Chapter 16
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Hidden Sword Search (1)
'Huh? It's already gone?'
The Fox of Bireung Mountain scanned his surroundings with sharp eyes.
Four Thousand Four was nowhere to be seen. He'd vanished completely.
Four Thousand Four had moved ahead by a step. Yet there was no trace of him anywhere. Coming down the mountain, he'd checked every spot in his line of sight, but nothing.
'Either way, the guy's got real talent for hiding.'
The Fox began gathering information on Four Thousand Four.
Four Thousand Four had become Vanguard's slave before him. All it took was a single letter to hook him.
He didn't know what was written in the letter Four Thousand Four read, but if it contained something impossible to defy, like whatever snared him, then he'd have no choice but to become a slave without a peep.
Among Vanguard's group, the slaves were just him and Four Thousand Four.
This was a gut feeling. His past life as the Fox of Bireung Mountain sent him a deeply unsettling vibe.
Four Thousand Four might have realized it already. He could know, or maybe not. But the Fox definitely sensed it. Even the prison guard who joined them wasn't a slave.
Among them, only two were convicts.
Which meant he needed to know exactly what their fellow fighter was capable of. To entrust your back with peace of mind, you had to understand the limits of the guy beside you.
Four Thousand Four killed people with chilling ease.
His mentality seemed ruthless, and his murder techniques outstanding.
But Four Thousand Four's greatest strength wasn't his killing skills. It was that he was invisible.
'Come to think of it, even back in Thunder Prison, he was like that.'
His thoughts drifted suddenly to the nineteenth layer of Thunder Prison.
Convicts locked in Thunder Prison had time to burn. Endless time. Especially in pitch-black solitary confinement, with no light and no word from another soul.
Convicts thought about other convicts.
- Hey! Poisoner! Food's here. Eat up nice and tasty!
- Heh heh heh! Kid, I like your voice. Makes me real happy these days. Fun imagining how I'll kill you once we're out. Heh heh! Thinking of making sure you can't swallow a single bite or sip a drop. Heh heh heh!
- Shut your trap or you don't get this.
There was a guy called Poisoner.
He killed with poison. When someone mocked or tormented him, he'd swallow it down, then strike from behind with toxin. Once they were poisoned, he'd appear and repay every insult in full.
Imagining him was easy.
His looks, habits, killing methods, how he returned humiliations—all pictured crystal clear.
- Hey! Four-Four! Eat up!
- ......
Four Thousand Four didn't form a picture.
He was always silent. If the prison guard hadn't spoken while tossing in his food lump, you'd think he was dead.
No one in the Nineteen Hells' murder ghosts fixated on Four Thousand Four.
The guard on the fourth layer was different from the others—he called Four Thousand Four "Four-Four" without the slightest stutter.
Naturally, every convict knew him.
Why call only him Four-Four? Was it really "death-death" twisted into Four-Four?
Just figured he was some mass murderer. Nothing special. The Nineteen Hells was packed with killers anyway.
Especially among the death-row inmates on the fourth layer—not a single one who wasn't a murderer. All scum, all demons.
Four Thousand Four was too quiet.
And that held true even on the way up the path.
The others all stood out. But Four Thousand Four blended in. Walking beside him, he was like a ghost—dead silent. Sometimes you had to look around for him.
Was Four Thousand Four quiet by nature? No. Not quiet. Just ordinary. He talked like normal folk. Ate and slept. Yet somehow, he never caught the eye.
He didn't prick nerves.
Didn't do anything to draw attention or focus.
'How does a guy who fights that well live without even breathing loud? Can't make sense of it.'
The Fox tilted his head.
Either way, he needed to steadily collect intel on Four Thousand Four. Someday, he'd find a use for him.
The trio reached a remote mountain village that looked utterly ordinary.
Passersby eyed the strangers with suspicion.
"Where you folks coming from?"
The Fox couldn't even answer that simple question. He didn't know nearby villages or towns. Dragged from Thunder Prison blindfolded and earplugged, he'd only just broken free. He hadn't seen people the whole way to here.
This was his first encounter with folks, excluding the three warriors.
'There was Taibai County nearby.'
He vaguely recalled seeing Taibai County on a map.
"From Taibai, but we got lost. Heading to Fuping— which way?"
Fuping County lay southeast of Taibai County.
On the ascent, the sun rose behind-left and set front-right. They were heading south.
Southeastward.
Before, directions like south or north wouldn't faze him. But now, as guide, he paid attention. Learn one thing to survive another day.
Taibai and Fuping lay on a diagonal line.
"Whew! You took a massive wrong turn. How'd you end up here from Taibai?"
"Beats me. Anyway, any maps or such around here?"
"Ha ha ha! What, in this backwoods hamlet? To Fuping, backtrack your path... cross two mountains, thirty li further, there's a decent-sized village."
"Ah, got it."
"Didn't see it coming? Weird—you can't reach here without passing it."
"Lost, wandered the hills."
"Tsk! Anyway, grab a solid bite here before you go. Just follow this road straight to Fuping."
"Thanks. Appreciate it."
The Fox bowed politely.
The old man passed without suspicion. No clue the young man before him had been caged in the Nineteen Hells until recently.
The Fox circled the village.
Folks were out in fields and paddies, leaving it empty. Occasional glances, but no chats. Outsiders must drop by now and then.
'Damn it! What a waste of time!'
The Fox grumbled inwardly.
Nothing worth taking here, as expected.
Vanguard said they were heading to Cheonyeong. Needed to know where. Ask villagers? No. Vanguard wasn't going to Cheonyeong. Of that, he was dead certain.
Vanguard didn't know if the Nineteen Hells survivor was sharp or dull. Plus, a fight was brewing in this backwater soon. Four Thousand Four would clash with someone.
Meaning they'd be hot on their tails.
But if he poked around first, blabbing about Cheonyeong's location or maps, what then?
Destination exposed.
Then it'd be a hunted pack. No clue what locals were, but without inner power, shaking them would be tough.
That was if a dimwit was guiding...
Vanguard wouldn't expect valuables in this podunk either.
So why send him down?
His role was guide. Crystal clear. Not fighting—leading the way.
'What Vanguard wants is an escape route.'
In the village center, he surveyed all directions.
Mountains, paddies, fields. Small paths, sky. Quick scan of terrain.
If villagers started pursuit, where from? Where would Four Thousand Four flee? Which way would armed locals drive them?
Couldn't know from outside.
Had to enter, become one, think like them.
Nothing else to do here.
"No houses that look like they'd have a sword..."
The Fox tilted his head.
He'd prowled the village a dozen times. Every alley combed.
Luckily midday, all at work—no eyes on him. Otherwise, prime suspicious weirdo for grilling.
Thanks to that, he could map it eyes closed now.
Thieves hit village. Folks rally pursuit. Where gather? From where?
He gauged their chase paths.
Four Thousand Four's escape direction was clear: straight to Vanguard. But no fool—he'd detour wide, not barrel direct.
Merge with Vanguard, but shake pursuit.
The Fox eyed three such routes.
Vanguard said Cheonyeong. Fine. Or elsewhere. Fine. Go anyway. No map? Already knew.
Whatever Vanguard picked, he'd lead his set path. If no fuss from Four Thousand Four, follow trails. If trouble, his routes.
Didn't matter Vanguards choice. Path set.
Vanguard said guide finds fastest. No—safest.
Job done. Now wait for Four Thousand Four's sword, then roll.
Time to kill.
So he'd handle Four Thousand Four's task too: fetch a sword.
That's why the dozen village laps.
Hunted houses likely for swords. Scoped owners who might wield one.
None. Eyes wide, still no sword-worthy homes.
Vanguard sent Four Thousand Four. Betting on big fight.
But village empty of muscle.
Frankly, ghost town now. Sword there? Sneak in, no one'd notice.
Why no search from Four Thousand Four?
'Screw it. My part's done. But just in case, one more check...'
Sword, sword, sword!
What swords in a slash-and-burn hamlet?
Finding one ain't easy.
Not like they're hanging on walls... good ones deep-stashed... can't ransack every house...
Sword! Sword! Sword...!
Deep thoughts on swords.
Seeks sword-likely homes. Watches folk for sword-bearers.
One hourglass, two... time slips by.
The Fox lies stock-still under village center's great tree.
Arms behind head, legs stretched like a lucky lounger. Staring sky. Sleeping?
The Fox ain't sleeping.
He reads taut tension from the Fox.
What Fox does in village? Not his biz. No meddling in Fox's affairs. Nah, Fox made observing village dead easy.
Villagers watch Fox.
Fox's slight, fragile build—no threat. But pickpocket maybe, so eyes on. Lounging midday in center? No mere traveler.
Villagers eye Fox; he eyes them.
Sunset, Fox rises, strolls out—not back path, but side trail into village.
'Business wrapped.'
Fox finished his task.
He still watches village. From hide, unmoving, breathless, rigid as stone—not alive.
Hunts sword. Hunts sword.