Amukelo weighed his options carefully from his shadowed perch. He could see the numerous cloaked figures watching the inn from different places and knew a direct confrontation, despite his burning desire for vengeance, would be reckless. His eyes narrowed as he plotted his approach, marking each guard's position and their moments of vulnerability.
Below, Neclord stood imposingly at the forefront, directing his men with a cold authority that chilled the air. He commanded, "Search the inn, every corner." His voice was firm, leaving no room for dissent. He himself stayed outside, a strategic move to oversee the operation and possibly to stay clear of any direct conflict.
Inside, the innkeeper protested weakly as the Nameless Dynasty members began their search. They were rough and careless, kicking at doors and shoving past furniture. When the first room yielded no results, frustration bubbled over, and they smashed the door open with brute force. "Please, don't destroy my inn," pleaded the innkeeper, his voice laced with desperation.
One of the cloaked men sneered, enjoying the chaos they were creating, "Hehehe... the goal justifies the deed." Reluctantly, the innkeeper offered up his master key, hoping to mitigate the damage. As they moved from room to room, the invaders rifled through belongings, leaving a trail of disarray behind. The innkeeper watched, his face etched with the resignation of a man watching his livelihood crumble.
Meanwhile, Amukelo executed his silent takedowns with precision. Moving from shadow to shadow, he targeted the watchers first—those stationed at strategic points around the inn. Each attack was a whisper. He struck swiftly, ensuring each guard was neutralized before they could sound the alarm.
As he eliminated one guard after another, a subtle shift occurred among the remaining members of the Nameless Dynasty. They began to sense that something was amiss as positions once filled remained unresponsive. Whispers of concern started to spread, but before they could piece together the reality of their dwindling numbers, Amukelo had already moved on to his next target.
With each silent takedown, Amukelo moved closer to his ultimate goal. Neclord, still waiting outside, remained unaware of the danger slowly tightening around him like a noose.
The reduced number of guards meant that his path to Neclord was less obstructed, but the increased vigilance of the remaining members posed a new challenge. They moved in pairs, eyes darting through the shadows, searching for the unseen threat.
Determined to end this, Amukelo found a position with a clear line of sight to Neclord. Hiding behind the dim light of a flickering street lamp, he carefully pulled out the dagger, now imbued with the tracking artifact. He gauged the distance, steadied his breath, and with a swift, practiced motion, he hurled the dagger straight towards Neclord's heart. The throw was precise, aimed not to kill instantly but to ensure the artifact's activation.
As the dagger cut through the air, Neclord, sensed the incoming danger. With a swift sidestep, he narrowly avoided a direct hit, but the blade grazed his shoulder, embedding the artifact's tracking ability with a faint scratch. Confusion flickered across Neclord's face as he touched the mark, his eyes scanning the shadows for his assailant.
At that moment, Amukelo burst from his cover, charging towards Neclord with a ferocious yell. However, one of Neclord's followers intercepted him, throwing himself into the path of Amukelo's rage. The ensuing clash was brutal but brief; Amukelo's blade found its way through the man's defenses, slicing across his torso and dropping him lifelessly to the cobblestones.
This momentary distraction gave Neclord the precious seconds he needed to prepare himself for combat. As Amukelo advanced, Neclord stood ready, his expression a mix of contempt and amusement. "I'm glad that you are stupid enough to hand me your sword," Neclord taunted, a sneer curling his lip.
Amukelo's response was harsh. "If you think you will get it, you are greatly mistaken," he retorted, his eyes blazing with a mix of rage and resolve. "I will kill you! I will make you suffer for what you did! I will avenge my friends!"
Neclord's laughter was cold and mocking, echoing off the walls of the narrow street. "Oh, you mean those weaklings?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "You should have seen their faces when you left them. They died as fast as you fled the cave." His laughter grew louder, crueler. "I love you… HAHAHA!" he mocked, mimicking Pao's last words in a twisted jest.
Amukelo momentarily locked eyes with Neclord, the mocking grin still plastered on the commander's face. With his heart pounding fiercely and his mind sharpened by the singularity of his purpose, he allowed himself a brief moment of calm before vanishing from sight. His movement was a blur, fueled by a desperate need for vengeance.
As he reappeared, Amukelo's blade met Neclord's with a clash that echoed down the narrow street, sparks flying as metal grating against metal. For a moment, they were evenly matched, Amukelo's raw power against Neclord's refined technique. But the tide quickly turned as Amukelo's ferocity began to overpower Neclord, inching the blade perilously close to his adversary's face.
Suddenly, a peripheral movement caught Amukelo's attention—an assailant swinging a broadsword towards his side. Reacting instinctively, Amukelo leaped back, narrowly evading the blade that sliced through the air where he had just stood. As he steadied himself, a giant earth boulder hurled through the air towards him. With a powerful strike, he cleaved the rock in two, shards scattering across the cobblestones.
Before he could regain his footing, a mace swung towards him. This time, Amukelo responded not with evasion but with aggression. His foot shot out, connecting with the attacker's chest and sending him hurtling into two of his comrades. All three collided against a wall with a bone-crunching impact, momentarily out of the fight.
As Amukelo turned back to Neclord, the white-haired commander was already barking orders, commanding his underlings to summon reinforcements. Knowing that every second counted, Amukelo didn't hesitate. He charged at another nearby enemy, a skilled swordsman who met Amukelo's advance with surprising resistance. However, the gap in their skills became apparent as Amukelo's blade found an opening, poised to deliver a fatal strike.
But before he could finish his attack, an arrow whistled through the air towards him. Amukelo twisted away, the arrow grazing his cloak. His gaze flicked to the source—an archer and a mage positioned together, readying another volley. Amukelo realized he needed to disrupt their coordination. Just then, a brawny figure wielding a hammer charged at him. With a fluid dodge and a swift counter, Amukelo sliced the attacker's stomach, then grabbed him, using him as a shield against the next barrage of arrows.
As the life drained from the human shield, Amukelo discarded the body and surveyed the unfolding chaos. More cloaked figures were emerging from the inn. They joined the fray, their numbers growing, trying to encircle Amukelo who stood defiant, his resolve unshaken.