Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

"Excuse me...which one of the old man from the mountains is here?"

The dying old priest raised his blood-stained fingers and looked at them, then leaned against the corner of the wall and slowly slid down, spitting out blood. His eyes widened in resentment as he asked in a hoarse voice.

The Assassins, based in the Eagle's Nest, were a professional assassination gang under Cyrus the Great, tasked with carrying out assassinations.

The Roman and Persian wars suffered several setbacks because many officers were assassinated by Assassins, causing internal chaos.

Those who can infiltrate the Pantheon silently are no ordinary assassins; perhaps only the leaders of the Assassins who have been known as the "Old Man of the Mountain" throughout history possess such abilities.

The "Old Man of the Mountain," also known as Hassan

"I am one, I am a hundred, we are both a group and an individual, an individual and a group, a shadow group with a hundred appearances and a thousand transformations..."

Nearly a hundred men, women, and children uttered a cold, low murmur, their bodies gradually becoming ethereal, like shadows painted with thick ink, converging towards the purple-haired "priestess" in the center, draped in a white robe.

"My name is... Hyakmao... Rest in peace..."

A gentle breeze swept by, and those slender fingers gripped the old man's neck, snapping it with a crack. The aged body collapsed with a thud, revealing the magic circle behind him, its ink stained with blood, just one stroke away from completion.

hum...

At this moment, the crown-shaped ring, which had lost the magical power infused by the priests and the support of their chanting of divine words, dimmed and went out. Echoing the sacred tree, the colorful dome that enveloped Rome began to recede and disintegrate from top to bottom at a visible speed.

But with the sudden turn of events, Romulus was caught off guard, and the emerald thorns that had gathered in mid-air with the help of the Spear of Creation and the earth's energy shattered.

puff!

Under the backlash of surging magic, the God Ancestor's body swayed, his face turned pale, and a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. The surrounding ethereal light flowed violently, and even the giant green tree with its thousands of branches hanging down rustled mournfully as the leaves rubbed against each other.

"O Radiant Sun Lord Mithras, Father of Flames! Praiseworthy One! To conquer the enemies of this world, grant the strongest gods and men the light of a thousand blades!"

Cyrus activated the inscription on his golden sword, and with a circular motion, it resembled a golden ring of the sun, hanging high in the sky. One after another, golden swords, formed from the solidified and fissuring energy, rained down upon him at his command.

Romulus, who maintained the inherent barrier on the high altar, was the first to be affected.

"Protect Your Majesty!"

Amidst flashes of light, four Roman emperors, adorned with laurel wreaths and wielding swords, shields, and spears, arrived, leading their palace guards and rallying spontaneously assembled Roman soldiers along the way, before charging with a roar.

The four men activated the Emperor's privileges, boosting morale and integrating the entire army into their imposing presence. They then manifested the power of the God of War, Mars, as a surge of blood-red light rushed forth, their energies resonating with each other.

Tsk tsk tsk!

Suddenly, a strange tremor struck, the floor cracked, and a cloud of dust swept up, engulfing the rushing reinforcements. Amidst the sharp whistling sound, short swords hurtled through the air, piercing the throats and hearts of several Roman soldiers in the front ranks at tricky angles.

"【Eagle Nest】Those filthy rats have infiltrated! Defensive formation, advance!"

Several centurions, acting on instinct, immediately raised their shields and rallied the disorganized troops.

But it was too late. Amidst the swirling sandstorm on the flat ground, several figures moved nimbly and swiftly.

puff puff!

The needles, as thin as cow hair, were propelled by a blowpipe, spiraling and accelerating, their force penetrating metal and stone. In an instant, seven or eight Roman soldiers on the left were struck.

In the blink of an eye, the soldiers, as if bitten by mosquitoes, turned bluish-purple, convulsed, and collapsed to the ground, dying from the poison.

Click!

Several soldiers on the right stood frozen in place like puppets, their heads twisted 180 degrees, their white spines piercing the skin, blood spurting freely.

"The emperor's privilege is to purify filth!"

"The emperor's privilege is to protect the vulnerable!"

The two Roman emperors immediately gripped their swords with both hands and placed them on the ground. As the swords spun, they emanated divine power, with silver and gold halos flowing around them.

Clumps of black, foul-smelling mist, resembling mycelium, rose from the necks of the group's shadows, dissipating with the screech of rats. The soldiers, bathed in golden light, felt their blood boil, and their ether multiplied.

laugh!

Just then, an arm, as soft as a strip of black cloth, emerged from a tricky angle, passing through the gap, and its deformed five fingers lightly touched the chest of a Roman emperor.

In the instant that strange black arm silently retracted, a phantom of a beating heart condensed in a person's palm amidst the storm.

puff!

With that tall figure, his five fingers clenched together, and his dark red heart with clearly visible veins, suddenly burst open.

The Roman emperor in the center of the formation spat out a jet of blood and fell backward.

"Watch out for the shadows! Close the gaps between shields!"

Two guards hurriedly helped up the emperor, who was vomiting blood and seriously injured, with a golden light pulsating in his chest, as he did not forget to warn others.

"Ho! Ho ho!"

The centurions, who loathed these assassins, had grim faces and looked around with eyes that seemed ready to devour anyone in sight.

At this moment, the blood-red light surrounding the team surged violently, and the coalescing phantoms roared like thunderous war drums, instantly scattering the surrounding sandstorm.

Three assassins dressed in black cloaks and wearing white bone masks were forced to reveal themselves.

Vibration Tube Hassan! Shadow Peel Hassan! Curse Wrist Hassan!

Three old men in the mountains!

We've finally caught you rats in the eagle's nest!

A dense rain of arrows and cursed bullets pelted the three assassins who had been exposed.

Meanwhile, whistling arrows were fired into the air and horns sounded along the route. The Roman legions guarding the seven hills received the signal and began to assemble frantically towards the central Palatine Hill.

A hazy, intoxicating mist, a realm of oblivion!

However, a gentle breeze blew, and a thick fog rose, the mist carrying a faint scent of wine, drawing the three Hassans back into the hazy environment.

Hassan, the fourth old man in the mountains, is intoxicated by smoke!

The centurions' faces darkened as they heard the sounds of arrows missing their mark all around them.

The remaining three Roman emperors angrily raised their greatswords, lightly wiped the inscriptions on the spines, and unleashed divine power, slashing out in all directions.

But at the same time, several auras suddenly erupted from the mist, and a torrent of ether swept over from all directions!

Chapter Forty-Three: Tales of Heroes

On the grid-shaped avenue connecting the seven hills, heavy, somber footsteps mingled with the echoes of rubbing armor plates and striking swords and shields, converging from all directions as dozens of elite hundred-man squads assembled at the foot of Palatine Hill.

However, mysterious triangular symbols with embedded eyeballs lit up at various key passages in the Roman Forum below the Pantheon, causing the cobblestones to soften and collapse, turning into swirling quicksand that hindered the army's advance.

The Eye of Horus! Egyptian Magic!

The accompanying priests were suddenly alarmed and immediately chanted divine incantations, working together to cast a purification spell to dispel the abnormal conditions on the ground and reopen the way forward.

But just as the reinforcements were busy clearing the quicksand, a woman with purple hair and brown skin, wearing a loose, cool robe, holding an eagle-headed staff, raised several pillars of wind, walked out of the swirling sand and dust, looked down at the several hundred-man teams rushing to the aid, and arrogantly opened her lips to give a light shout.

"Romans, halt! I am Nitocris, the pharaoh favored by Horus, the god of the sky! If you go any further, I will show no mercy!"

"All personnel, charge!"

However, the well-trained Roman army, under the command of numerous centurions, transformed into a wedge formation and charged forward without hesitation.

Tch, I knew it would turn out like this...

Pharaoh Nitocris reluctantly tapped her eagle-headed staff, took out the scroll she had acquired the previous night from the inverted triangle magic circle that had risen into the air, solemnly tore it open, and threw it forward.

Puff puff puff!

Amidst wisps of rising smoke, a coffin adorned with gold patterns peeled from the scroll and materialized.

"Mirror of Corpses, Mirror of Darkness. It has become a gateway, drawing terror to this place. -- The Netherworld Mirror Codex!"

Nitocris wielded her staff with an enigmatic trajectory, solemn and graceful, chanting rapidly. Behind her, a dark vortex of purplish-black appeared, with a round mirror carved with the head of the jackal god Anubis at the end of its handle and pale wings spread on both sides, shimmering and projecting a dim light.

"Awaken, warriors who slumber in darkness!"

In an instant, the golden coffin illuminated by the mirror of the underworld trembled violently, and the coffin lid, sealed by the secret coffin nails, was violently shaken off by the roar of the ether.

"Roar! Roar! Roar! Roar!"

Instantly, dozens of mummies, their bodies wrapped in rune-inscribed strips, their skin as dry as firewood yet gleaming with a metallic sheen, rose from their coffins, their claws, shrouded in black mist, lashing out at the Roman legions.

The sharp, piercing sound sent chills down their spines. Several centurions at the tip of the cone-shaped formation sensed the frantically surging ether particles, their expressions changed drastically, and they immediately lunged forward, raising their shields and roaring angrily.

"O Mars, the God of War, burn my blood!"

boom!

As the army rallied, the boiling crimson blood clashed with several pounced mummies, creating a deafening explosion like metal scraping against glass. A violent surge of magic swept in all directions, and several centurions, who were at the forefront of the attack, staggered backward, shattering several stone slabs with each step before finally stopping their momentum.

Roman soldiers flanking from both sides charged forward, shields raised, spears thrusting out, and short swords crashing down.

But the strong recoil struck, causing the swords and spears to bend dramatically, while the mummies wrapped in strips of cloth only had a few faint white marks on their bodies.

so hard!

The soldiers, their hands tingling and their chests feeling constricted, their pupils constricted, and they were filled with horror.

Of course!

These golden mummies were created by secret methods from beings with the blood of the dead. They are stronger than swords and possess immense strength. They are immune to low-level magic and each can fight against a hundred enemies.

Hmph, with my warriors here, you won't get past me.

Nitocris raised her smooth chin, a hint of pride in her eyes, but as she glanced at the scattered scroll fragments on the ground, she felt a pang of emotion.

Although that eccentric woman was afraid of death, her method of hiding everything was truly convenient.

Without her assistance, these powerful weapons would have been impossible to transport from Egypt to Rome undetected.

Legend has it that these scrolls were made using the finest magical material—the leaves of the World Tree.

Cyrus the Great spent a considerable amount of money to collect a certain quantity from various places for this operation.

The three kings certainly didn't go to such great lengths just to stop a coronation ceremony.

They wanted to...bleed Rome...cut out its flesh...remove its bones...even...

The female pharaoh looked up at the Pantheon, her eyes flickering, her expression unreadable.

Boom boom boom!

At the same time, dust billowed at various checkpoints, and elite hundred-man teams rushing to the aid from their respective garrisons were intercepted one after another.

"It is the setting sun of Egypt, revealing the serpent of the end. The last pharaoh commands—Serpent of the end of dawn, descend upon this place!"

At the Arc de Triomphe, Cleopatra, the female pharaoh with a white dress, blue hair and blue eyes, and blessed by the serpent god, leaped down from above. She raised her hand and waved, and a golden cobra formed from the convergence of ethereal light coiled and attacked from the magic circle behind her, charging straight towards the assembled Roman army.

"Mithras, Lord of the Sun, Father of All Flames, whose source is light and whose power is fire, become my arrows!"

At the highest point of the Colosseum, a robust young man with black hair and brown eyes, standing atop a marble column, his gaze sharp as an eagle's, drew his bowstring taut, gathering flames into arrows, and fired them precisely at the Roman centurions converging from various points, blasting through the road and creating a hazy cloud of dust.

In an instant, from the top floor of the building, in the dark corners, behind the stone tablets and statues... archers wearing cloaks and moving like the wind emerged, chanting divine words as they rushed forward and fired in rapid succession.

Like a meteor streaking across the sky, the arrow tore through the dust and hurtled through the air!

Arash, the great Persian hero! The Meteor Legion!

Amidst the series of unexpected events, the three emperors, perched atop the Palatine Ridge overlooking the chaos in the city, paled in shock, a strong sense of crisis rising within them. Immediately risking being attacked and killed by the old man of the mountain, they raised their greatsword high, piercing through the numbing white mist released by Smoky Hassan.

However, before the palace guards could escape the maze, the surrounding vegetation and bricks gradually lost their color, and everything around them turned white, as if they had been stripped from the world.

"The pursuit is the next night. And then again... the pursuit of the next night. This is an endless story of desire woven from my words, I am the narrator of night tales, writing your heroic tales here—One Thousand and One Nights!"

At the same time, as if chanting an ancient ballad, a dark-skinned beauty sitting on a flying carpet, quietly floating in mid-air, rolled up the two handles, intending to close the scroll that appeared, depicting flowers, rocks, and a group of people on the Palatine ridge.

In the painting, amidst a swirling mist, the reinforcements trapped within are separated, each facing their own crisis.

They might be stopped by a majestic blue elf emerging from golden flames; or they might find themselves in the desert, battling forty bandits wielding scimitars; or they might be stranded on a deserted island, where a Persian ship is sailing by, and an adventurer named Sinbad is calibrating his cannons and firing lead bullets toward the beach...

In the unfolding story, many intruders become increasingly entangled until they are completely lost.

The Narrator of Night Talks—Scheherazade! The Persian Mystic!

Fortunately, we completed the mission alive...

Scheherazade breathed a sigh of relief, his fingers gripping the scroll slightly sweaty, his posture both devout and fearful.

Legend has it that she possesses a page of the Persian supreme artifact, the Book of Destiny, and this almost miraculous power was bestowed upon her by the Great Emperor who conferred the gods.

The battle intensified, with the Assassins launching a new round of killings against the list of names they remembered, unleashing a bloodbath!

Chapter Forty-Four: The Day a God Falls!