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Chapter 168 Protagonist Template: Caring Beggar Boy and Ill Younger Sister

Dante listened to Jia Susu as she recounted the events, and his expressions eased. Unexpectedly, there was no big fallout. The three elders who made a move back then disappeared and were soon replaced by new ones.

It was said that they were sent out on important missions to the province capital, but all those who understood the Supreme Martial Hall's hierarchy knew that this was impossible.

However, no one came out to save or defend these elders. The core disciples especially seemed to enjoy what was going on as if watching a show. It was clear that each of them had likely been wronged in some way by these elders, so their affinity for them was very low.

Especially Shui Binglan, who was the most vicious. The Supreme Martial Hall released that information in order to give the elders face and not escalate the issue, but the young woman directly said that it was likely those elders had betrayed the faction and had been sent for judgment.

This caused those old fellows to lose face completely, and as you could imagine, they were utterly furious but unable to do anything. Da Bo and Xia Bingyin, though, knew better and simply kept their heads under the water this time.

As for Hao Donglei, he hadn't been seen in a while. It was likely that he was working on what those three dead elders promised to cough up, though Dante did not much care for it.

Dante nodded and glanced at Jia Susu. The young girl tilted her head in puzzlement, not realizing that Dante was wondering whether to make her the protagonist of this world, but decided against it because this thing was still in the testing stage.

As such, he gave her an Enhanced Energy Elixir and told her this was a treasure that Hao Donglei gave him, and after using it, she was not allowed to tell a single person about it.

Excited, Jia Susu nodded her head rapidly like a cannon, and Dante had to quickly hold her lest she snap her own neck. After that, he left his residence but did not appear on the grounds.

He simply teleported into the city and strolled around with a smile. Naturally, his Gi was a deterrent force to all onlookers, and they became greatly muted in his presence.

Dante walked around the city once and then selected his target. It was a beggar boy who had a bedridden little sister that he was raising and protecting by indenturing himself to a local gang.

Dante stopped beside the boy who was lying in a pool of his own blood as he had been beaten by his gang handler for trying to hide some money. Dante squatted and used his natural psychic abilities from his stats to read the boy's mind and discover his history.

Within the slums of Green Wind City lay the humble abode of a beggar boy named Liang.

Liang had known nothing but hardship from the day he was born. He came into this world clutching the hand of his frail younger sister, Mei, and fate had intertwined their lives ever since.

The slums of Green Wind City were unforgiving, especially for orphans like them. Abandoned by their parents as mere infants, Liang and Mei had learned to fend for themselves in this hostile environment.

From a young age, Liang had understood that to survive, one had to adapt, and adapt he did. He had become a familiar sight in the city's bustling marketplaces, his tattered clothing and dirt-smeared face a testament to his life of begging.

With his quick wit and earnest eyes, he often managed to coax a few copper coins or scraps of food from sympathetic passersby.

But Liang's life was not his alone to live. His devotion to Mei was unwavering. She was bedridden, plagued by an ailment that had weakened her frail body.

Every day, Liang would make the arduous journey to collect whatever meager provisions he could, and every night, he would sit by Mei's side, comforting her with tales of the city's martial heroes and warrior legends.

The city's underbelly was rife with illegal martial halls, trashy gangs, and vices, but Liang had learned to navigate these treacherous waters.

He had developed a keen sense of when to avoid trouble and when to seek help from the formidable martial artists who occasionally passed through the slums.

These warriors, with their awe-inspiring techniques and mysterious powers, often left Liang in awe.

As the seasons changed and the years passed, Liang's unwavering love for Mei only grew stronger. He dreamed of a day when he could afford to take her to a renowned healer, a day when she would rise from her sickbed, her sweet laughter echoing through their modest dwelling.

Liang wanted nothing more.

Dante sighed. The lad was in a daze of pain and despair, since all the money he had saved to call a healer for his sister had been taken away and his already malnourished body was beaten to an almost crippled state.

If he didn't get medical help soon, he would never be able to recover, and his sister would never get to be healed.

Dante sighed and injected the body with his subordinate AI chip nanites, which entered his body and began to repair the damage and lay a foundation. Meanwhile, as the boy's eyes began to regain their light, Dante looked into them, his own glowing amber eyes shining like the light from the heavens.

In the shadowed annals of the modern world, there existed an assassin, a man of legend and whispers, known only as the Whispering Death.

His name struck terror into the hearts of those who knew it, for he was the best in the world at what he did. The governments, the powers that be, even secret societies, all sought his services, but few dared to utter his name aloud.

Born into a world of espionage and intrigue, the Whispering Death's journey began in the dirtiest of alleys and the bleakest of underworlds.

From a young age, he displayed an uncanny talent for stealth and an unquenchable thirst for skill. He was the perfect killer, a ghost that left no trace, a whisper that could silence even the most powerful of figures.

His path was a trail of death and despair, his legend woven into the very fabric of the world's power structures.

Whether they were kings, queens, dictators, or generals, they all paid the Whispering Death's exorbitant fees to eliminate their rivals and secure their reigns. He moved like a phantom through the world's dark corners, his identity a mystery to all but a select few.

But even the most elusive shadows are not immune to the ravages of time.

The Whispering Death, for all his skill and cunning, could not escape the clutches of a terminal illness that slowly consumed his body.

His strength waned, and his once-supple movements grew stiff and painful. The world watched as the feared assassin, who had toppled empires with a single stroke, withered away.

In the dimly lit room where he spent his final days, the Whispering Death reflected on his life of shadows and silence.

He had been a perfect weapon, a supreme tool, a peerless instrument of destruction, but now, as he faced the inevitability of death, he wished for something more.

He longed to be born in a world where strength could be acquired through martial prowess, where he could have honed his body and spirit into a force to? be reckoned with.

As his breaths grew shallow and his vision dimmed, he realized that in the pursuit of power and wealth, he had sacrificed the very essence of what it meant to be alive.

In the end, the Whispering Death would not be a name etched in history, but a mere tool that had lost its edge and had to be sent to the scrapheap.

And so, like this, the world's greatest assassin met his demise, his body failing him, his legacy one of fear and shadows.

In his final moments, he wished for a different life, a chance to be something more than a killer in the night, rather to become the bright stars that shone across the land.

But as the darkness closed in around him, he found solace in the hope that in another world, another time, he might find the strength he had always yearned for.

When he opened his eyes, he found that he was lying in a pool of blood, just like many of his victims had. He pushed himself up and felt that his body was much smaller and still weak, but he could feel the endless vitality and potential held within.

"I am… Liang." The Whispering Death spoke for the first time in years, and it was to establish his identity.

The Whispering Death was no more. He was Liang, the beggar boy whose only family was his little sister Mei, whose survival depended on him. Not only that, but his dream had come true; he was in a world of martial power where one could increase their personal strength to the limit!

Clutching his fist, Liang stood up and sorted out his memories before knowing his first target; the gang that he had been working for. He would use their blood and corpses to pave the way for his rise, but he needed a way first.

Just as Liang pondered what to do, a screen appeared before him with a familiar sound.

[Ding! Detected that the host has awoken and decided to rise to the top. The God of War System has activated!]