Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Hebei Peng Clan (11)
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"He's not here right now, is he?"
"Even if he were, it would be the same. The time hasn't come yet."
The one-eyed monk spoke in a flat, emotionless voice. Still, his stubbornness came through clearly. The sallow-faced monk nodded calmly in response.
"Understood."
The sallow-faced monk's expression didn't change. He showed no sign of disappointment. Under the moonlight, the shadows beneath his eyes looked even darker.
He looked straight at the Messenger of the Conference and continued.
"Not tonight. You should go."
The killing intent from the Messenger of the Conference thickened.
He had been standing right at the edge of the cliff, but now he took a step forward.
The sallow-faced monk added one more thing.
"You made the right choice. Go that way, not this one."
The monk's hand pointed toward the cliff, then shifted back toward the forest they had emerged from.
The Messenger of the Conference took another step closer. He hadn't sheathed his sword.
"Don't mock me."
You're bargaining over life and death right in my face. As if they held the power over it. A death envoy was what he was. That power had always been his, not theirs. To the Messenger of the Conference, it was an insult to his very name.
The sallow-faced monk spoke in the same calm tone.
"I have no intention of fighting."
"Who says?"
The Messenger of the Conference raised his Death Spirit Sword.
The sallow-faced monk glanced briefly at the one-eyed monk. The one-eyed monk showed no reaction. The sallow-faced monk understood what that meant.
"Are you really going to do this?"
The sallow-faced monk asked the Messenger of the Conference.
"Who will come at me first?"
The Messenger of the Conference answered with a question of his own.
The sallow-faced monk shook out the hem of his kasaya with both hands and drew them out. At the same time, the one-eyed monk clenched his fists.
"You're mistaken. If we intended to kill each other, we wouldn't bother with one-on-one."
The sallow-faced monk replied.
The Messenger of the Conference didn't seem flustered at all.
"Good. Then I'll take you both on."
The Messenger of the Conference said. He immediately stomped down in a firm stance.
Despite the powerful stomp, no sound came. That earlier fool hadn't even been worthy of swinging his sword at. These two were different.
His sword shot toward the sallow-faced monk, thick with malevolent energy.
Clang!
The sallow-faced monk whipped the sleeve of his kasaya.
It was the famous Shaolin robe sleeve technique. Iron sword met cloth sleeve, and a metallic clang rang out.
Powerful internal energy transmitted through.
Flutter!
The robe sleeve lashed out like a blade. The force within it was immense. It was hard to believe such power could come from those skinny arms.
The power and speed of the robe sleeve were exquisitely perfect, but the Messenger of the Conference's reaction speed was dazzling.
He lightly thrust his sword to deflect the robe sleeve's trajectory, then kicked off the ground to evade. The robe sleeve swept sharply through the air, but the Messenger of the Conference was already out of range.
The Messenger of the Conference immediately resumed his sword assault.
Death spirit energy surged. Sinister aura began to dominate the entire clearing.
The sallow-faced monk expressionlessly swung both hands. His wrapping robe sleeve technique clashed with the Death Spirit Sword. Another shockwave spread out.
Claaaang!
The sallow-faced monk leaped back. To evade the aftermath of the death spirit energy.
What a joke.
The Messenger of the Conference eyed the sallow-faced monk's forehead. Only four precepts marks.
A user of Shaolin Buddhist martial arts, yet unable to neutralize the death spirit energy at all. These weren't monks. They were murderers far removed from Buddha's teachings.
Thud!
He heard the sound of a stance being taken.
Strange fellows, eerie ones.
The watching one-eyed monk actually thrust out his fist. The Messenger of the Conference twisted his waist and swung his Death Spirit Sword horizontally.
Boom!
Fist met blade, and an explosion erupted. It felt like being struck by a lump of iron. Arhat Divine Fist. Bare fist repelled a sword infused with internal energy. The Messenger of the Conference used the rebound force to leap back.
This one too.
The one-eyed monk didn't pursue. He held his fist raised, gathering power—it was visible.
With a paang! sound, sinister energy dispersed from his fist and vanished. Death spirit energy worked on these bodies.
The one-eyed monk's age was hard to gauge. Judging by the wrinkles around his scar, he seemed between middle and old age. Yet his precept marks were the same four as the young one's. Meaning he hadn't properly received Buddha's teachings.
Killing Shaolin monks wouldn't be easy to deal with afterward, but they had to die. Adding their vengeful spirits to his Death Spirit Sword would make it an even more powerful demonic blade.
Killing intent rose visibly. The surroundings seemed to darken.
He muttered an incantation under his breath. He planned to swallow the sallow-faced monk whole in one go with the peerless technique, Death Spirits Covering the Skies.
That was when it happened.
"Stop."
The one-eyed monk lowered his fist and spoke to the sallow-faced monk.
The sallow-faced monk turned to him.
"What's the matter?"
"Something's come up."
At his words, the sallow-faced monk looked up.
He gazed into the distance. Toward the south.
"I can't hear it well."
"The mask has appeared."
The one-eyed monk said. The sallow-faced monk's expression didn't change. His weary eyes just blinked once. Instead, it was the Messenger of the Conference whose complexion shifted.
The sallow-faced monk looked at the stiffened face of the Messenger of the Conference and spoke regretfully. It was the first emotional change in the monk's voice.
"Unfortunately, we'll have to end this here."
The Messenger of the Conference grew furious.
"Arrogant fools! Did you think Mount Tai's North Star would last forever?"
"Nothing lasts forever."
The Messenger of the Conference said no more. He didn't want to waste words on them.
No matter that they were from Shaolin, such lawlessness was unheard of.
He launched himself at the sallow-faced monk, swinging his sword. The sallow-faced monk didn't counter. He retreated backward. Instead, a fearsome gust came from the side.
Kwaaaang!
In an instant, the Messenger of the Conference flipped his body and thrust his Death Spirit Sword. An explosion burst forth.
"We said to stop."
A face full of sword scars. A face practically shredded, with a slash crossing one eye twitching. The entire dead, dull gray eyeball had turned pitch black.
Seeing that eye, the Messenger of the Conference involuntarily stepped back.
A demonic energy more terrifying than the blood-soaked Death Spirit Sword emanated from it. The black-eyed monk said.
"In time, your fortune tellers will seek out the Long River."
The sallow-faced monk's form had already merged into the forest's darkness. The black eyeball reverted to its original dead gray. The now ordinary one-eyed monk vanished in the same direction.
Thus, the Non-Sword Alliance's Fourth Sword Venerable, the Messenger of the Conference, encountered Shaolin's Rakshasa Assassins, Mad Rakshasa and Sick Rakshasa.
The Messenger of the Conference did not pursue them.
He needed blood to quench his rage, but he decided to judge coldly.
This time, he turned toward the cliff.
The pitch-black Sapcheon River flowed leisurely below. The current was strong. Naturally, the bloodied red water from before was gone.
His killing intent didn't rise as before. The thought of descending to confirm the death had vanished.
He turned his body. The word "mask" lingered in his mind, but that matter was none of his concern anyway. He had come here for a different reason.
He leaped into the forest. In a direction slightly different from where the Rakshasa Assassins had disappeared.
* * *
Splash! Glub glub glub!
The impact on his body was no joke. It felt like his whole body would shatter.
He saw blood spreading from his empty shoulder.
Swimming with one arm was extremely difficult. Diving was even harder.
The blood loss was severe; his mind grew hazy.
Even as he fell, he didn't take his eyes off the arm plummeting with him.
The arm sank straight down the moment it hit the water. His body was already deep.
He widened his eyes.
By heaven's luck. He could see the arm sinking just ahead, close by.
That came before stopping the bleeding. If it vanished from sight, it was over.
He exerted all his strength to push forward and seized the right arm with his left hand.
Grabbing the severed arm felt utterly bizarre.
He couldn't swim while clutching the arm. He shoved it haphazardly into the inside of his upper garment. A arm that had always been against his skin now felt alien to the touch.
Next came stopping the bleeding.
The Messenger of the Conference was probably watching from above, so he couldn't surface right away.
His internal energy was depleted, his meridians twisted. And underwater. Acupressure was difficult. Still, he managed somehow.
The right arm tried to slip out from his bosom. He gripped the hem tightly with his left hand. The arm was hard to manage. Deep under the surface, he propelled himself with his legs alone. The current was decent, so he gained some speed.
Only after a long while did he surface.
"Puha! Heok! Heok! Heok!"
It felt like he was dying.
He was gasping so hard he didn't care if the Messenger of the Conference heard. He caught his breath quickly. He kicked his legs to embrace a protruding rock with one arm.
He had come farther than expected; the cliff he'd leaped from was completely out of sight. The bent gorge made it hard to gauge position.
He gripped the right arm firmly again and let the current carry him. No waterfall, but rapids lay ahead. He had to spot them and exit in advance.
Roooaaar! Roooaaar!
The roar of water grew loud ahead. Time to head to shore. He swam sideways with all his might. His vision darkened. Consciousness flickered.
He barely reached the bank.
Just before the rapids. Drifting that far would have been truly dangerous. Escaped the Grim Reaper, only to nearly drown.
"Heok! Heok!"
Panting heavily, he trudged over round pebbles.
Water poured from his body. It weighed a ton. Profound experts could shake off water instantly with internal energy even in water, they said. He lacked that energy. Long abandoned, but now he craved it desperately.
He sat on a broad rock.
He pulled out the right arm from his bosom. Not just the feel, but the sight was awkward. Placed on his knee, it was already turning black and blue.
He stared blankly, then brought his left hand around to his back.
A sword was still lodged there. His hand barely reached the hilt. His fingers gripped the slippery, wet blade. Channeling faint internal energy gave enough friction to pull without injury.
"Kuhuk!"
The blade slowly withdrew.
In battle, he hadn't shown it, but the pain was intense. Still, he felt less agony than ordinary people. His body had always been like that.
Blood flowed with the river water.
Clang!
The broken sword fell to the ground.
He looked up at the sky.
Night was still deep. He felt the pierced wound knitting closed.
He lifted the right arm with his left hand. It was heavy.
The right arm's cut end was clean. Meanwhile, the shoulder stump was already itching as it healed.
He gritted his teeth and pressed the right arm's cut end to his shoulder.
He thought it might reattach. First time for limb severance. Not just limbs— he'd never even lost a finger, as far as he remembered.
"Damn it..."
A curse escaped his lips.
No reaction.
When he'd salvaged the arm and crawled out of the water, he'd thought heaven had helped.
Heaven's luck ended there.
The arm wouldn't attach. He pressed hard, rubbed until it burned and hurt, but nothing.
Dizzying. Strength drained away.
Thud.
He placed the fallen arm back on the rock and stared blankly. Now one-armed. Crippled. Vision went dark.
When luck runs out, misfortune follows.
To make matters worse, he sensed presences.
The presences were approaching.
Too careless. Breathing loud, sword clanging, even cursing aloud.
"There!"
"Found him!!"
Enemies.
Turning, his vision blurred. Losing the arm brought a wave of emptiness. Even his bizarre constitution had limits. And his mental strength was at its end too.
How had pursuers come down here?
Even as consciousness muddled, he thought there must be a clever one among them.
Right after reading his escape into Sapcheon Gorge, they'd sent men downstream in advance. That explained their presence.
Men with sharp daggers approached him.
Cursed luck. This job was a total disaster.
Survived somehow, couldn't die like this.
He stood.
The right arm dangled and fell below his knee. The rolling arm looked unreal.
He raised his head.
Mind truly muddled.
Must be a hallucination.
A person from his very young days, the black-clad old woman—no, not old anymore.
He saw the Black Witch. Clearly. She looked like a seductive young woman, but he knew it was that same old woman from back then.
She appeared behind the enemies.
Flash— blood sprayed.
Darkness came.