In Darkness We Lurk, In Light We Serve

"Puff puff puff puff!"

At the same time, amidst the dull sound of tearing cloth, more than a dozen "priests," some old, some young, some men, some women, some tall, some short, some fat, and some thin, suddenly sprang up, their gleaming daggers flashing up and down, scattering a chilling light.

In a short time, they were attacked like tigers among sheep, their throats slit and necks cut, and then their vital organs, the heart and lungs, were cleanly and repeatedly stabbed to finish them off.

In an instant, screams and muffled groans echoed Pantheon, mingled with the spray of viscera, minced flesh, and blood mist, splattering in all directions. The dying priests lay on the ground, their convulsions weakening, their pupils dilating, helplessly watching their lives slip away, drop by drop.

"Assassin! An assassin has infiltrated! Guards! Guards!"

The few remaining high-ranking priests fled in panic toward the gate, where a group of soldiers who had gathered upon hearing the news gave these spellcasters hope of survival.

As the gate drew near, the survivors felt a slight sense of relief. They looked back at the executioners who had unleashed the massacre, ruthlessly finishing off the young men, youths, and even elderly men in pools of blood, their faces pale.

Those calm, almost cold faces, upon closer inspection, seemed shrouded in mist and clouds, their features bearing a strange, inexplicable familiarity with many faces from memory.

The Pantheon is heavily guarded; how could so many assassins possibly sneak in at the same time?

"Pfft! Pfft!"

Just as the survivors were passing the approaching guards, filled with doubt, the blade plunged into their abdomens and the excruciating pain of their organs being shredded caused them to turn around in astonishment. In their rapidly contracting pupils, they were struck by the sight of familiar yet unfamiliar, calm faces reflected in their pupils.

"The Assassins...?"

Excuse me...who is this... the Old Man of the Mountain ...?

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' Order, based in the Eagle's Nest, were a professional criminal organization under Cyrus the Great, tasked with carrying out assassinations.

Rome suffered several defeats in its battles against the Persians because many of Assassins' Order officers were assassinated by Assassins, causing internal chaos.

The ability to infiltrate the Pantheon silently is no ordinary assassin; it is likely that only the Assassins' Order, whose leaders have been known as the "Old Man of the Mountain," possess such capabilities.

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 group with Hundred Faces and a thousand transformations..."

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

"My name is... Hundred Faces... 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 blood-stained Magecraft circle behind him, just one stroke away from completion.

Buzz...

At this moment, the priests poured in magical power and chanted divine words to support the crown-shaped ring of the crown, which immediately dimmed and went out. Echoing the Divine Tree, the ring enveloped the colorful dome of Rome and receded and disintegrated from top to bottom at a speed visible to the naked eye.

But with the sudden turn of events, Romulus was helpless, and the emerald thorns that had gathered in mid-air with the help of the Spear of Nation-Building and the earth's energy of Rome shattered.

Under the backlash of surging magical power, the God Ancestor's body swayed, his face was pale, and a trace of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. The surrounding ethereal Aether Light Flow violently, and even the thousands of branches of the giant green tree hanging down rustled and moaned as the leaves rubbed against each other.

"O Radiant Sun, O Mithra of All Flames! Praiseworthy One! To conquer this mortal enemy, grant the strongest god and man a thousand blades of light!"

Cyrus activated the inscription on the golden sword in his hand, and with a circular motion, it resembled a golden ring of the sun, hanging high in the sky. One after another, Golden Sword took shape from it, falling densely like rain with a whistle.

Romulus, who maintained the Inherent Domain on the Great Altar, was the first to bear the brunt.

"Protect His 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 Soldier along the way, charging with a roar.

The four men activated the Imperial Privilege, 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.

Hiss!

Suddenly, a strange tremor erupted, the floor cracked, and a cloud of sand and dust swept towards the rushing reinforcements. Amidst the sharp whistling of the air, short swords shot forth, piercing the throats and hearts of several Roman Soldiers in the front ranks at tricky angles.

"The filthy rats of [Eagle's Nest] have infiltrated! Defensive formation, advance!"

Several Centurion reacted instinctively, immediately raising their shields and rallying the disorganized troops.

But it was too late. Amidst the swirling sand and dust on the plain, several figures moved nimbly and swiftly.

Pfft!

As thin as a cow's hair, the flying needle, propelled by a blowpipe, spun rapidly, its force penetrating metal and stone; in an instant, seven or eight Roman Soldiers on the left were struck.

In the blink of an eye, as if bitten by mosquitoes, the soldiers' faces turned bluish-purple, and they 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 spines pierced through their skin, and blood spurted freely.

"The Imperial Privilege is to purify filth!"

"The Imperial Privilege protects the vulnerable!"

The two Roman Emperor 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 shadows of the crowd, dissipating with the screech of rats. Under the golden light, the soldiers' blood boiled, and ether multiplied.

Just then, a soft, black strip of cloth extended from his arm, passing through the gap from a tricky angle, and his deformed five fingers lightly touched the chest of a Roman Emperor.

The strange black arm silently retracted, and in that instant, a phantom of a beating heart materialized in the palm of a person amidst the storm.

As the tall figure closed his five fingers, revealing a dark red heart with clearly visible veins, it 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 man who was coughing up blood and had a golden light pulsating from his chest, as if to warn the emperor.

"Roar! Roar roar!"

The Centurion, who deeply 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, coalescing into phantom images and emitting a roar like thunderous war drums, instantly scattering the surrounding sandstorm.

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

Vibrating Pipe Hassan! Shadow Strip Hassan! Cursed Arm Hassan!

Three Old Man of the Mountain!

We've finally caught you rats in the Eagle's Nest!

A dense rain of arrows and Spell projectile rained down on the three assassins who had revealed their presence.

Meanwhile, whistling arrows were fired into the air and horns sounded along the route. The Roman Legions guarding the City of 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 suddenly rose, carrying with it a faint scent of wine, pulling the three Hassan back into a hazy environment.

Foggy Drunkenness Hassan, the fourth Old Man of the Mountain, is intoxicated by smoke!

The Centurion's faces darkened as they heard the sounds of arrows hitting the ground all around them.

The remaining three Roman Emperor angrily raised their greatswords, lightly wiped the inscriptions on the spines, and summoned divine power, then slashed outwards.

But at the same time, several auras suddenly erupted from the mist, and Aether Torrent swept over from all directions!