Chapter 18
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Hidden Sword Search (3)
"Put out the fire! Hurry and get some water!"
"Ugh! Why the hell did it catch fire?"
"Yeah, really. It's not like some kid was playing with matches. Whoa! If we're not careful, it'll spread to the houses! Quick, we need water. Don't you have anything bigger than that?!"
The villagers were in a frenzy, rushing to extinguish the blaze.
He slipped stealthily toward the persimmon tree.
The tree hugged the fence tightly. The gap between them was just wide enough for a child to squeeze through. That was why the branches dangled all the way out to the roadside.
Come autumn, when the persimmons ripened, passersby would pluck one or two to eat.
And there, in that narrow space between the persimmon tree and the fence, someone lurked.
Of course, he couldn't spot them with his eyes. The assassin had dug into the earth, peeking out to watch the outside world.
He hadn't found the person there. But scanning with the Twelve Stems Formation, it seemed someone was definitely hiding in that spot. No—with the formation's precision, there had to be.
It was also the perfect place for an assassin to hide.
The persimmon tree blocked the rear. The fence concealed them. A mouse hole was plenty for surveillance. It offered safety for resting underground while making it easy to stay vigilant.
The optimal position in the Twelve Stems Formation.
What if it wasn't the Twelve Stems Formation they'd deployed? Then he'd be in trouble.
Actually, it wouldn't be that bad.
If it wasn't the Twelve Stems, no one would be under the tree. He'd be poking around pointlessly, exposing himself clearly to the watchers' eyes. Trouble.
If it was the Twelve Stems, someone would be there. He'd have to break through. But the moment he did, his figure would catch the eyes of the remaining eleven. There was no fooling all eleven eyes and piercing one undetected. Trouble.
Either way, it was trouble.
The conclusion... was to clash head-on.
Sssst!
He crawled stealthily right up under the persimmon tree.
The fence and tree shielded him. The tree hid the assassin—and him too.
The Twelve Stems Formation was circular. Approaching from behind someone would inevitably alert the one opposite. But right now, the fence blocked that line of sight. Temporarily, at least.
He picked up a small pebble and tossed it between the tree and the fence.
Thud!
The pebble hit the ground.
The earth didn't stir. It was just dirt. The pebble lay visible on top.
He picked up another pebble and threw it at the same spot.
Thud!
The pebbles collided, making a slightly louder sound.
This time, there was a change. The ground shifted ever so slightly—so faintly that only a piercing stare would catch it. Just a tiny slide from left to right. In that instant,
Sssst!
He slid around the tree like an eel, lunging at the ground. Then,
Shuuuk!
The ground reacted. Caught off guard in a blink, a gleaming longsword suddenly thrust upward.
The expected counterattack.
He knew the direction and angle it would surge from the sunken pit—for an upward strike.
Sssst! Sssst!
He was sucked into the pit headfirst. His upper body vanished inside in an instant. His lower half still clung to the surface. Only his torso was in the hole.
Crack! Snap!
The sound of breaking bones echoed from within.
'Gotcha!'
Hope flickered.
Excess is as bad as deficiency, as the saying goes. Overdoing it can be worse than falling short. This was exactly that.
They'd prioritized stealth over the Twelve Stems Formation.
He didn't know who might take the bait. But they clearly expected someone formidable. They'd hidden, hidden, and hidden some more. So thoroughly that it seemed no one was there at all.
They'd used the village to maximum cover... hidden in the most concealable spots... but that very choice disrupted their Twelve Stems Formation.
One man down.
The opposite side should have reacted immediately. The remaining eleven swords should have swarmed. Yet there was nothing. Dead silence.
Two factors aligned.
The excessive cover hampered the formation, and the fire had diverted their attention slightly. The chaotic atmosphere scattered their focus without them realizing.
Unprecedented misfortune for them. Unmatched luck for him.
Ssssst!
He moved as smoothly as a snake over a wall. Moments later,
Snap!
Near the jar stand behind a thatched hut, a dry twig cracked.
Another life snuffed out. In that instant,
Whoooosh! Whoooosh!
A storm erupted from all sides.
Two was his limit for stealthy kills. Even with all the cover, the Twelve Stems Formation held. The vigilant eyes were sharp.
The ten surviving swords zeroed in on him.
He closed his eyes.
Swords raining down like a tempest—closing your eyes was suicide for sure.
For ordinary folk. For everyone in the world. But for him, light was the stranger. Having lived in pitch darkness, brightness hindered him.
He listened with his ears. Sounds told him where the swords were.
His right hand gripped the dead assassin's sword. His left clutched the assassin's leather cloak.
One hand with a leather wing, the other with a blade.
Flutter! Whoooosh!
He spun in a circle, cloak billowing wide. The sword in his right hand chased after it.
Shrick! Shraaak!
Their swords shredded the cloak like rags. Leather scraps flew in tatters, like confetti dumped from the sky.
In that moment, his sword thrust through the gaps.
Pfuk!
"Guh!"
A short death cry burst out.
His blade pierced the foe's chest. Straight through the heart.
The enemy felt fire ignite in his chest. But that was the end. No more pain. His body might suffer on, but his soul had already departed.
He released the sword embedded in the chest and snatched the one from the dying man's grip.
No time to pull his out.
Sssst! Thuk! Shrick! Thuk!
Two swords pierced his body before he knew it.
One in the back, one behind his right thigh... two solid hits. A split-second slower, and his spine would have been severed. His legs gone.
He seized the collar of the man he'd just killed.
The corpse became his shield. He thrust it before the onslaught. Heavy, but the perfect bulwark.
Thuk! Thuk-thuk!
Countless sword gleams flashed over the assassin's body.
He couldn't escape unscathed. Their attacks whirled from every direction. Blocking one side didn't stop the rest. Especially these Killing Gate assassins—every strike lethal.
Tsssst!
Unconsciously, he stepped into Phantom Empty Step.
Knees slightly bent, gliding smoothly over oil, drifting like a falling leaf... not walking the ground, but skimming it. Yet,
Pop! Papapapop!
Sword lights scorched his flesh.
"Gah!"
This time, he let out a sharp cry.
Five? Six? ...Swords grazed his body.
His mistake—stepping Phantom Empty Step without inner energy. Without it flowing, the technique's wonder didn't awaken. To them, he'd looked full of openings.
Of course he'd get hit.
But those wounds sparked insight. Martial arts against martial arts wouldn't work. The only way to fight them was improvisation.
Counter with moves they couldn't anticipate. Unthinkable actions, reactions.
He closed his eyes again.
The most comfortable state for him. Utterly baffling for them.
Chwaaaak!
Swords flew. Blades slashed from all sides.
His back was safe. The mangled corpse blocked it.
They knew that. Yet swords still stormed his rear. Deep thrusts... to pierce the corpse and skewer him. Skewer them both in one stroke.
Stagger!
His form drunkenly toppled sideways. No—reeled as if falling, then righted itself.
A momentary shift, but they lost their target. For a brief instant.
Enough time secured.
As he rose from the fall, he raised his sword. Just lifted it upward. Yet something snagged on the tip. A person.
Thuk!
The blade sliced the assassin's throat.
Twelve foes down to eight. Nine just before, now one more gone.
That one breath changed everything.
He felt their attacks lighten. The psychological pressure slamming into him eased. Like shedding a heavy load.
Papapapapop!
Swords poured like a squall.
'Three! Three! Two!'
He judged instantly.
The corpse by the collar blocks three swords. His body takes three. Dodge the other two.
Twisting, he whirled the corpse like a windmill. Simultaneously, he dropped one knee fully and unleashed Coiling Dragon Kick with the other foot.
Coiling Dragon Kick, like any foot technique, needed inner energy for true power. Without it, it still packed some punch—pure leg strength.
The assassins' swords veered, striking his leg. Exactly two!
He pivoted on the whirling leg and sprang up. Then flung his sword.
Pfuk! Pfuuk!
Two crumpled.
A sword is a weapon of slaughter.
No inner energy needed to kill with it. Just make contact with flesh. The blade seeks the foe; inner energy isn't what brings death.
No need to pour power into the sword if not clashing blades.
Focus on hitting the target.
Once it touches, the sword handles the rest.
Without inner energy, he chose perfect timing.
Eyes closed, ears attuned—no deception by sword shadows. No fear of the flurry. Swords from all sides, yet he observed calmly.
Timing against their combined assault.
Flutter!
Lightning flashed before his eyes.
In melee chaos, sight and sound might fail for countering. Instinct, habit, experience must spot danger and act. It happened often.
Now was such a moment.
He thrust his sword instantly.
Not seeing the foe. Not hearing it. Just sensing the lightning pour. Then ingrained reflex exploded.
Clang! Cling!
Blades grazed past each other.
Foe parried his sword; he parried theirs.
Papapapop! Thuk-thuk-thuk!
Blade edges flickered over flesh. Pain beyond words surged. Like thousands of bees stinging. Teeth ground automatically.
Amid it, their swords crossed.
Pfuk!
His was a fraction faster.
The foe's blade skimmed under his jaw; his pierced the throat clean.