The Snake God with SSS Rank Evolution System

Adam’s hand shot forward, dark energy coalescing into a slender, wicked spear. Shadow Lance. The projectile streaked toward Sean’s chest, humming with contained power.

Sean twisted, the spear passing close enough to tear through his sleeve and graze his arm. Blood welled from the shallow wound, dark against his pale skin. He didn’t flinch. His black eyes remained fixed on Adam, burning with undiminished hatred.

”Secret Shadow Art: Voidwalker’s Elegy.”

His form flickered, then vanished entirely. No lingering haze—this was true absence, as if he had stepped out of reality itself. The shadows in the forge trembled, and from every patch of darkness, blades emerged. Dozens of them, each one a copy of his cursed dagger, each one aimed at Adam from a different angle.

They flew.

Adam’s body moved before his mind could track the projectiles. Mirage Cascade blurred him into three afterimages, each one dodging in a different direction. The blades struck stone, wood, the bodies of fallen assassins but not Adam.

He reformed several paces away, a thin cut on his cheek bleeding freely. His smile didn’t waver.

”Still weak,” he said, almost conversationally. ”You’re trying hard. I’ll give you that. But trying isn’t enough.”

Sean’s jaw tightened. His black eyes blazed with fury.

”Shut up! SHUT UP!” He lunged again, his dagger a blur of shadow and desperation.

Adam sidestepped the thrust, his movements steady, almost lazy. Sean’s blade passed through empty air, and his momentum carried him stumbling forward. Adam’s hand shot out, gripping the back of Sean’s collar, yanking him to a halt.

”So slow,” Adam murmured. ”So predictable.”

Sean snarled, twisting in Adam’s grip, his dagger sweeping toward Adam’s throat.

Adam released him and stepped back. The blade whistled past, close enough to ruffle his hair.

”[Monarch’s Pierce].”

His fist drove forward in a single, devastating line. The air cracked around his knuckles. The strike caught Sean square in the chest, just below the sternum.

CRACK—BOOM!

Sean’s eyes bulged. Blood erupted from his mouth, spraying across Adam’s fist, his arm, his chest. He flew backward, crashing through a stack of crates, his body bouncing once, twice, before skidding to a halt against the far wall. His dagger clattered from his grip, spinning across the blood-slicked stone.

He lay there for a moment, motionless. Then, with a groan that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than his throat, he pushed himself up.

His arms trembled. His legs shook. Blood poured from his mouth, dripping down his chin, staining his torn shirt. His chest was caved in, ribs visible through tear the flesh.

”Move...” Sean’s voice was a rasp, barely audible. ”Move, damn it... I have to kill him... I have to...”

He forced himself to his knees. Then, somehow, to his feet. He swayed, nearly fell, caught himself against the wall. His black eyes, still fixed on Adam, held no fear. Only hatred.

Adam walked toward him slowly, his footsteps deliberate on the stone floor. Blood dripped from his knuckles, but his expression was calm, almost bored.

”Good,” he said, stopping a few paces away. ”Those eyes. That hatred. Hold onto it. Feed it. Let it be the last thing you feel.”

Sean’s lips curled into a snarl, blood bubbling between his teeth. ”I’ll... kill you... I’ll...”

Adam’s hand shot out.

His fingers, tipped with dark claws, swept across Sean’s throat in a single, fluid arc.

The cut was clean.

Sean’s eyes widened. His hands flew to his neck, pressing against the wound, trying to stem the tide of blood that poured between his fingers. It was useless. The crimson flowed hot and fast, painting his hands, his chest, the stone floor beneath him.

He tried to speak. Only a wet, gurgling sound emerged.

His knees buckled. He fell forward, catching himself on his hands, then his elbows, then his chest. His dark eyes, still fixed on Adam, began to fade. The hatred, the fury, the desperate love that had driven him—all of it bled away with the life pouring from his throat.

His body went still.

[Sean (Assassin Commander) Defeated!]

[+450 EXP | +643 EP]

[Leela (Assassin Commander) Defeated!]

[+530 EXP | +540 EP]

[Multiple Assassin Defeats Calculated!]

[Approximately 50 Enemies Eliminated]

[+1276 EXP | +1180 EP]

[Ding! Level Up!]

[Level: 75 -> 76]

[EXP: 15/640 -> 465/660]

[Ding! Level Up!]

[Level: 76 -> 77]

[EXP: 465/660 -> 805/680]

[Ding! Level Up!]

[Level: 77 -> 78]

[EXP: 805/680 -> 125/700]

[Next Level Up: 291/700]

[Skill Point Gained: +3]

[Total Skill Points: 18]

[Evolution Points: 2104 -> 4317]

[Crown of the Hollow Glutton]

[+2 Souls Acquired]

[+3 Souls Acquired]

[+5 Souls Acquired]

[+5 Souls Acquired]

[+1 Soul Acquired]

[+3 Souls Acquired]

[+1 Souls Acquired]

[+32 Souls Acquired]

[Souls Captured: 315 -> 367]

Adam stood over Sean’s body, looking down at the fallen assassin. The rain, still falling through the holes in the roof, washed the blood from his hands, diluted the crimson pooling at his feet.

He turned away.

Ignis’s flames flickered, casting dancing shadows across her face. Her voice was light, almost cheerful.

”Finally! I thought he’d never shut up.”

Lilith’s threads retracted, coiling around her fingers like contented serpents. Her smile was serene, but her crimson eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

”It was... entertaining. Watching his hope drain away along with his blood.”

Isolde stepped out of the shadows, her pale eyes sweeping over the carnage. Her voice was quiet.

”It’s over.”

Adam walked toward the blacksmith’s forge, where Hilt still crouched behind her anvil, her hammer raised, her weathered face pale. She hadn’t moved since the fighting began.

Hilt’s weathered face was pale beneath the streaks of soot, her pale grey eyes wide as Adam approached. The hammer in her hand trembled, but she didn’t lower it. Her internal voice was a frantic whisper, a litany of curses and fear.

’Damn it. What the hell are these people? They’re like walking disasters. Their power is beyond reason. That old fox Croft... what was he thinking, lying to them? Leading them here like this?’

Adam stopped a few paces from her, his crimson eyes studying her face. Blood still dripped from his knuckles, and the rain sluiced through the holes in the roof, washing pink rivulets across the stone floor.

”I knew something was off from the start,” Adam said, his voice calm, almost conversational. ”Assassins don’t just show up conveniently like that. Looking for trouble right when we arrived.” He tilted his head, his gaze sharp. ”You were the one who lured them here, weren’t you?”

Hilt’s grip on her hammer tightened. Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing.

Adam’s lips curved into a thin, cold smile. ”No. Not you. Croft.” He took a step closer, and Hilt flinched. ”He’s the one who planned all this, isn’t he? Sent us to you knowing the guild would be watching. Knowing they’d attack.”

Hilt’s throat bobbed. Her voice, when it came, was hoarse, barely audible.

”I... I didn’t have a choice.” She swallowed, her eyes darting toward the bodies scattered across her ruined forge. ”Croft said... if I didn’t help him, he’d ruin me. Take everything I’ve built. I’ve spent decades building this forge, my reputation...”

Adam’s expression didn’t change. ”So you let him use you as bait.”

Hilt’s shoulders sagged. The hammer lowered, its head resting against the anvil with a soft clink.

”He said you were dangerous. That the guild needed to be dealt with, and you were the ones who could do it. He just... he just needed a reason for you to fight them.” She looked up at Adam, her eyes pleading. ”I didn’t know there would be so many. I didn’t know...”