Chapter Thirty-Four: Crushing Domination
When Alix and his three subordinates—Okoro, Asistes, and Gedeus—bared vicious grins at them, raising their Greek swords and spears, Zhu Xiaoyong panicked and blurted out an embarrassingly awkward line:
“What do you want? We’re good citizens, good citizens!”
Yan Luo didn’t attack immediately because, within the Heartless Puppet, the value of “Greed” was continually rising.
“Good citizens? Only we Greek citizens are good citizens.”
Alix shouted, “You barbarians from who knows where, trying to gather intelligence on Athens—you must be spies! Kill these three, ten owl coins for each!”
The owl coins were the “drachma” silver coins minted in Athens, bearing the helmeted head of Athena on one side, and an owl standing on the other, with an olive branch at the upper left and the city’s name inscribed on the right. Ten silver coins per person was a considerable fortune.
“What? Barbarians?”
Wang Dongwei’s face flushed red with anger.
Though the other party spoke in ancient Greek rather than Chinese, the word still stoked his fury. “Barbarian” was a deeply insulting term. Throughout history, major civilizations endured the onslaught of so-called barbarians—uncivilized peoples, wild and untamed. Like in the “Civilization” game series, where barbarians rampage, destroy farmlands, and abduct settlers.
As a Chinese, a citizen of an ancient civilization that led the world for thousands of years and is now in the midst of a great revival, he had only ever called others barbarians. Now, two thousand years in the past, in ancient Greece, he himself was being called a barbarian.
It was a profound insult.
“You savages, ignorant of manners, shameless and greedy, utterly bestial!”
Wang Dongwei spat back in Chinese. Zhu Xiaoyong stared at his companion in surprise—after the detailed introduction about ancient Greece, now he was cursing with such archaic phrasing. What did this guy do in the real world?
“Captain, ever since we killed that runaway slave last time, I haven’t seen blood for a long while. Let me get a taste.”
Okoro stepped forward.
He was a typical Greek youth: slightly wavy brown hair, a straight nose, clad in a breastplate made of layers of glued linen, a long spear in his right hand, and a round shield in his left.
The spear, the main weapon of Greek infantry, had an ashen shaft, an iron leaf-shaped head, and a bronze butt-spike at the end.
His round shield was like an upside-down basin, solid wood covered with bronze. The face of the shield bore a painted bull—the emblem of the Minotaur of Crete. Inside, a leather strap allowed for the arm to pass through and secure the shield.
“This credit’s yours, but when we get back to Athens, you owe us a feast!”
Asistes and Gedeus laughed. These three foreigners, with their soft, uncalloused hands and smooth skin, showed no signs of muscle. They must be Eastern nobles, utterly lacking in combat ability.
“No problem.”
Okoro leveled his spear at Wang Dongwei’s head.
“Ah…”
Zhu Xiaoyong’s legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Wang Dongwei gripped his eight-sided Han sword tightly, bent low, and flicked his blade upward. This was a common sword technique, used to deflect an incoming weapon.
A modern stage sword, made of tin and rattling with a shake, would never hold up—but this was a Han sword, and he’d also activated the Basic Swordsmanship gene.
His blade knocked the spear aside, but Okoro twisted the weapon and thrust downward!
Gritting his teeth, Wang Dongwei was about to use his wrist to deflect again when Yan Luo moved.
Stepping forward, he drew the pair of sabers at his waist, crossing them in a single motion. The blades slashed upward in a scissor-like arc, snapping the spear with a crisp crack.
He then rotated his wrists, spinning the hilts so the sabers were reversed, points downward. With a step forward, he plunged both blades into Okoro’s chest on either side.
A hiss as Yan Luo withdrew the sabers, bright red blood streaming down the sharp edges, quickly pooling into two dark stains on the ground.
You have sensed a powerful emotion:
Fear +5
It was the soldier’s overwhelming terror in the face of death.
“What?!”
Alix and the two remaining soldiers could hardly believe their eyes.
In the blink of an eye, Yan Luo had dispatched Okoro with terrifying efficiency.
Physical superiority!
Yan Luo’s physique, comparable to a top modern athlete—surpassing even some special forces soldiers—was balanced in strength, agility, and constitution. Modern people, for all their lack of exercise and indulgence, are generally stronger than ancients due to better nutrition.
What’s more, he was now immersed in “Joy,” his agility increased by 10%.
And having lost his emotions, Yan Luo was like a cold-blooded assassin—utterly calm and unflinching as he killed. The emotional masks of joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness were mere surface ripples, unable to affect his composure.
Physical prowess plus absolute calm!
His movements did not stop.
He pressed forward, spinning the paired blades from reverse to standard grip—a flourish borrowed from dagger techniques, but effective with his butterfly swords. Cool-headed and superhumanly agile, his neural responses honed, Yan Luo had picked it up after half an hour of online tutorials.
The cold steel flashed, two icy arcs of light.
He thrust.
Asistes and Gedeus hurriedly raised their shields, but they were too slow—neither their reactions nor their speed could match his.
The blades flickered at their throats, stabbing deep. Blood gushed thickly from their necks, and as the tips burst through the other side, droplets arched through the air, tracing two crimson arcs behind them.
Yan Luo withdrew his blades, stepped back, and stopped.
From the initial cross-slash breaking the spear, to the seamless series of strikes, every move was stripped of excess—efficient, unhesitating. With agility boosted by ten percent and a mind as cold as ice, he chose only the most lethal techniques.
Less than five seconds.
All three soldiers were dead!
Yan Luo’s lips still bore a faint smile, his hands gripping both hilts, blades angled down in an “eight” before him. Blood ran in thin streams down the steel, quickly pooling at his feet.
These three, in dying, had yielded fourteen points of fear.
“How is this possible?”
Alix’s hand shook as he clutched his sword. He’d thought these three were no warriors at all, easy prey for murder and loot. He never expected this outcome.
Although the young man was tall—one meter eighty was impressive in Greece—his muscles were lean, hidden beneath his clothes. To a European eye, he looked rather slim.
How could he move so fast? Kill so savagely? He was like one of Persia’s elite twin-blade warriors!
Alix was dumbfounded.
“Assassin’s Creed?” Fat Zhu Xiaoyong, a seasoned gamer, was reminded of the dual-blade protagonist Edward by Yan Luo’s killing display.
Wang Dongwei’s lips twitched. He’d been prepared to fight, but the three had died so quickly.
Killing, yet every move was as smooth and natural as flowing water—almost pleasing to the eye.
“Ahhh!”
In terror and rage, Alix’s eyes turned bloodshot as he roared, brandishing his sword in a flourish of Greek swordsmanship.
Suddenly, two blades flashed. There was a brief clash of steel, and a head flew into the air, blood spurting from the neck. Alix’s face, frozen in disbelief, seemed not to accept how easily he had been killed.
In that instant, Yan Luo blocked with his left blade and decapitated with his right—a single stroke.
Far off, young Daifus stood gaping, his spear dropping from his hands.
Nearby soldiers and slaves stared in shock. One slave, repairing a house, fell right off the roof.
“Holy crap!”
Zhu Xiaoyong’s chubby cheeks quivered violently. “So strong… just too strong…”
After his time in the zombie world, he wasn’t afraid of corpses. Seeing Yan Luo’s tranquil, unruffled expression, he couldn’t help but comment, “Four guys down, moves so cool and not a single dramatic line?”
“They were just minor characters.”
Yan Luo replied coolly, crouching to wipe the blood from his blades on Alix’s clothing.
“Let’s go. Into the town.”