Chapter 72
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 72
Chapter Title: Frantic Struggle
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Among the countless sects of the martial world, the Kill Gate was a particularly lucrative organization.
That made sense, given their line of work: assassination. Taking lives naturally commanded a hefty price.
Among them, the current assailants—the ones called the Bowkill Sect—ranked among the elite.
Bows were generally undervalued in the Central Plains martial world due to the prevalence of swordsmen, but these killers had completed countless hits wielding such unconventional weapons.
They had proven themselves time and again with blood-soaked credentials, earning the trust they now enjoyed.
Excluding the unshakable world's greatest assassin sect—the Kill Pavilion, possessors of the Heavenly Slaughter Star's transcendent killer—they were firmly ranked at the top among their peers.
In terms of revenue alone, they rivaled prestigious clans or major merchant houses.
So why had they staked everything—the lives of their nurtured assassins and every coin they'd amassed—on this insane gamble?
The reason was simple.
They needed money.
But not the kind that "rivaled prestigious clans or major merchant houses."
Not even the fortunes of great tycoons or the mountains of gold piled on battlefields would suffice.
No matter how dangerous the commissions or how many hits they pulled off, they could never scrape together enough.
They needed an astronomical sum.
Enough to surpass the empire's annual budget in a single stroke—hence targeting the Third Imperial Princess.
Put differently, they had no choice but to target her.
They had no other options.
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Even if this was a desperate last resort born of soul-crushing straits—a gamble they'd staked their very spirits on—it wasn't some reckless "whatever happens, happens" scheme.
They had planned thoroughly for the aftermath and were fully intent on surviving.
They'd sealed off the entire area and knocked out anyone who might witness it.
They'd even prepared flawless cleanup to evade imperial coroners.
Though they'd burned through their assets and piled on debt, success would cover it all.
The only thing that mattered was pulling off the plan.
To that end, they'd spent years gathering intel and even manipulated traffic flow through back channels.
Today, by "pure coincidence," the barrier zone was unusually sparse of people, with no visiting martial artists from outside.
Assembling this many was almost overkill given their meticulous preparations.
They had enough firepower—hundreds of archers and seven elite assassins—to crush any variables.
The full might of the Bowkill Sect.
Even if a great clan's enforcers showed up, they were confident in overwhelming them in this moment.
Barring some out-of-nowhere wildcard with zero plausibility, success was all but guaranteed.
Say, a transcendent master suddenly appearing to rescue the princess—that kind of freak occurrence.
What were the odds? Slim to none.
There were barely over a hundred transcendent experts active in the Central Plains.
They were all leaders or elders of major powers, unlikely to wander off lightly.
Of course, some roamed the jianghu like walking calamities.
But the Bowkill Sect's exhaustive investigations had mapped their movements; none would pass through Yunju County.
Not on the day of the operation, at least.
The princess always traveled incognito with just one guard, no other variables.
Even as a prime heir to the throne, mobilizing a transcendent for an unofficial outing was overkill.
They could beef up with the Imperial Guard, but the whole point was a discreet trip, so no.
Their intel was paranoid-level thorough; preparations excessively perfect.
If a variable still derailed it, that'd be a miracle beyond human control.
An uncontrollable uncertainty—they didn't even consider it.
If such a miracle struck, it meant heaven favored the princess and abandoned them.
And yet... damn it all, the miracle happened.
"...Heaven has forsaken us."
The Bowkill Sect's leader—a hoary white-haired elder—groaned in rising despair.
A peerless beauty with blank white eyes, clad in pristine elegant robes hugging voluptuous curves.
Her attire oddly resembled their homeland's style, but that was irrelevant.
What mattered was her terrifying prowess as a martial artist.
"White Lotus Sword... So-hyang."
A mysterious master who appeared in the martial world just a month ago, with no prior traces—like she'd dropped from the sky.
To be precise, her past was known, but she had zero record as a martial artist. An enigma.
She'd started operating in Hubei Province—the operational zone—but they'd deemed her an unlikely variable.
Shattering the Zhuge clan's main gate, leaping over Wudang's Sword Stream to challenge them to a duel—a heavenly warrior's path.
Naturally, her next stop would be another major sect, clan, or stronghold of experts.
Not some tourist spot like Yunju County, famous for hot springs and cuisine, devoid of great powers.
And yet... she'd come.
To soak in the springs? Devour famous Dongpo pork?
Who knew. Who cared.
But why today, of all days?
The day they'd wagered their lives, their comrades' lives, past and future—everything—on this gamble?
"Heh... life's fucked."
As the assassins' chief—an veteran killer and long-lived elder—he knew the might of transcendent monsters all too well.
Look at her now: their arrows might as well have been scenery as she casually descended from the inn and strolled out.
Their plan was already teetering on utter failure.
Regret stabbed his heart; he shuddered, pounded his chest, barked a hollow laugh.
But his eyes burned not with surrender—with defiant, frantic resolve.
He drew a deep breath, face twisting in agony at the horrific order he uttered, yet barked it anyway.
"All hands—no choices left. Even if we die here... we chase that sliver of possibility... no other way...!"
Charge to your deaths.
He could sacrifice himself, but sending his young subordinates to die like arrows pierced him; he ground his teeth in sorrow.
At the leader's command, hundreds of assassins drew ring sabers from their waists and charged So-hyang and Zhu Yeonhwa.
A suicidal move, forfeiting the archer's range advantage. But it was their only play left.
Arrows failed; time to trade lives for an opening.
"Ho, that's a fine glare you've got."
Terror of staking their lives, overlaid with resolve crushing that terror—unbefitting for assassins who prized calm, but to So-hyang, it was quite appealing.
They charged with bloodshot eyes, silent but roaring inwardly till their throats burst.
A soundless clamor, a desperate scream, a final cry.
"Though your spirit far outshines your skill."
Literal truth.
Most charging with blades were third-rate, barely past foundational realm; a few peak novices dotted in, but unimpressive.
Their threat came from unilateral ranged violence via archery's strengths.
Useless against So-hyang, sure—but charging head-on? Pointless.
"Tch, such a shame."
So-hyang smacked her lips, slithering through flying blades like an eel.
No counters, no blocks—just evasion by footwork, same as dodging arrows.
Unless it matched the synchronized assault she'd faced at the Zhuge clan, mere steps controlled distance enough to render this harmless.
The elder issuing rear commands blinked in disbelief.
"What the hell... since when?!"
Being crushed by overwhelming power or speed? Expected. But this? Impossible.
No blade clashes, no deflections—just steps...!
Not even swift or forceful—yet nullifying all subordinate attacks. A transcendent feat alien even to this veteran.
And all while guiding the princess by the hand in a leisurely stroll... incomprehensible.
"Hahk, hahk... m-my lady, slower...!"
"Hm? Then you'll get stabbed. Okay with that?"
"...Urgh! I'll endure!"
The princess struggled to keep up with the acrobatic dance, her imperial blood granting sturdy flesh, but lungs straining—yet manageable.
And plainly, such precarious dodges were her toying to their level.
In the end, the elder had no choice.
"Numbers Two through Seven... prepare...!"
The elite assassins—late-peak experts—watched comrades die with open eyes, fixated on one gap.
"—Now!"
They seized the split-second gap as she shattered one assault and opened her mouth to speak.
The momentary lapse in action, breath—six arrows pierced toward So-hyang.
White Head Bow Path, Secret Technique.
Brutal Strike, Single Shot: Dragon Slaying Arrow.
Aimed at head, throat, heart, ankle, liver—fierce vital shots.
Arrowheads gleamed with sword qi, speeds nearing sound barrier.
Weapon specialty maximized: inner power concentrated to extremes, bows risked snapping for max power.
A ferocious blow beyond typical peak experts.
Won't faze a true transcendent, but striking the gap post-deflection, mid-speech...?
Especially if she underestimated them...!
A slim chance of victory.
But that was just their delusion—the elder's and the assassins'.
"Eh, rude—interrupting me."
Supersonic projectiles? She'd batted worse; nothing special.
Thus, So-hyang crushed their "victory chance," their hope—like roadside trash.