Chapter 6
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Wildfire, Blood, and Sword
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Two figures carefully measured their steps, probing the surroundings. The girl still hadn't stirred from within the thatched hut.
The Hidden Tiger in Dark Forest, Zhu Taihe, confirmed his target and shot a glance at his senior brother. The response came with a nod. They pressed on.
They struck without hesitation. The drawn blade whipped through the air. It flashed once, slicing the wind with a chilling shriek. The goal was capture. He aimed to knock her out with the flat of his blade. A first-rate swordsman's strike landed squarely on her head before she could even react.
Thud. A gruesome sound echoed as blood sprayed. The girl crumpled sideways.
"Hey. Didn't you control your strength properly?"
"I thought she might be from the Dragon Star Clan. Sorry."
"Damn... I meant be careful when we get closer. If she's dead and we can't take her back, you gonna take responsibility?"
"Sorry."
She lay utterly still. Blood trickled from the girl's head in a way that made him worry her skull might be fractured. This was a problem. They needed her alive to extract information.
As they approached with troubled expressions, they spotted her chest rising and falling—thankfully, she was breathing. Amid the tangled mess of her hair, a remarkably beautiful face came into view. Zhu Taihe's senior brother smacked his lips. As long as she was alive, nothing else mattered for now. He turned away.
"She's alive. Drag her along. The Seventh Elder will interrogate her."
"Senior Brother?"
"Didn't you hear me? If we don't lift the Palm Treasure Blade's poison right now, the Dragon Star Clan will—"
"Senior Brother, bow down!"
It was a fatal mistake.
Suddenly, something clamped onto his shoulder. A first-rate warrior's instincts triggered his ingrained self-defense technique. He twisted his shoulder, spun his waist, flowed fluidly to snap the wrist, and in an instant flipped and pinned the opponent.
But then—crack.
"Huh?"
This wasn't the grip of some village bumpkin. It was far beyond any normal human strength. A martial artist.
One who had deeply cultivated external arts.
His textbook reaction turned into a clumsy counterattack. His twisted shoulder popped right out of its socket. Shock swept through him before the agony even hit. A chilling terror raced along his nerves. The next instant—snap, crack. Sounds no flesh should make erupted from his body.
Whoosh! Zhu Taihe desperately thrust his sword. The girl's response was novice-like. She reflexively raised an arm to block. The problem was that his senior brother was 'skewered' on that arm. A horrifying scream rang out as the blade sliced through flesh. It was too stimulating a sight for a newbie fresh out of training.
His senior brother met his end. The full-force strike cleaved through human flesh like a haystack.
"Hah... hah..."
The girl caught her ragged breath. Drenched in blood. Streams of it from Zhu Taihe's senior brother splattered all over her. The blood was warm. It still held the heat of a living human.
Her face, flushed red from the warmth, glared at Zhu Taihe.
A face soaked in blood, beet red, twisted in what might have been a smile or a sob—impossible to tell. It wasn't human. Demon, monster, devil. Call it what you would. But it wasn't human. At least, not fully...
He staggered back. Instinctively.
Fear made his eyes spin. Like a mouse before a cat, he averted his gaze. When he finally gathered himself and looked again, she was gone. All that remained was the corpse of the senior brother he'd just been on mission with, and a pool of blood. Zhu Taihe collapsed where he stood.
Sometime during that, the girl had vanished.
She ran along a familiar mountain path. No, she bolted. Madly scrambling upward.
Her head throbbed like it might split open. She couldn't remember what she'd set out to do, or what was even happening. Voices echoed in her mind.
You will live.
Run, child! Hurry!
Aaaah!
Instead, make some meat soup with this money. The living must live on, right?
The staggering girl gripped a tree trunk. A damp red handprint remained. Her breathing was too labored. Her qi... her qi and blood wouldn't obey. They surged wildly with her emotions. Her nails dug into the bark like it was tofu. Unaware, she began dry-heaving. Urk, ugh—clear stomach acid, nothing else. Then, suddenly, sobs burst from her.
Why?
She passed a boulder on the way. The one where autumn leaves would bloom beautifully, and she'd planned to sit with Gangil. Sitting there brought good winds. Not harsh or cold ones. Gentle breezes that lightly brushed her bangs often visited.
That rock sometimes became her refuge. When thoughts of her parents overwhelmed her, she'd climb it and gaze at the village. When the wind shook the foliage, red leaves danced. If lucky, a deer would come to drink from the spring right in front.
On clear days, she could spot rabbits hopping on distant hills, or faintly hear a grumpy old farmer yelling about someone slacking off. She could share those stories with Gangil and laugh. Enduring like that taught her that painful times passed, and autumn would come. Her favorite scenery emerged in fall.
Gazing at the autumn fields amid the foliage filled her with small joys.
The fields.
The golden fields.
This year, they were there too. From the hillside, they gleamed beautifully in gold. A bountiful harvest after all. Her mother had said so. This village always welcomed the joy of reaping.
Even through hardship, pestilence, floods—if they sowed again that year, golden happiness would come in autumn. Her late parents had taught her that. Endure and persevere, and someday they'd all feast happily amid the foliage. Stuff themselves with fresh rice.
She liked that future. It made her happy. She believed in it.
"Why?"
Her head shook violently, as if a monster gripped her skull and rattled it. Her hands were stained vivid red. Oh no, blood from my head.
The girl's head pounded. Clutching her forehead, she whirled around instinctively. In her frail gaze, the boulder she loved so much loomed far off. And beyond it—flames. Tongues of fire filled the horizon, devouring everything.
It burned. The rice, the ears of grain. The homes. Where people lived. The inn where Gangil was, the market where villagers gathered. The fields she'd weeded tirelessly until her back bent. The village wasn't large. Most were farmers. To a farmer, fields weren't just land. An elder once said, we are born in the fields and die in them.
This year's hope, everyone's happiness, their lives... burned. The reason they could let sorrows and joys flow happily in autumn turned to ashes.
"Why..."
Overwhelmingly. Sad, wretched, agonizing.
The crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves. The girl ran again. Even if it was a wild boar, not a pursuer, it was enough to ignite her terror.
How long had she run when a familiar place appeared? A grand gate lacquered red. Rickety doors creaked loudly as they swung open. Behind dense bushes stood a large tiled house. But no one lived there.
This was the shrine to the Mountain Immortal.
Fierce headache, a body burning like fever. The girl stopped running. She walked in slowly. The Village Chief had said this village held sacred things. Sacred powers protected it.
Thud—her knees buckled. Doubts of pursuers vanished. She forgot her situation. With the heart of one exhausted from weeping, desperate for anything, she prostrated herself. She pleaded.
"Please tell me..."
"Tell me why this is happening. Please, at least explain why. I'm sorry I never truly believed before. I'll atone, so stop this. I was wrong."
Fire hadn't reached the mountain shrine yet. But distant sounds carried everything. Crackle— the mountain's base smoldering bit by bit. Agonized screams from unknown people. Whooshes like thunder, the chill of metal clashing...
Even squeezing her eyes shut couldn't block the sounds. Tears streamed down her face. The dirt floor was cold. An ill wind blew through the empty shrine. She stayed still, murmuring pleas endlessly.
Before an ancient statue.
A crude statue. Weathered and chipped, its facial features faint. Legend said a village sculptor from long ago carved it. Rough eyes bulged out, a sword strapped to its back. As if the Mountain Immortal truly dwelled in the expressionless stone, the girl prayed. Earnestly.
But no answer came.