feet.

The raven glanced over, then looked away. "Looks like our mentor is having a great time down there!"

Arthur Hilbo was heartbroken. It was all over.

His crew, his Mermaid.

He didn't even make it to his aid, his dearest friend, his former captain, the legendary ghost captain! Ah, it's all over.

He will never see the sunrise, nor will he live to see his wife and daughters reunited.

Arthur Hilbo gripped his weapon tightly. Since that was the case, let him maintain his pride as captain and perish with the ship!

At that moment,

The mentors of the three assassins suddenly made a ghostly sound.

The wax artist, his face filled with terror and horror, ran frantically toward the three people.

"No, he's catching up! No, help me!"

Suddenly, a staff emerged from the wax artist's open throat, its tongue, as long as a dead fish, spitting out and freezing the wax artist's fear in the moment he ran towards hope.

With a blank expression, Suen grabbed the dead man's hair and fiddled with his eyeballs. The mask recorded his habits, manner of speaking, body signals, and a sliver of real memories in his mind.

Seeing the wax artist's corpse desecrated by Suen, a chill ran through the trio of Baal assassins.