Timeless Assassin - Chapter 218

Chapter 218: Sacrifice
(Sky God Arena, Leo’s POV)

The moment the portal shimmered shut, sealing the last of the cultists’ escape, Leo felt the weight of the silence settle across the crater like a veil.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that invited relief or calm, but the kind that marked the arrival of something inescapable, like a guillotine finally descending after an eternity of waiting.

And as he stood there, barely upright, the burn in his ribs felt like a constant scream that refused to fade, his left shoulder seizing with every breath he took, as blood slid down the side of his arm and dripped quietly on to the dust below.

Yet through it all, despite the broken state of his body, his mind remained strangely clear, as if detached from the pain entirely.

[Monarch’s Indifference] had started to work overtime to stabilize his emotions.

And with it came not peace, but sharpness— as every thought, every calculation, every possibility for survival now laid bare in front of him with brutal honesty, as the truth carved itself into his head like scripture.

‘I don’t have much mana left, my ribs are cracked, my shoulder is dislocated, there’s no weapon within reach, no escape route, no reinforcements—just me, a shattered mess of flesh and bone, facing a transcendent-level killer whose entire purpose in this moment is to end my life while the universe watches.’

And yet even knowing all of that— he didn’t panic.

Because panic was a luxury he couldn’t afford anymore.

What he needed now was time as his only shot at survival was through external intervention, and the only thing he had left to buy it with was his breath and his tongue.

‘The only shot I have left to survive is to stall. And the only tool I have left to do it with… is my voice.’ Leo calculated, as he began thinking about what were the best words to trigger his opponent and bait a response?

‘Should I beg for him to spare me? Should I mock him for attacking a kid?’ Leo wondered, as swallowing the copper taste of blood in his mouth, he kept his eyes locked on the cloaked figure ahead— who moved towards him calmly with a camera cradled loosely in one hand, and a dagger in another.

However, while he thought of many opening lines to speak, eventually he settled on the most cliche one, as he asked.

“Why are you doing this…?”

Leo asked this, not as a plea, not as some naive cry for mercy. But as a question that he needed the man to answer, if only to educate the billions watching this live.

“I’m not from a powerful clan… I have no legacy to threaten you with… I’m a nobody, born and raised in obscurity… So why me? Why kill me?”

There was a pause.

Then—amusement.

A dry chuckle escaped from behind the masked man’s lips, as he tilted his head upward, just slightly, toward the shimmering barrier where Dupravel Nuna and the other top brass continued to rain down blows, to no avail.

And then slowly— he looked back towards Leo.

“You know,” he said, his voice soaked in sarcasm, layered with something darker than simple humor.

“The way the universe paints us— the so-called Cult of Ascension— we’re always labelled as the villains, aren’t we? The madmen in cloaks. The zealots with no cause. Butcherers. Maniacs.”

He took a step forward, not fast, not sudden, but measured, deliberate, as his pitch rose.

“But we are not that,” he continued, as the camera’s red light blinked, still rolling, still capturing every second for the universe to see.

“I don’t take pleasure in killing a mere Grandmaster. Especially not one who’s already at the edge of passing out. Especially not one who, truth be told, earned my respect with his fighting today.”

Another step.

“But I must kill you, because killing you means something.”

Another step—closer now.

“Unfair, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone turning somber, almost reflective. “You, who’ve done nothing to us. You, who never once raised your blades against our cause. You, who might never have crossed paths with us at all…”

He stopped then— eyes fixed on Leo, voice dropping like a blade.

“But then again—Noah Stormwind never hurt the righteous alliance either.”

The name struck harder than any weapon could.

“Our Dragon. Our future. Our hope.”

He said it with reverence, with pain buried beneath steel, and in that moment, Leo saw it— the raw hatred within the man that didn’t need faking.

“Noah was the kindest soul I’ve ever known. He didn’t care for power, didn’t care for conquest— only for guiding our people, for protecting those who had no voice. And for that, he was hunted… betrayed… assassinated.”

The man’s gaze flicked upward once more, toward the man still hammering uselessly against the barrier— Dupravel Nuna.

“That snake up there slit his throat. Not because Noah was evil. Not because he was a threat. But because Noah was loved.”

“And now… you,” Jishan said, turning back, his tone hardening, the bitterness in his chest surfacing like a tide.

“You, who captivated the galaxy today. You, who rallied the hopeless and dragged your team from the depths of defeat. You, who now carry the same weight of admiration Noah once did.” He said approaching, as he reached an arms length away.

“I must kill you today to pass-on the same pain that we once felt to those watching at the righteous alliance, so that they dare not think about coming after our talents in the future—”

Leo’s eyes widened in panic as he heard those words, as he tried to shift his stance and balance his weight, preparing a make-shift fighting stance, however, it was utterly useless.

With his left shoulder rendered useless, he couldn’t even put up a proper guard, while his injured waist and damaged spine made it hard for him to squat.

To make matters even worse, he moved too clumsily to put any real distance between them when retreating backwards, nor did he have the stamina left to dodge and weave, when he saw Jishan sending a punch his way, as–

*BAM*

“Kugh—”

With just a single brutal punch to the gut, Jishan drove the air from his lungs in a burst of pain so violent it shattered what little balance he had left.

*THUD—*

He buckled.

His knees gave in as he dropped, fingers instinctively clutching at the black robes in front of him, knuckles pale against fabric, as his head slumped powerlessly against Jishan’s thigh.

The universe watched, as the same champion that helped Rodova come back from a 3-1 low to a 5-4 win, now hung helplessly onto a terrorist’s robes, waiting for judgement to befall him, as Jishan pointed his weapon towards him with a slow and steady hand.

“So say goodbye to the universe, Leo Skyshard, for I’m about to immortalize you forever—” Jishan said softly, almost tenderly, as the scene locked into place.

With blood on his lips and defeat pressed into his spine, Leo Skyshard knelt beneath the cold gaze of the lens—offered not as a warrior in battle, but as a sacrifice meant to echo through the annals of history.