Chapter 15: The Skyborne Assassin's Target

“Oh, Marco, hello! So you’ve been swept up into protection too?” Wang Liang greeted Marco as he spoke, his eyes peering through the gap to observe the situation outside.

The merchants in white robes had already armed themselves with bows and arrows, aiming up at the flying assassins in the sky. But they were hardly professional archers, and besides, shooting upwards from the ground greatly diminished their power. Even when their arrows reached the airborne assassins, they had little effect.

The flying assassins paid no heed to the arrows whizzing toward them. With utter confidence, they soared straight for the caravan of camels.

At this moment, Niu Xuanguang and his comrades began to demonstrate their own abilities. In this game, the levels were clearly defined: level 10 for Foundation Establishment, 20 for Core Formation, 30 for Nascent Soul, 40 for Spirit Severing, 50 for Divine Soul, 60 for Immortal—the boundaries were exact.

Generally, at level 20 one could equip flying swords or magical artifacts; by level 30, one could take flight themselves.

Among these players, the weakest was already level 39. They were accustomed to aerial combat. While they might require flying swords or treasures to take to the air, they certainly weren’t like those paladins below, with over level 40 strength yet still bound to ordinary warhorses on the ground.

Niu Xuanguang gave a mighty shout, slapped the pouch at his back, and seven swords of light began to orbit him. They lifted him into the sky, while a long sword thrust straight at a flying assassin overhead.

The second to follow was Wei Ban. He once again summoned his wooden puppet, over three meters tall, but this time the puppet bore wings of fire-tipped rockets and was launched into the sky.

With that, Wei Ban became as vacant as before, standing motionless, all sense and awareness gone.

Unlike Niu Xuanguang and Wei Ban, the Crying Maiden brandished her halberd, and a rose-red warhorse galloped out from the void. This horse was fully armored, with a silver horn on its forehead.

Leaping onto the steed, the Crying Maiden raised its forelegs, and the horse charged upward, carrying her into the heavens.

These displays left the assembled paladins stunned. The leading paladin’s face grew stern. “Guard my body well! I must join the fight—we can’t let them look down on us.”

With those words, he dismounted, knelt on one knee facing west, and began to recite scripture.

As he did, a pair of translucent wings appeared on his back, and a figure made of pure white light, identical to himself in every feature, separated from his body and took flight.

The shining figure had wings of white light, no heavy armor—just a white robe—and wielded a greatsword that gleamed with sacred radiance.

Seeing this, Wang Liang finally understood why Zhao Gongming had joked about their side producing “birdmen.” To Wang Liang, it was simply a bird spirit come to life.

As the luminous paladin ascended, a few flying assassins veered to encircle them. It was clear these assassins were well acquainted with the paladins’ abilities and knew what counters they might expect.

But they didn’t anticipate that there were other airborne experts in the party. Caught off guard, they could only spare three to engage Niu Xuanguang and his allies.

The rest of the flying assassins continued with their original plan, heading for the camels surrounded by the paladins.

Watching the assassins approach, Wang Liang pulled the little boy he’d just met behind him. “Stay close. If they jump down from the sky, you keep right behind me.”

With that, Wang Liang tightened his grip on the Life-Cleaving Blade. After several fierce battles, he’d come to understand the nature of this game. Unless he could behead an enemy in a single strike, or cleave them in two, everyone here possessed a strange tenacity—a capacity to fight no matter how badly wounded.

Severe injuries only spurred them to greater feats, unleashing all manner of secret powers. No wonder Niu Xuanguang and the others, though stronger, always attacked with full force, eliminating foes in the shortest time possible.

It was obvious these flying assassins were glass cannons: high attack, frail bodies. If they leapt down, and Wang Liang timed it right, he could take one out in a single stroke.

Afterwards, though, it would be a desperate fight.

He quickly assessed his own strength, then pushed all worries aside. He’d survived greater battles—what was this in comparison?

Perhaps it was Wang Liang’s calm that influenced Marco, who now hid behind him, watching the sky with wary eyes.

But Wang Liang’s guess was wrong. The assassins hovering above the camels had no intention of descending. Instead, they began to hurl objects like throwing darts downwards.

Wang Liang heard the sharp whistle as the darts embedded themselves in the crates strapped to the camels’ backs near him.

Without hesitation, Wang Liang dragged Marco several steps back. Only then did he realize the darts were attached to nearly invisible threads. The flying assassins weren’t out for blood—they were here to steal.

Oddly relieved, Wang Liang exhaled. Perhaps it was because he wouldn’t have to fight them after all. Still, he felt an urgent desire to finish his current mission and raise his level—being so much weaker than everyone else was unbearable.

But Marco, still sheltered behind Wang Liang, seemed to see something and suddenly leapt forward.

“No! They’re going to steal that crate!”

Wang Liang grabbed Marco, who was lunging forward. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? It’s just a box!”

“No, my father told me that crate is important—it’s a gift from the Pope to His Majesty the Emperor.”

“How do you know that?” Wang Liang didn’t believe a word, and even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. In this chaos, not even he could help, let alone an ordinary boy like Marco.

“There’s a seal carved by the Pope himself—the emblem of the radiant cross. That crate cannot be lost!”

As Marco spoke, he struggled free and dove for the crate.

At that moment, the flying assassins above gave a mighty tug and yanked the crate from the camel’s back. Marco threw himself atop it, his weight causing the three assassins pulling from above to falter—one nearly tumbling from the sky.

Then, one of the airborne assassins let go of his kite, spread his arms, and leapt down from on high straight for Marco, who clung to the crate.