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Its wooden floors creaked beneath their feet, and the broken windows allowed pale moonlight to stream in, casting eerie shadows across the room.

The air was still, as if holding its breath in anticipation of what would come next.

The old man stood at the far end of the room, his posture relaxed despite the tension in the air.

He appeared unfazed by the sudden shift, as though he had been expecting this all along.

Lyerin, on the other hand, was anything but calm. His eyes glinted with manic excitement as he gazed at the old assassin, his lips curling into a grin that stretched too wide to be sane.

"Old man," Lyerin called out with a singsong tone, almost mocking. "Why aren\'t you running? You should know better than anyone that if you\'re going to live through this, running is the best option."

The old man\'s scarred face remained stoic, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of grim understanding. He spoke slowly, his voice carrying the weight of decades spent in battle.

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"Running won\'t do any good. If you really come from the past, if everything you\'ve said is true…then I\'ve already fallen into your trap. There\'s nowhere to run because you\'ve already planned for every outcome."

Lyerin\'s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight.

"Exactly! You see, you\'re not as dumb as you look." He took a few leisurely steps closer, savoring the moment. "But that\'s what makes this so much fun! You\'re a grandmaster assassin, I\'m sure you can outwit me."

The old man clenched his fists, a surge of anger rippling through him.

He had fought countless battles, slain enemies who should have been impossible to kill, and risen to heights most assassins only dreamed of. But now, here he was, faced with a halfling—someone he had been conditioned to look down on his entire life.

Worse, Lyerin was taunting him, flaunting his superiority.

Lyerin, still reveling in his own madness, threw his head back and laughed. The sound echoed through the building, making the old man\'s skin crawl.

"Tell you what, old man. I\'m feeling generous. I won\'t even use my shadow core for this fight. I\'ll stick to using a normal core—just like any other basic Eldren user. What do you think? Isn\'t that fair?"

The old man\'s heart pounded in his chest. His pride screamed at him to reject the insult, but he knew better.

Lyerin wasn\'t bluffing, and he had already shown that he was playing on an entirely different level. But even so, the thought of being bested by a halfling without even using an elemental core—much less a shadow core—was unbearable.

"No way…" the old man muttered under his breath. His hands clenched tighter, nails digging into his palms. "No way will I let myself be killed by a halfling using only a normal core…"

But even as the words left his lips, he felt a sudden shift in the air. His instincts flared, warning him of something dangerous, something he had missed. He looked up just in time to see Lyerin\'s form vanish from where he had been standing.

Swish!

The old man\'s eyes went wide as he felt the cold steel of Lyerin\'s blade bite into his neck.

His body froze, his thoughts a jumbled mess as he tried to process what had just happened.

Blood sprayed from the clean cut, and in a second, his head detached from his body, rolling across the floor with a dull thud. His last thoughts were of confusion and regret. He had underestimated Lyerin. And now, it was too late.

Lyerin reappeared beside the old man\'s lifeless body, crouching down to inspect the severed head with a curious tilt of his head. He smiled, almost fondly, as if admiring his own handiwork.

"You see, old man, you are a disappointment, I thought you would give me a little bit more fun, but it turns out you are easily influenced…" he said softly, "But you answered my curiosity so I don\'t really mind."

He picked up the head by its hair, lifting it so he could look directly into the old man\'s lifeless eyes.

"Why is the Borgias Family so hateful toward halflings like me? Why do they despise the Eldren warriors, no matter what they\'ve done or how powerful they\'ve become? Was it something personal? Or was it something more pathetic?"

He chuckled to himself, dropping the head back to the floor with a careless toss. "Even you, a grandmaster assassin, were affected by that nonsense. All your skills, all your experience, and yet you couldn\'t escape the poison they fed you in your mind."

Lyerin stood up, stretching his arms lazily as if he had just finished a warm-up exercise. "But I guess it doesn\'t matter now. You\'re dead, and I\'ve got what I needed from this twisted family."

He glanced around the room, his expression shifting from amusement to something more calculating. His eyes flickered with an insidious light as he thought about the future—the plans he had carefully crafted over countless lifetimes.

"I\'ve got the tools I need," he muttered to himself. "Now, it\'s time to rebuild."

He took a deep breath, his chest rising as he savored the thrill of it all. "I can rebuild my tribe, stronger than ever. Level it up, take it to heights that no one—especially the Borgias—could have imagined."

His gaze lifted toward the ceiling, as if he could see beyond it, into the endless possibilities that lay ahead. "But first, I need to get my hands on a few more things," he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with sinister intent.

"I need to push this world into chaos, turn it into an apocalypse."

The words sent a shiver through the air, as if the building itself had recoiled at the sheer malevolence behind them.

Lyerin\'s eyes glinted with excitement as he turned and began to walk away, his footsteps echoing through the empty hall. "I need to make this planet crumble…fast. Only then can I get my hands on the things I truly need."

His pace quickened, his mind already racing ahead to the next phase of his grand plan.

The old man\'s body lay forgotten, a silent testament to the deadly power Lyerin wielded and the dark future he intended to bring.

"Hahahahha! It was fun!"