Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate-Chapter 316: BATTLING DOUBLE DIGITS

Quietly, he reached out and pried one of the daggers from Number 19's rigid grasp, the metal cool against his palm as he claimed it effortlessly.

With a blank, nonchalant face that revealed nothing of his inner storm, he then grasped the edge of Number 19's plain mask and lifted it away, exposing the features beneath.

"Any last words?" Greg echoed back mockingly, his voice devoid of warmth, turning the goblin's taunt against him with chilling precision.

"You will regret it if you—" Number 19 began, his words tumbling out in a desperate rasp, his eyes darting wildly in panic.

"I think it's better if you keep your words to yourself," Greg interrupted coldly, his tone slicing through the plea like a blade through silk.

In one swift, fluid motion, he brought the dagger down, severing Number 19's head cleanly from his shoulders, a spray of dark ichor arcing briefly in the air before the body slumped lifelessly.

Opening his mouth wide, Greg unleashed a torrent of Abyssal dragon flames, the inferno roaring forth in a blazing cascade of black and crimson fire that engulfed Number 19's remains completely. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

The flames consumed him voraciously, reducing the goblin to nothing but charred crisps in mere seconds, the intense heat crackling and popping as it devoured every trace.

Nothing remained of him afterward, save for fine ashes that a cool, whispering breeze swept away across the courtyard, scattering them into oblivion like forgotten dust.

Greg, exuding an air of supreme arrogance, pivoted to face the remaining trio, his posture relaxed yet commanding as he fixed his gaze squarely on Number 16 with a carefree, almost dismissive demeanor.

"You'll have to do more than that if you plan on making me take this seriously," Greg taunted Number 16 coldly, his words dripping with contempt, the dagger still loosely held in his hand.

"Hah," Number 16 scoffed, his voice laced with mocking amusement as he threw his head back slightly. "Quite the arrogant bastard you are."

He erupted into a thrill of manic laughter, the sound echoing harshly off the castle walls, reverberating like a madman's glee in the charged atmosphere.

Then, just as abruptly, he ceased laughing, his masked face snapping forward to stare at Greg with a sudden, piercing coldness that chilled the air between them.

"Makes me want to kill you even more," Number 16 declared icily, his aura flaring once again with intensified malice, shadows beginning to writhe around his form like living serpents.

"Come then," Greg invited challengingly, spreading his arms slightly in a gesture of bold invitation, his golden eyes locking onto his foe without a trace of fear.

"Show me what you've got to offer."

Underneath the feet of Number 16, a vast pool of shadows materialized, undulating and rippling just like turbulent waves of dark water, its surface churning with an eerie, fluid motion that distorted the ground beneath.

From within this shadowy reservoir, a horde of shadow slaves and more formidable shadow variants erupted forth, their forms coalescing from the inky depths like nightmarish apparitions clawing their way into existence.

"Attack," Number 16 commanded sharply, his voice laced with disdain as he folded his arms across his chest. "Numbers 18 and 17, lead them."

"Don't be arrogant and attack together," Greg advised coolly, his grip tightening around the hilt of Heaven Defier, the legendary sword humming faintly with latent power in his steady hands.

"You'd have a higher chance of living a bit longer that way."

"Shut up!" Number 17 bellowed furiously, charging forward toward Greg with a frigid glare etched into his feral eyes, his muscles coiling like springs ready to unleash.

Like Number 18, he burned with a fierce desire for revenge, the fresh sting of their ally's death fueling his reckless assault in the open courtyard where the air grew thick with impending violence.

Number 17 hailed from the rare and elusive golden werewolf race, a lineage known for its shimmering fur and primal ferocity, though he had encountered Rebecca during one of her excursions alongside the Universe Ender.

In his youth, the foolish werewolf plagued by mediocre talent and an overinflated ego, had brazenly challenged Rebecca in her nascent days of rigorous training under the Universe Ender's watchful guidance.

Of course, he had met a swift and merciless end at the hands of the princess, his life extinguished in a blur of overwhelming power, only to be resurrected and preserved as one of her loyal puppets, a concession granted by the Universe Ender solely due to his insignificant strength and limited abilities that posed no real threat.

Number 18 surged into motion, his speed a blur of impressive agility as he vanished and reappeared abruptly behind Greg, the wind whistling from his sudden displacement in the charged atmosphere.

He swung his razor-sharp claws in a vicious arc toward Greg's back, aiming to slash deep into flesh and inflict a grievous wound that would spill crimson across the cobblestones.

But Greg reacted with equal swiftness, his instincts honed to perfection as he twisted his body sharply in a fluid pivot, raising Heaven Defier to block the incoming strike with a resounding clash of metal against claw.

Number 18, seizing the momentary opening created by Number 17's distraction, refused to relent, his multifaceted form bristling as he fired a searing laser beam from one of his numerous, glowing eyes straight toward Greg, the energy crackling through the air with deadly precision.

Greg, spotting the incoming beam with his sharp golden eyes, swiftly knocked Number 17's claws upward with a burst of raw force, redirecting the attack harmlessly into the air above them.

In the same fluid sequence, with a deliberate and powerful movement, he drove his boot into the exposed chest of Number 18, the impact resounding like a thunderclap as it sent the assailant hurtling backward through the courtyard, his form skidding across the rough cobblestones.

Turning with blinding speed, executing all these actions in a seamless blur of motion that showcased his unparalleled reflexes, Greg deftly dodged the scorching laser beam from Number 18, the energy sizzling past him and scorching a black mark into the nearby castle wall.

"Move towards me!" he commanded in the ancient, guttural tongue of dragons, the words infused with commanding magic that rippled through the air like an invisible chain, compelling Number 18 to advance against his will, his body jerking forward without any control over his own limbs.

With Number 18 now positioned directly in front of him, utterly defenseless and frozen in the grip of the draconic compulsion, Greg raised Heaven Defier high, its blade gleaming ominously under the dim sky.

In a decisive downward strike, he brought the sword cleaving through the air with unerring precision.