Lord of the Myriad Worlds

Chapter 182: A Godlike Assassin

Once the arrangements were made, George stepped away from the group. He tucked himself behind a large tree fifty or sixty meters off, concealing his entire body behind the trunk, and closed his eyes to rest — while inwardly debating whether to activate the Two-Star Blood Raven for aerial reconnaissance. It was the most efficient option available, no question.

In the end, he held off.

Not because he feared the black-robed Witch was nearby — he just didn't want to startle the snake before he'd even found the grass.

He genuinely couldn't be sure whether the rocky hill held an ambush.

And Hathaway, that scheming woman, hadn't breathed a word of her actual plan.

One thing was becoming clear: he needed to develop his own trusted subordinates in the future — real companions whose interests were tied to his, not convenient partners like Hathaway. Trusting her was always going to end like this.

He reached into his pack and drew out a small strip of Three-Star dried venison, and chewed it slowly.

He'd accumulated this over the past month. With everyone else gone and only him and Fila in the camp, revising the food distribution had been trivially easy to push through. George hunted Two-Star spotted deer; Fila produced Three-Star dried meat. It was dispensed in daily rations — perfectly legitimate, perfectly compliant redistribution of household resources. After all, once food was allocated to him, what he did with it was beyond the rules' jurisdiction.

Which was also why Fila had felt comfortable being mouthy back there — she owed him a debt of convenience. Little John, however, was not inclined to be understanding about it.

A few minutes passed. George finished the dried meat, drank some cooled boiled water, and judged it was time. He strung the Three-Star War Bow, drew three bodkin arrows, and settled into combat readiness — bow in his left hand, arrows in his right — before stepping out from behind the tree and breaking across the slope to loop around the north face of the rocky hill.He knew this hill well. It was the most distinctive terrain feature on the entire stretch of road between Victor Town and Kakh City. Looking north, you could see dozens of kilometers of terrain. Looking south, Kakh City itself was visible.

As Little John had said: the ridgeline ran east-west, but this hill commanded north and south.

It was practically a gift to any tactician. Any reasonably thinking person would try to seize it. And if you didn't, the ridgeline would neatly cut the King's Highway into a sharp zigzag — perfect for a devastating ambush.

In short: whether the hill was ambushed or not, it had to be taken.

George had no real choice. He could only hope Hathaway — lurking in the shadows somewhere — would act when the moment came.

He had already covered fifty meters when he glanced back. Fila and the other two were still sitting in the shade. Little John had already departed, climbing as planned. It was only when George looked back that the three of them finally, reluctantly, began to move.

Resentment on display, feet dragging. Working to the letter, not the spirit.

Or had they also sensed that something was off?

Most likely the former.

George exhaled quietly and picked up his pace. After eighty kilometers of forced march, his Stamina still read 180 — well supplied. By his estimate, the three behind him had at least 120 remaining. And once the dried venison they'd eaten finished processing, their Stamina would restore to full within about half an hour.

Twelve or so minutes later, George had passed through two narrow mountain gaps and across one open slope, bringing him to the north face of the rocky hill.

The hill had a distinctive character. From the south and east, it presented sheer cliff faces over a hundred meters high. From the west and north, the terrain eased into broad, dirt-and-rock slopes.

Dense shrubs covered the upper sections, interspersed with scattered, wide-crowned trees. And as expected, the hilltop appeared to have a flat platform at its summit.

October had barely begun — the leaves had just caught their first frost, burning in tones of deep red and ochre. Brilliant enough to dazzle the eye, and also excellent cover.

All the way here, George had looked up repeatedly. No crows in the air nearby. But birds did flit about, small and untroubled. Wild bees hummed among the last of the season's flowers. Large grasshoppers hopped through the undergrowth, occasionally taking short, rattling flights.

Normal. Perfectly normal.

He kept watching as he pushed up the slope, moving fast through the shrub lines. When he reached the halfway point without incident, he glanced back at Fila and the others. Still slow. The western face offered nothing but dense undergrowth and a slope at nearly seventy degrees — there was no real path, and climbing it was genuinely difficult.

George frowned but stayed behind a tree and waited. He always accounted for the worst case first. A false alarm was preferable to being caught unprepared.

About five minutes later, the three of them were finally at the same elevation — roughly two hundred meters to George's side, also tucked behind a large tree. Hand signals: they needed rest.

George held up three fingers. Three minutes.

About a hundred meters of vertical remained to the summit. They'd need to push it in one continuous burst.

Fila and the others weren't especially concerned. Little John patrolled here every day — and they'd already made it halfway up without anything happening. Clearly the hilltop was clear.

Shelt and Li Zhengxing maintained at least basic vigilance. Fila, however, plopped herself down on the ground, unclasped her leather armor, lifted off her helmet, and tipped her face up to enjoy the cool mountain breeze drifting through the shade.

Wonderful scenery. Truly beautiful. Mountains, streams, and a woman to match.

She shut her eyes and breathed in the autumn mountain air with deep, contented satisfaction, nearly lost in it.

And in that same moment, two hundred meters away, every hair on George's body stood on end.

Danger.

Before he could shout a warning, more than a dozen arrows came arcing down from directly above — aimed at Fila, Shelt, and Li Zhengxing.

They had been behind the tree. But only Shelt had stayed consistently tucked behind cover. Fila had drifted sideways to enjoy the shade, technically still near the tree but functionally as exposed as someone covering their eyes and believing themselves invisible.

In an instant, one arrow caught Fila through the throat. Seven or eight more hit her across the body. She was turned into a pincushion before she could react.

Li Zhengxing fared better — his reflexes were sharper — but a powerful armor-piercing broadhead still punched clean through his thighbone.

He screamed in raw, open agony.

What was happening?

There were at least a dozen archers in ambush up there. Had Little John turned traitor?

The thought had barely crossed George's mind when an arrow screamed past and shaved the tip of his nose.

'Exceptional archery.'

If his reaction had been even a breath slower, that arrow would have taken him through the skull.

There was a master archer up there?

This was wrong. Deeply wrong.

George didn't panic. He mentally locked down the probable position of the master archer, was preparing to call out his Two-Star Blood Raven and use the Guided Volley skill — when a sudden ripple swept through him.

A soft, gentle voice seemed to bloom in his ear. The world ahead no longer felt like a killing field. It felt like a warm haven. Like a beloved voice calling him to step out from behind the tree.

The feeling pressed in strong enough that George was losing control of himself.

Just as the pull was about to overwhelm him, he bit down hard on the tip of his tongue at the very last moment — and in that final sliver of clarity, switched to the Tracker title.

Perception +1.

The world rang like a struck bell.

George's seven orifices bled. Stars exploded across his vision. His mind went completely white — as though someone had scoured it clean. But the good news: the Grand Witch Luna's bewitching voice could no longer reach him.

When his sight came back, what he saw made his blood run cold.

Two hundred meters away, Shelt — who had been tucked behind his tree — was now moving like a puppet cut from its strings. He had dropped his shield, removed his helmet, and was walking out into the open to face the hilltop.

An arrow struck him an instant later. He dropped without a sound.

Li Zhengxing, injured and bleeding, dragged himself out similarly — struggling to sit upright, extending his neck, waiting for a death that arrived exactly as expected.

George watched it all with a shudder that went to his roots. Cold sweat ran freely. The Grand Witch Luna was at the summit. And Hathaway — where was she? What was the plan?

And Little John — what was happening to you?

Then the crimson notifications struck.

【Ally Fila has been killed in an ambush — struck by multiple arrows!】

【Allies Shelt and Li Zhengxing were brought under the Grand Witch Luna's Charm magic and were subsequently killed by enemy archers.】

【Ally Little John, while climbing the cliff face, was locked onto by an enemy master archer. In the act of dodging, he fell from the cliff, breaking his right leg — and was then slain by the black-robed Witch who had been waiting below. Retrieve his body within thirty minutes!】

—

What the —

Losing half the team from the opening move? What was a Four-Star Hunter even for?

No — Little John had intended to die. Over the past seven days, he must have done something to draw both the Grand Witch Luna and the black-robed Witch Mixi here, into this ambush position. Everything about it reeked of Hathaway's plan. Because without her sanction, Little John — a Four-Star Hunter — would never have walked willingly to his death. He was too intensely loyal. What he had just done was nearly a perfect embodiment of the strategic principle: sacrifice oneself to tilt the odds by half.

"George! Why resist? We are the true masters of this world. Come to me — surrender, and step forward into the open. Let me set you free, nephew—"

The Grand Witch Luna's voice rang down from the summit — and was cut short almost immediately. Simultaneously, a shriek of pure agony from the Grand Witch echoed off the stones, followed by a violent tremor, as though the hilltop itself was caving in.

Hathaway had struck.

She was at the summit?

What had she used?

How had she done it?

No time to think. George seized the opening. He burst from behind the tree, his bow singing twice — two bodkin arrows loosed in rapid succession — and two enemy archers were headshot.

Almost simultaneously, four arrows came in from the hillside — precise, powerful, clearly from trained hands. Who were these people?

George dodged three. The fourth caught him in the thigh. It only penetrated about a centimeter into flesh — his Noble Crest Armor's 15 Defense, stacked with his personal 14 Defense, was now comparable to a decent mail shirt.

He yanked the arrow out — and caught the smell immediately. A distinctive, putrid stench clinging to the arrowhead.

Corrupted arrows? Seriously?

George didn't panic. He pulled a One-Star Anti-Blood-Plague serum from his pack and drank it immediately. It would provide some protection.

Then he switched back to the Dog Butcher title. The Tracker title's Perception +1 was excellent, but the Stamina cost was unsustainable.

At 25 Agility, and with the Grand Witch's sorcery no longer reliable, George was ready to introduce himself properly to that master archer of theirs.