Hitman with a Badass System
chapter-1065

As Michael and Darth plunged into the portal's embrace, he felt a powerful tug, like being torn through a vortex. Unlike the instant teleportation he was accustomed to in the mortal realm, this journey was more like traversing a bridge of light, a luminous passage that carried him alongside Darth.

"So, you were one of Agra's angels?" Michael inquired during their journey.

"That's a part of my life I'd rather leave behind," Darth responded, his voice carrying the fatigue from his battle with Larn. The backlash of Larn's attack had affected Darth due to the connection he shared with his summoned creature, the golden eagle.

"I won't pry into the details, but you did drag me into your mess. If Agra's angels come hunting for me, you'll have to pay the consequences," Michael stated, his tone frigid. His purpose in the realm of gods was to strengthen himself and locate his seeds of darkness, not to make new enemies.

"I apologize. But facing Agra was inevitable for you. Unless you have a penchant for death and destruction, you'll find yourself at odds with him sooner or later," Darth responded, his voice tinged with resentment towards Agra.

"If you ever find yourself at the infinite ocean, perhaps we'll cross paths again. Don't worry, your secret of being a god is safe with me," Darth vowed, assuring Michael of his discretion. Michael could sense the honesty in Darth's gaze.

A strong feeling stirred within Michael, hinting that their paths might converge again in the future. It seemed wise to spare Darth's life, as he could potentially become a valuable ally if they indeed clashed with Agra.

"That's good. Now, how much longer until we reach the end of this bridge?" Michael inquired.

"Just a few more minutes. I'll create a branching exit for you that leads to the outskirts of Nimbosia. Direct teleportation into the city is prohibited, so you'll need to make your way from the outskirts," Darth explained.

"Understood," Michael acknowledged. As Darth inscribed glowing runes along the light bridge, Michael sensed the fabric of space shifting. Before long, a bright light emerged at the tunnel's end.

"Your exit awaits," Darth shouted, pointing towards the light.

"Good luck to you, and may you find what you're seeking in the infinite ocean," Michael conveyed before redirecting his trajectory towards the beckoning light.

"May Fortuna's favor be with you," Darth bid him farewell as Michael vanished into the light. The brilliance swallowed Michael, whisking him away from the bridge and depositing him onto a muddy path.

He collided face-first with the path's wet ground, the sounds of torrential rain overwhelming his senses. Abruptly, a resounding neigh filled the air, followed by a shout that pierced through the downpour.

"Where the hell did you come from?!" a voice exclaimed.

"Do you have a death wish, you asshole?"

"If you want to die, fall in front of another carriage!" another voice yelled at Michael.

Amidst the heavy rain, Michael slowly pulled himself up from the muddy ground, silently cursing the teleportation portal that had deposited him here. As he rose, he noticed a carriage hitched to four sturdy brown horses, with three drenched figures atop it.

The man in the center, gripping the reins, seemed to be in his early forties and had a commanding presence. Flanking him were two younger brown-haired men, all dressed in wet, broad robes.

"Get off the path!" the man with the bald head ordered.

"Can you direct me to Nimbosia?" Michael wiped mud from his face and asked the trio. They appeared momentarily surprised, then realization dawned on them.

"You're a refugee?" the bald man inquired.

"Yeah," Michael decided to go along with the man's assumption.

"The carriage is full. If you're okay with it, you can sit on top of the carriage," one of the brown-haired men suggested.

"That works for me," Michael quickly agreed. Surveying the area, he saw nothing but a long path cutting through grasslands and forests in the distance. Traveling with these three on the carriage seemed like a reasonable choice.

"Hop on," one of the brown-haired men reached out and assisted Michael onto the carriage's roof.

With a shake of the reins, the bald man urged the horses into a gallop along the muddy path.

"So, where did you come from?" the bald man inquired.

"Out of nowhere," the younger man beside him chimed in.

"I bet he's from Thorndale," another man added before Michael could even speak. Michael's feigned surprise at their deduction seemed to amuse them.

"How did you know?" Michael asked, pretending to be amazed by their keen observation. His tone flattered the three, eliciting proud smiles from them.

"We've been shuttling refugees to and from Nimbosia for months. So it's either you're from Nimbosia or Thorndale. Your question about the direction gave it away," explained Billy, the bald man.

"I'm Billy," he introduced himself.

"Here's Leon and Micah," Billy gestured to his companions.

"How are things in Nimbosia?" Michael inquired.

"How are things in Thorndale?" Micah responded with a question.

"Not good," Michael guessed, given the ongoing war between the two kingdoms.

"Well, in Nimbosia, things are worse. This rain is nothing compared to what falls within the kingdom. It's as if Rainar is punishing his domain for lack of devotion. Just last week, a group of orphan children drowned," Billy's voice carried a mix of anger and sadness.

The news of orphan children's deaths struck a chord with Michael. Having been an orphan himself and having cared for children like that, he felt a surge of emotion. Blaming Rainar for their deaths, he silently labeled him as a villain.

"Gods," Micah sighed.

"Shut up, you fool. Don't mock the gods. May Fortuna shield your words from the pantheon and other deities," Billy admonished sternly, touching the medallion hanging from his neck.

"What's your name?" Leon asked.

"John," Michael offered a simple, common name.

"Who do you pray for?" Billy inquired, showing his religious side.

"Fortuna," Michael promptly replied, invoking the name of the Goddess of Luck. She seemed well-known in this world, so Michael decided to use her name. Unbeknownst to them, they were traveling with a god.

"Fellow Fortuna worshipper. Makes sense, as you met us instead of Agra's followers," Leon chuckled.

"Shut up, Leon. Don't even mention that vile god's name. You'll bring bad luck upon us," Billy quickly silenced him and touched his medallion again.

The mention of Agra's name instilled fear in their eyes, deepening Michael's curiosity about this deity.

"Do you have any gold with you, John?" Micah suddenly inquired.

"I do," Michael responded, pulling out a few gold coins from his pocket, assuming they were asking for payment.

However, their surprise was evident as they saw the plain gold coins in Michael's hand.

"What kind of gold coins are these? There's no crest or symbol on them," Billy observed.

"It's raw gold," Leon added.

"John, you won't be able to use these anywhere. If I were you, I'd try one of the dwarven banks and exchange them for Nimbosia currency," Micah advised.

"I'll do that. Thanks for the heads-up," Michael nodded.

Putting the gold coins back in his pocket, he realized that the realm used different currencies, prompting him to convert his gold coins into something usable. Soon, the carriage entered a dense forest where the canopy offered some respite from the heavy rain.

"Hey John, do you happen to have a sword or something to defend yourself?" Billy's sudden question took Michael by surprise.

"Yes," Michael nodded.

"Why do you ask?" Michael inquired.

"Nothing. Just curious," Billy evaded, though his tone held a trace of fear.

An eerie silence fell over the three of them as the sound of galloping horses grew louder. Michael remained quiet, his senses heightened. The forest appeared ordinary on the surface, like any he had seen in the mortal realm.

Yet, Michael's heightened awareness alerted him to hidden hostiles. His keen sight allowed him to spot figures concealed behind trees and bushes, despite their attempts at hiding.

"I have a bad feeling, Micah," Billy's voice quivered. Though he hadn't revealed to Michael, whom he knew as John, that rumors had circulated about Agra worshippers in this forest, he hoped they were mere rumors. These worshippers, known as vile bandits, wandered this realm without allegiance to any kingdom, driven solely by death and destruction to appease their god.

In silence, Michael observed these hidden figures in the forest, anticipating their move. As expected, trees on either side of the path suddenly crashed down, startling the horses. Michael gripped the carriage tightly, holding his position. But Billy, Micah, and Leon were thrown off.

Amidst the commotion, cries of babies and the panicked voices of refugees echoed from inside the carriage. Figures clad in pitch-black robes emerged from the forest, surrounding the carriage from all sides.

"Stay still!"

"Don't move!"

Their orders were accompanied by the glint of crimson-red blades.

Suddenly, a robed figure leaped onto the carriage and kicked Michael off. Pretending to stumble and fall, Michael yielded control of the carriage to the Agra worshippers. From his vantage point, he saw refugees, clad in tattered clothes and clutching belongings in small pouches, emerging from the carriage. Babies were held tightly in their arms, trembling with fear and shock.

"Agra has favored us. We're about to spill a lot of blood," one of the robed figures said with a sinister grin.

With cautious movements, Michael lifted himself up from the ground as the Agra worshippers directed the refugees out of the carriage. The refugees were lined up and forced to kneel down alongside Michael.

The refugees, their faces etched with shock and fear, cried out in a mixture of despair and desperation, pleading to the Agra worshippers to spare them.

"Please, we're just innocent families!"

"I have a baby, please don't hurt her!"

"Have mercy! We've lost everything!"

Tears streamed down their faces as they clung to one another, their voices trembling in terror. Their cries echoed in the forest, a heartbreaking chorus of anguish and vulnerability.

The Agra worshippers, however, showed no sign of compassion. They reveled in the refugees' suffering, their laughter ringing with a cruel edge.

"You think your pleas matter to us?"

"Pathetic mortals, your god won't save you now!"

The worshippers taunted and jeered, their eyes glinting with sadistic delight. One of them raised his blade high, the crimson-red steel reflecting the despair in the refugees' eyes.

Billy, Micah, and Leon were dealt swift blows, their faces struck with punches and then thrown into the crowd. The Agra worshippers quickly snatched their weapons, disarming them. Michael managed to evade their attention since his weapons were concealed within his armor, and his simple brown robes masked his true identity.

The worshippers forced the refugees to sit in a row on their knees, their faces etched with terror and confusion.

"Let us go, you monsters! These are innocent people!" Billy's voice rose in defiance.

The worshippers only responded with mocking laughter, their faces twisted with sadistic amusement.

"Expecting mercy from us, are you? Insolent fools," sneered one of the worshippers, a heavily built man with a brutish demeanor.

[The host should start earning badass points by saving these refugees. You will need worshippers in the future, and this seems like a good place to start your god hood]

Michael was taken aback when he suddenly heard a voice in his head—the system that urged him to earn "badass points" by saving the refugees, seeing it as a way to gather worshippers for his own future godhood.

The burly man leading the worshippers paused, his attention drawn to a red-haired woman clutching her baby and a little girl close. His gaze lingered on her, his intentions disturbingly evident.

He spoke with a perverse grin, "Agra would delight in me slaughtering you three."

The man's gaze lingered on the red-haired woman, his intentions evident. Michael sat beside her, waiting for the right moment to unleash his power upon the Agra worshippers.