anwhile, on the other side, as the three assassins from the Borgias family—Syla, Marven, and Tork—continued to traverse the ruined flora dungeon, an unsettling silence lingered in the atmosphere of the dungeon.
They were trained to hunt, trained to kill, but the eerie emptiness of the dungeon was disconcerting.
Where were the botanical mana beasts?
Where were the magical flora creatures they had been briefed about?
"Stay sharp," Syla whispered. Her voice barely rose above a breath, but her companions imdiately snapped to attention, their eyes scanning the dimly lit surroundings.
The three moved like shadows, slipping from cover to cover with ease. But no matter how far they advanced, they found nothing but the ruins of a once lush environnt.
Torn branches, shredded leaves, and uprooted trees were all that remained of the flora they had expected to face.
Sothing had already torn through this dungeon.
"This is wrong," Marven muttered, his green eyes narrowing. "We were told this place was full of life, that it was teeming with flora mana beasts."
Tork, always quick to dismiss caution, chuckled softly. "Maybe they all ran away. Can't bla them. If I knew the Borgias were coming, I'd run too."
Syla shot him a sharp look. "This isn't the ti for jokes, Tork. Whatever did this is still nearby. And maybe, this is a part of the exercise…"
But before Tork could respond, a slow, mocking clap echoed through the halls.
The three assassins tensed, their weapons drawn and their eyes darting around, trying to locate the source of the sound.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
From the shadows erged a figure, draped in a dark cloak with sharp, piercing eyes that glead with malice.
It was Lyerin. He took his ti, stepping forward slowly, deliberately, imdiately as he did, his gaze swept over the three assassins with a sneer on his lips. Though he didn't recognize them individually, their attire and aura were unmistakable. They were Borgias assassins, part of the very family that had destroyed his past.
"Ah, the infamous Borgias assassins," Lyerin said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You must feel so powerful, so invincible—creeping through the shadows, cutting down anyone in your path. But tell , what will you do now that the shadows no longer hide you?"
Marven stepped forward cautiously, his rapier gleaming in the dim light. "Who are you?" he asked, his tone calm but laced with caution. "And what do you want with us?"
Lyerin laughed, a harsh and grating sound that echoed through the dungeon. "Who am I?" he repeated with a smirk. "I'm no one important enough for you to know. But I know who you are. I know that you're nothing more than pawns—tools for a family that pretends to care for you but will discard you the mont you're no longer useful."
Syla narrowed her eyes, gripping her twin daggers tighter. "We don't have ti for gas," she said coldly. "If you're going to fight, then fight."
Tork, always eager for a challenge, took a step forward, dark magic crackling around his hands. "You talk too much," he sneered. "Let's see if you can back it up."
Lyerin chuckled, watching them with mild amusent. "So eager to die," he mused. "Very well."
He raised his hand, and suddenly, from the shadows of the dungeon, the transford Cragar'Throm Clan mbers erged.
Hulking, monstrous forms with bulging muscles and glowing eyes filled the space around the assassins, blocking their exits.
Their bodies were twisted and massive, like nightmarish versions of minotaurs and beasts, their forms radiating brute strength.
The three Borgias assassins imdiately sprang into action.
Syla darted forward, her movents as fluid as water, her daggers slashing at the first creature that lunged at her. She ducked and rolled beneath its massive arm, slashing its tendons before delivering a killing blow to its throat.
The creature let out a gurgled roar before collapsing in a heap of blood and fur.
Marven, ever the tactician, struck with precision, aiming for the weak points in the beasts' armor-like hides. He danced around the battlefield, his rapier flashing as he landed blow after blow, each strike calculated to cripple and maim.
Tork unleashed his shadow magic, sending tendrils of darkness to ensnare the creatures, binding them in place as he drained their life force. His laugh echoed through the halls as the beasts struggled against his magic, their strength fading with each passing second.
Lyerin watched them with mild interest, but he remained unimpressed. "Is this the best the Borgias family has to offer?" he called out mockingly. "Pathetic."
Syla, despite her focus on the battle, couldn't help but glance at him. "What do you know of the Borgias?" she demanded, her voice sharp with anger. "You know nothing about us!"
Lyerin's eyes glead with amusent. "Oh, I know enough," he replied casually. "I know that you're all nothing but pawns in a ga you don't even understand. Your family uses you, manipulates you, and when you're no longer useful, they'll cast you aside without a second thought."
"Shut up!" Marven shouted, his frustration getting the better of him. "You know nothing about us!"
Lyerin's smile widened. "Keep telling yourself that," he said softly. "But deep down, you know I'm right. You're just too afraid to admit it."
Tork growled in anger, releasing a surge of dark energy that blasted one of the creatures into the far wall, shattering stone and bone alike. "Enough of this!" he snarled. "Let's end this quickly."
But just as he prepared to launch another attack, a hulking beast—larger than the others—charged at him from the side, catching him off guard.
The creature's massive fist slamd into Tork's side, sending him crashing into the ground with a sickening thud.
Syla and Marven froze for a split second, their eyes widening in shock. The Cragar'Throm Clan mbers were stronger than they had anticipated.
As Tork struggled to rise, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, Lyerin approached him slowly, his gaze cold and unforgiving. "You should've listened," Lyerin said softly. "You should've run when you had the chance."
Tork glared up at him, his eyes filled with hatred. "You'll pay for this," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "The Borgias family will hunt you down. You won't escape them."
Lyerin's expression remained calm, almost bored. "Perhaps," he mused. "But not today."
With a snap of his fingers, the Cragar'Throm Clan mbers descended upon Tork, their claws and teeth ripping into him rcilessly. His screams echoed through the dungeon, but Lyerin felt nothing as he watched the life drain from the assassin's eyes.
Marven and Syla, realizing the danger they were in, tried to retreat, but the beasts were too fast.
Marven fought valiantly, his rapier flashing as he took down one of the creatures, but another struck him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground.
Syla fared no better, her speed no match for the sheer brutality of the transford beasts.
Lyerin watched as the last of the assassins were torn apart, their bodies reduced to nothing but blood and gore. He felt no pity, no remorse—only satisfaction.
These Borgias mbers were nothing to him, re obstacles in his path, plus they were from the deep part of the family, during their youth, they already killed plenty—even children and won were among them.
After all, Borgias family, the family of assassins.
As the final echoes of the assassins' screams faded, Lyerin turned his gaze to the depths of the dungeon. He had reduced their numbers, weakened their forces. Now, it was ti to deal with the real threat.
He smiled darkly, his eyes glinting with malice as he called out to the remaining Cragar'Throm Clan mbers. "Now that we've thinned their ranks," he said quietly, "it's ti to et the special two mbers of Borgias Family that are close to … After this, I will level Cragar'Throm Clan Up..."
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