Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 161: Blood Across Sacred Stone
“What the fu ... urgh!”
The four remaining assassins had all been drenched head to toe by the rain of blood blown across them by the sword wind.
Every one of them spun around in horror.
Compared to the thing that had sliced three armored men apart in a single blow, Robert and his terrifying warhammer suddenly did not seem nearly as frightening.
And Robert truly was a top-tier warrior.
Though Lannor’s full-bodied sweeping slash had stunned him for a brief instant, the moment the enemy exposed their backs to him, his body seized the opportunity on instinct.
“Ah! Fuck you!”
The hammer moved through Robert’s hands like an extension of his body. He had not killed a man with it in more than ten years, yet every strike today landed perfectly with the deadliest part of the hammerhead.
Chainmail or leather reinforced with lamellar plates meant nothing before Robert’s hammer.
One turning assassin had his back caved inward so deeply a grown man’s fist could have fit inside the dent.
The first enemy facing Lannor had already lost his nerve after witnessing that slash.
His mace trembled visibly in his grip.
“Would you like a psychological analysis of the enemy?”
Mentos asked calmly inside his head.
Lannor’s tone matched it almost exactly.
“No need. He’s already panicking.”
And in battle, panic was death.
Lannor feinted a sidestep to the right.
The assassin’s terrified eyes twitched, and under the pressure of fear he instinctively swung the mace toward that direction without thinking.
But the moment he committed to the strike, Lannor shifted his weight back left.
The Witcher slipped past him and raised the steel sword in an upward slash.
The assassin’s right arm flew away from midway above the elbow.
The second assassin rushed in wielding a flail. The weapon’s head and haft were connected by chain, turning its strikes into whipping attacks.
More effective, but far harder to use. A weapon like that needed room to swing.
And now the distance between him and Lannor no longer allowed it.
Grinding his teeth, the assassin simply tucked the armor-piercing dagger tight against his chest and hurled himself forward bodily.
More than a hundred kilos of armored flesh carrying a sharpened spike at full charge.
Even fully plated knights would not dare receive such an impact in foot combat without a shield.
The swordsman before him wore only layered composite armor. Surely he...
Smack.
The assassin’s desperate confidence shattered like a joke against a single large hand clad in studded leather gloves.
The attack he believed no one could stop barehanded in close combat had been halted ... with one hand.
Momentum. Strength. His entire body.
All of it became meaningless before that grip.
The hand clamped around his wrist twisted effortlessly against his frantic struggle and drove the dagger straight back into his throat.
Even as blood surged from his neck, disbelief still filled the assassin’s eyes.
By the time Lannor finished with those two, the last surviving assassin had already had his leg shattered by Robert’s hammer.
The human knee, meant only to bend forward and back, now folded grotesquely sideways.
Near the edges of the Tournament Grounds, the commotion was growing louder and louder. Fighters locked in combat were beginning to separate like waves splitting apart.
The King’s guards were forcing their way through as quickly as possible, but the King’s battle had already reached its end.
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