Chapter 199
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Rethink (4)
His recovery speed was three times faster than an ordinary person's.
It was a grave injury that even the toughest fighter couldn't stand up from, yet Four Thousand Four grumbled and rose to his feet.
His body had been riddled with holes.
A small prayer bead had transformed into a massive spear, piercing his flesh over and over.
A grave injury? No, even that term didn't fit. It was a fatal wound that should have killed him on the spot.
The fact that he survived was nothing short of a miracle.
Even with the aid of the White Phase Horse Elixir and the Blood Demon Elixir, if Zhuge Little Small hadn't gone out of her way to use her clan's secret remedy, he wouldn't have gotten back on his feet this quickly.
Zhuge Little Small had willingly offered up an invaluable treasure for Four Thousand Four's sake.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Good. Then..."
She flashed a bright smile as she watched him brush himself off and stand.
He still hadn't given his answer.
To become her assassin, he'd have to abandon the Death Verdict.
There was no real reason to become her assassin in the first place, let alone give up the Death Verdict to do so.
What if he ran into Grandmaster Jigong again?
That wasn't an issue either.
As long as he roamed the martial world, he'd cross paths with Grandmaster Jigong sooner or later. If he stopped wandering the martial world, maybe not—but carrying a sword meant inevitable clashes.
And even if he did become her assassin, it wouldn't guarantee safety from Grandmaster Jigong.
He had no desire for such guarantees anyway, and even if he did, she couldn't provide them. House Zhuge couldn't afford to make enemies of Shaolin Temple.
There was no reason at all to become her assassin.
Yet he hesitated.
He pondered for days whether to become her assassin or not.
"What are you planning to do by keeping that guy around?"
Zhuge Myeong asked, frustration clear in his voice.
"I don't know."
"You don't know? And you're still using a Heavenly Annihilation Division assassin?"
"Do you believe in gut feelings?"
"Gut feelings..."
"I just have this feeling. That I need to keep him close."
"You're making him your assassin based purely on a feeling?"
"While I was treating him, I tried thinking of ways to use him. His specialty is killing, so an assassin makes sense, right? But I couldn't come up with a single target. Who should I have him kill? Is there even a need for that?"
House Zhuge didn't permit assassinations.
Ambushes were one thing, but outright assassinations were strictly forbidden.
They needed strong warriors, but not assassins.
It would be nice to have someone like Four Thousand Four around, sure. He could serve as a protector... and just having him nearby would be reassuring. But keeping a Heavenly Annihilation Division assassin on hand for that level of security was a massive risk for a righteous martial clan.
Zhuge Little Small continued.
"So I thought about just letting him go his own way. No real reason for us to kill him, after all. But something keeps tugging at the back of my mind, like I shouldn't let him go."
"Is it affection?"
Zhuge Little Small glanced sidelong at Zhuge Myeong.
"You think so?"
"No, forget I said that."
"I don't know what it is. Anyway, for now, I need to keep him close. In secret."
"Hm! We can use a safehouse."
Zhuge Myeong grimaced as he spoke.
He wasn't thrilled about hiding Four Thousand Four in a safehouse, nor about getting tangled up with an assassin.
But if Zhuge Little Small insisted, he'd go along with it.
"Could you come back in a month? Give me your answer then."
Four Thousand Four said calmly.
"What will you do for a whole month?"
"Sort out my thoughts."
"That's too long just for thinking. Nights are long when you're overthinking—let's shorten it. How about half a month?"
Four Thousand Four looked at Zhuge Little Small.
She still hadn't figured out how to use him. A month or half didn't matter. So why shorten it? What was the rush?
"I must sound strange saying this."
Zhuge Little Small smiled brightly.
"How to put it? I just feel like I can't let you out of my sight. Like if I do, you'll cause some massive disaster."
"I'll come back in half a month."
"Good. Half a month it is."
She laughed.
He couldn't give up the Death Verdict.
Using it would reveal his identity immediately. There weren't many in the world who could kill as flawlessly as Four Thousand Four. And the Death Verdict's methods were starting to come to light.
People had begun studying it.
They were piecing together the patterns: traits of its victims, the techniques used, the types of people Four Thousand Four targeted.
Using the Death Verdict would expose him at once.
There was only one way: evolve the Death Verdict far beyond its current form.
He couldn't abandon it, yet using it would give him away. To overcome both dilemmas, he'd need a far more refined version.
That's what he planned to test. Over the next half month.
Have you ever seen a sick deer?
Deer don't get sick. Even if their insides are rotting away, they look perfectly fine on the outside. They show no pain until their dying breath. They move as usual—calmly, proudly, routinely. Then, in one instant, they collapse.
That's how deer appear to human eyes.
But how do they look to other deer?
Deer eyes don't see it either. No signs of illness at all.
Yet among blood kin, there's an intuition.
Especially a fawn's bond with its mother—far more acute than in other animals.
A fawn senses when its mother is ill.
Up until the moment before death, the fawn follows her as always. But right at the end, it can't get close. It approaches, hesitates, tries again, hesitates more. It never draws near.
The fawn senses the aura of death from its mother.
He'd seen such a deer.
The mother stood still.
Her head was lowered as if grazing, but she wasn't eating. She was quietly awaiting death, regulating her breath.
Sst! Thuk! Sst! Thuk!
Four Thousand Four flung wooden needles as he walked.
Carved from wood, they flew smooth as a breeze and embedded themselves.
The deer didn't seem to feel pain, just blinked. No trembling, no convulsions. It stood as before.
Four Thousand Four approached the deer.
It looked up at him with large eyes. Hot breath still steamed from its mouth.
The deer was dead.
It had perished the instant the needle struck.
It hadn't sensed the moment of death. Death came too swiftly, snuffing its consciousness in a flash.
'Fail...'
Four Thousand Four frowned.
The deer's eyes still held the shadow of death.
Its eyelids quivered faintly. Even in death, they trembled. It had felt death.
There should be no such sensation at all.
Sst! Thuk! Sst! Thuk!
He drove needles into a tree.
He waited until breath and body, breath and inner energy merged as one, then moved naturally.
The needle didn't fly. It simply moved on its own.
The needle pierced the tree.
The tree was wounded. A foreign object embedded. Yet there should be no ripple at all. Not a leaf stirred, not a bit of bark shifted.
Not easy.
When guiding a person to the afterlife, he wouldn't use needles. No tools at all—just his hands.
When a person dies, corpse marks appear.
The death traces, commonly called corpse scars, tell the tale of the moment of death.
A body killed by pressure points shows blue spots.
One slain by a palm strike bears bruised blue marks.
Stabbed by needles, swords, or blades, the wounds are glaringly obvious.
The corpse reveals exactly how it died.
No such marks should remain. A death with no traces at all... killed by a sesame-seed-sized strike. And so instantly that no fear of death is felt.
"Hup! Hup!"
He breathed.
Where am I today? Here. How do I breathe? Just like this. What are my hands doing? Pointing at the tree. And my inner energy?
He observed himself.
Eventually, unity dawned. Body and world as one.
The sensation was mystical.
Like being drugged, mind floating in the void... yet reason remained sharp.
In that instant, he released the needle.
Sst! Thuk!
The needle slammed into the tree.
'Martial arts training... He really doesn't get it.'
Zhuge Myeong tilted his head.
Four Thousand Four had asked for half a month just to train in martial arts? Was he seriously agonizing over becoming an assassin?
To him... Four Thousand Four trained diligently.
He seemed thoughtless. Eyes open: train. Eyes closed: still training. No room for thought. Nothing but martial arts.
And it was Shadowless Steps.
Impressive technique, but Zhuge Myeong knew it well. Nothing surprising.
The Shadowless Steps he saw were just the usual.
No sudden growth in skill.
Yet the guy obsessed over training—must be severe trauma from Grandmaster Jigong.
"Dangerous bastard. Shouldn't keep him close. Sigh! Kicking away a fine assassin and pulling in this one. What's the plan?"
Zhuge Myeong poked his head out.
At Zhuge Little Small's request, he was personally watching Four Thousand Four.
Borrowing her words: a dangerous figure who couldn't be left unwatched for a second. Had to be monitored constantly. And since Four Thousand Four was "dead," it had to be discreet—no one else could know.
Zhuge Myeong kept Four Thousand Four in sight from a good vantage, watching as ordered.
Sst! Thuk! Sst! Thuk!
The needle pierced the tree.
He ignored the flight path. No interest once it left his hand. Right up to departure, yes—but after, no control.
Sst!
The needle slipped from his fingers.
Four Thousand Four watched until the very last moment it left his hand. Alive with breath? Or dead wood flying? He examined clearly.
When he watched, the needle breathed with life.
Unwatched, it was dead wood soaring.
Instant kill. Or not.
Sst! Thuk!
As the needle left his hand, a mountain bird dropped dead.
The bird never knew death. Eyes open on the ground, still vibrant. Breath gone without awareness.
The bird passed.
'Something bigger... Time to hunt a wild boar.'
Four Thousand Four's gaze deepened darkly.