Chapter 104
Chapter 104
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: Step by Step, Slowly (4)
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“Ugh... ughhh...”
A groan echoed through the air.
It was a thin, drawn-out sound, stretching on endlessly, on the verge of breaking yet persisting unbroken.
This noise had bothered him from the start.
Should he take on the Twenty-Fifth Squad first, or silence this sound? He wrestled with the dilemma.
“Ughhh...”
The groan showed no sign of stopping.
It was prolonging death itself. The body had exhausted its life force, had already stepped into the grave, yet some lingering attachment clung desperately to that final wisp of breath.
This was the sound he needed to extinguish.
Whoosh!
The moment the fight ended, he raced toward the source of the groan. But...
'A trap.'
Four Thousand Four frowned.
A man lay there, battered to the brink of death, teetering through one crisis after another.
Left alone, his breath would give out soon enough.
Or he might cling on for another day or two. He’d wake sporadically from his stupor, half-dreaming, with no awareness of where he was or even that he lived.
In cases like this, Four Thousand Four would dissipate the wandering soul.
But this one was different. Near death, yes, but a faint spark of vitality lingered.
A martial artist could suppress their vitality, concealing it so subtly no one could sense it. Yet the hidden vitality of a trained technique differed starkly from the leaking life force of someone truly dying.
You couldn’t detect a technique-concealed vitality by feel alone.
The leaking vitality of the dying was nearly impossible to sense—unless you were keenly attuned, in which case it hit you clear as day.
Ah! He’s alive!
The man Four Thousand Four watched gave no such sensation. His vitality read as utterly extinguished, like a corpse whose breath had fully ceased.
And yet... the groans continued. He’d manipulated his vitality.
Where there was bait, a hunter had laid it. The bait itself might be the hunter. But if another hunter lurked nearby, that one posed the greater threat.
Thud... thud...
He approached without hiding his footsteps.
“Ughhh...”
The groans persisted.
Of course, someone on the verge of death wouldn’t groan like that. Such a person stayed silent. No groans, nothing. Eyes squeezed shut, playing dead.
The groans Four Thousand Four heard were his alone to perceive—sounds detectable only by feel, not ear, reserved for the finely trained “Heralds of Death.”
To artificially craft such a lure demanded real skill. It also meant the culprit knew him inside out. No surprise there... the hostage had spilled every detail.
Swish!
He reached out and seized the man’s pulse point.
The fallen figure offered no resistance, letting the grip close freely.
As if suppressing the pulse—robbing freedom of movement—meant nothing at all.
“No pulse.”
Four Thousand Four muttered to himself.
“But this...”
He soon cocked his head.
“Why does he reek of wolf? You don’t smell like this unless you’ve lived among them.”
At that moment, the hand he held twisted ever so slightly. With a cunning joint lock, it reversed the hold, clamping his own pulse point instead.
The dying man’s eyes snapped open.
“Heh heh heh! I lived with wolves in one house, so of course I smell like one.”
The voice was icy cold, sending chills prickling across the skin.
Yet Four Thousand Four remained utterly calm, unshaken. He had approached this “dying” foe in a state of enemy annihilation. No mere “danger” could rattle him.
And a recaptured pulse point? Hardly a threat.
“Corpse Technique?”
“You... know of the Corpse Technique?”
The opponent’s face registered faint surprise.
“I know near everything about the human body’s states. Including how the Corpse Technique mimics death. The pulse won’t take because... you’ve locked it solid with the technique.”
“Book smarts won’t save your neck.”
“Why not?”
“Why? Don’t you know who’s got whose pulse now?”
“You’ve got mine. So what?”
The opponent’s brow furrowed sharply. But his body moved faster still. The instant he sensed something amiss, he shot up like lightning and unleashed a palm strike.
Thump! Thump!
Dull impacts rang out in succession.
Four Thousand Four took the blow square to the chest and soared backward, tumbling limply like a kite with its string cut.
The Wolf Valley Twin Ghost hadn’t budged an inch.
Swoosh!
The one lurking in the forest burst forth as well.
He’d overheard their entire exchange. The moment the pulse-holder sensed danger, so did he. He charged out immediately. By then, the brief clash had already concluded.
“Whoa! That gave me a scare. For a second, I thought we had him.”
The newcomer from the woods spoke with evident relief.
The clash’s outcome was plain as day. The one sprawled out was Four Thousand Four. He’d taken a heavy hit.
He’d flown far. Yet the Wolf Valley Twin Ghost hadn’t shifted a single step from where he stood. Meaning the Twin Ghost’s fist had landed first.
“How’d a punk like that take down the Twenty-Fifth Captain? Doesn’t add up.”
The man from the woods strode toward Four Thousand Four.
One step, another... then he halted abruptly.
The Twin Ghost wasn’t speaking.
A chill premonition stirred. What if... he got hit? Nah, impossible...
The Twin Ghost glanced back slowly.
The Wolf Valley Twin Ghost stood rigid, fist still extended, eyes bulging wide.
“What the hell are you doing? Get up!”
No response. Not even a blink.
'He’s down!'
In a flash, the Twin Ghost whipped around, knife already in hand.
Strike Four Thousand Four!
But as he turned, he sensed someone pressed right up against his back.
Someone was standing there.
He slashed wildly with the knife. Whoever it was, cut first, ask questions later. Hesitate, and he might die without drawing steel. This Four Thousand Four was a ghost. What else do you call a guy who strikes back even with his pulse locked?
Shrieeek!
The blade whistled sharply through the air, cleaving at the figure behind him. But...
Crack!
A bone-snapping sound echoed from afar—or was it? It rang crystal clear, as if right from his own body.
That was his final awareness.
“Ugh!”
Four Thousand Four staggered back.
He’d shaken off the strike with everything he had, but in doing so, he’d twisted his channels, suffering a grievous internal wound.
He looked fine on the outside. Inside, everything was wrecked.
'Gonna need over a month to recover.'
The wounds from the Twenty-Fifth were severe, but the Twin Ghost’s palm strike was more urgent.
The internal damage ran so deep he could barely take a step.
In this state, facing another foe... no chance. He had no fight left in him.
But foes were closing in.
The Vanguard was an enemy too. Not him, though. Familiar footsteps approached—ones he’d crossed paths with at least two or three times before.
'Against them... no hope.'
For a fleeting moment, surrender crossed his mind.
It had happened before. In a state just like this, he’d given up and been hauled off to the Nineteen Hells.
This was exactly like that time.
His body too wrecked to move, facing the strongest foes he’d met yet.
'Damn it all!'
A wry chuckle escaped him... then he remembered the Hwaryun pills the Fox had slipped him.
Two pills. If he played it right, he might slip away.
He forced himself to move. Each step sent his organs churning, his head pounding like an ant pit’s torment... but he pressed on.
“Here it is.”
The spot where he’d torn off a chunk of flesh and buried it mid-escape.
He still had plenty of white ants on him. Some in his sheath, plenty more clinging to his wounds.
They wouldn’t detach from the injuries.
Even so, he’d returned because... he wanted to see what the ants had done to the flesh.
The flesh was dead.
Flesh dies the instant it’s severed from the body. Then the rotting begins.
He’d buried it with just a few ants at first, to identify the breed... but now greed took hold. He wanted to know exactly what they’d done to the rotting chunk.
He dug carefully.
There: the white ants. And the flesh he’d planted.
“Hm!”
Four Thousand Four let out a groan.
The flesh was pristine. Nearly a full day gone by, and not a trace of rot. It glowed with the same fresh reddish hue as if just carved from living meat.
He’d confirmed the white ants’ power.
They healed wounds. And they stuck to their host.
He scooped up a handful and swallowed them live.
They’d die the moment they hit his stomach. But their fluids would mend his tangled internals, if only a little.
As he gulped down the ants, Four Thousand Four muttered,
“Sorry, but I’ll borrow your help.”
“He’s hiding?”
“What a joker. Doesn’t even need to hide. Gonna play weak right to the end?”
“He’s got a natural gift for faking frailty.”
The martial artists scanned the disturbed earth where Four Thousand Four had dug.
No sign of him. But he was close, no doubt.
“Four Thousand Four! No thought of settling this like true warriors?”
One Flash Beauty Island Chuhak bellowed.
“Heh heh! He’s no warrior. Won’t get a peep out of him. He’ll stay a coward to the bitter end.”
Langhun Peak Spear Island Hwangsu sneered.
The Merchant Sword Sect disciples had no intention of letting this chance slip. The Zhuge family had warned against going solo, but they weren’t Zhuge disciples—why heed them?
The justification was theirs.
The killer of their master. Why wait? Strike him down on sight.
Strictly speaking, Zhuge Soso had no ground to stand on.
The Heavenly Annihilation Division had notified them of the assassination and begged Zhuge aid. That’s why they’d come. She’d devised the plan, summoned the branch sects, set up the watch.
It all came from her mind.
Yet their master got assassinated anyway. Even with the Heavenly Poison safeguard.
How could such nonsense happen?
And now, after that outrage, sit on their hands? Tell that to someone who’d listen.
“He’s within twenty zhang of here.”
Clear Stream Palm Island Yisong declared.
“I sense him too. Bastard’s breathing like he’s on his last legs. Wrong guy?”
Spectrum Wave Island Geunhak scowled, knitting his brow.
Now all the Merchant Sword Sect disciples picked up the sound. Harsh, dying gasps.
Four Thousand Four, skulking in hiding, wouldn’t make that much noise. So another foe? No signs of others. Trying to fool them?
The captain... maybe even the Vanguard.
“Heh heh! If it’s them, all the better. We’ve gotta clean house anyway.”
“Ah! Finally tying up loose ends today.”
One Flash Beauty Island Chuhak drew his sword with a shing.
He was certain. Four Thousand Four lurked nearby. Helpers too. But they’d all die. He’d kill them all.
Killing light gleamed in the Merchant Sword Sect disciples’ eyes.