Chapter 223
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 223
Chapter Title: Golden Heaven (3)
A man and a woman walked down the street.
Both wore oversized bamboo hats that draped down to their shoulders. Packs were strapped to their backs, and swords hung from their waists—one on the left, one on the right. Twin blades.
Those who wielded twin swords usually carried both sheaths on one side of the belt.
It was rare to see them crossed on the back, let alone one slung from each hip.
So the pair naturally drew eyes.
How did they plan to draw those swords? They'd have to cross their hands awkwardly for a dual draw in one motion. Wouldn't that be cumbersome? Would the blades even clear the sheaths? The draw itself seemed problematic.
Undeterred by the stares, the two pressed on, ignoring the crowd.
"These glares are stinging."
"Not a gait you're used to, huh?"
"No. When have I ever walked under this much scrutiny?"
"Definitely a new experience."
They exchanged awkward words.
"So, any guess what this guy's game is?"
"All I know is he's using us as bait..."
"This doesn't seem tied to the Zhuge clan, does it?"
"Doesn't look like it."
"Then this is all his own idea... The bastard should at least tell us what he's after."
"No time for chit-chat even if he wanted to."
"Ha! You're right."
The man chuckled gruffly.
Vanguard and Jaja strolled along leisurely.
No rush. Whatever Four Thousand Four had in mind, their job was simple: attract attention. No deep thinking required, no exertion—just walk.
"Do they sleep with those hats on too?"
"Wait it out. They'll take them off to use the privy."
"Wouldn't it be faster to just report them? Those two seem like the ones."
"We still need confirmation."
They tailed the hatted pair.
Guessing who these people were—big hats pulled low, a sword on each hip—was easy: Heavenly Annihilation Division assassins. The same ones who attacked the other three clans' warriors.
They moved with utmost secrecy.
Without the hats and twin blades, they'd blend seamlessly into any crowd—utterly ordinary folk.
Ordinariness was the ultimate stealth.
A warrior suppressing their aura, an assassin leaking no killing intent, a seductress masking her allure.
People who vanished without even trying to hide.
Only such experts could strike the other three clans' warriors, who were masters of blending in themselves.
They were convinced: these were the ambushers.
No need to hurry, though. Faces had to be confirmed first. Even if they slipped away, detailed descriptions would make tracking easier.
"Want me to bump shoulders? They'd know we're onto them."
"......"
"Knock the hat up while brushing past. I'm quick-handed—who else? Better than trailing like puppies waiting for them to doff the hats, right?"
"......"
"What? Why the silence..."
The warrior chattering idly as he shadowed the pair halted abruptly.
Tension rippled through his body in an instant.
His companion—right beside him moments ago—had vanished without a trace.
Shing!
He gripped his sword hilt swiftly. But an even swifter hand struck first.
Pfht!
Scorching pain erupted from his back. A strong hand clamped his mouth, stifling the groan.
Thud!
He crumpled like rotten straw.
No more burning pain, no muffling grip. Consciousness had already fled his flesh.
"Brutal."
Hanbi muttered, voice faintly trembling.
Four Thousand Four didn't respond. He laid the silenced corpse down quietly, then moved on swiftly.
Hanbi glanced at the body on the ground.
Four Thousand Four had approached from behind without a sound. Even a dead man's senses would twitch at lesser stealth, but this was flawless.
The kill was shocking in its precision.
He'd used a short dagger. In the blink it took to stab the back, the spine's nerves were severed. No chance for a scream—the soul was snatched clean.
Worthy of a master assassin.
One down, then another.
The second died beside the first without sensing a thing until his comrade hit the dirt.
Incredible assassins.
Hanbi could handle such foes. He could even do it stealthily like Four Thousand Four. But killing so fast they felt no pain? No confidence there.
"Two lines down. Four total."
"Certain?"
"Positive."
"Checked the third line?"
"Double, triple-checked. No third line."
"Who's the leader among them?"
"Not the second-line dagger user. Ruthless hands."
"Hm."
The gaunt man with sharp eyes furrowed his brow.
"What technique is this...?"
He muttered, inspecting the corpse.
All had died to short daggers. Clean stab wounds in the back, but barely any blood. The blade had sliced thin, severing only the spinal nerves.
Did the martial world have such a move?
It looked like a simple thrust. But no—from the moment the edge touched skin, subtle motions twisted inside.
Liang Mok, the Biil Clan's fourth-generation tracking master, blinked in disbelief.
Impossible to pursue.
His senses, his instincts, screamed it.
He knew these dead men—his own trainees.
They hadn't sensed the back attack.
No signs of resistance anywhere. They'd died without a hint of warning.
The killer's footwork was stealth incarnate.
Even assassins should notice an ambush. Impending doom should trigger instinct.
This one? A true assassin.
The hatted pair? Bait, obviously. Dangle it upfront, pick off the tails one by one, silently cleaning up.
In such cases, assassins set a third line as insurance.
Someone shadows the blade-wielders unseen, intervening in no fights—just watches. Casually strolls past the chaos.
Even if assassins fall and bait dies, the third line reaches the goal unscathed, slipping through while foes fixate ahead.
The bait screamed visibility; the assassins made no effort to hide.
That implied a third line.
But no third line meant... no reinforcements needed. The second line could reach the objective alone, confident in their movement.
And it was true.
Examining the bodies, Liang Mok saw no counter to this martial art.
Anyone tailing the bait next would end up dagger fodder.
Gulp!
Liang Mok swallowed dryly.
He'd encountered the Heavenly Annihilation Division's deadliest assassin.
Even the Biil Clan's full might would struggle to catch them.
Others might see it differently. But to him, tracking's grandmaster, this was an uncrossable riverbank.
"Pull back."
He growled low.
"Pardon?"
"Stop the pursuit. Beyond us."
He narrowed his eyes at the fallen warriors.
These bodies... preserve them as-is, show every Biil Clan fighter. Let them know what they faced.
Indeed!
Fox chewed his rice cake as if half-there.
Other three clans' warriors littered the area. No labels, but their affiliation was obvious blindfolded.
Fox saw them. They ignored him.
No one spared a glance for a grubby beggar devouring snot-smeared cake.
Like Liang Mok's assumptions, Four Thousand Four had placed a third line.
But Fox's role wasn't safe return. Lingering at the rear, he observed and noted those he pegged as other three clans members.
Lady Zhuge had attended the Eight Clans' gathering, yet knew next to nothing about the other three clans—surprisingly.
The seven clan heads withheld intel from the Zhuge clan, despite its Five Great Sect status and famed "Northern Sage, Southern Wit."
This secrecy likely tied to the Zhuge lord's disappearance.
Thus, Lady Zhuge couldn't pursue leads. No grilling the four great sects, no infiltrating the other three.
Hence her alliance with Four Thousand Four, a mere "assassin hack." She'd witnessed his skills during the pursuit.
If the world ignored the Heavenly Annihilation Division, so did the other three clans.
How? The Division mobilized hordes of killers, assassinating countless warriors. Meanwhile, the other three clans covertly hunted the Five Great Sects' foes.
They'd slain multitudes... yet remained unknown?
Hidden in plain sight.
Like masked men wearing entirely new faces to roam free.
To counter, learn the other three clans' movements, their patterns. Track clues to their hideouts and disguises.
Fox's task: backtracking.
Vanguard and Jaja drew eyes with clumsy disguises; Four Thousand Four and Hanbi spooked them as elite killers. Lure the other three clans into overcommitting while hiding true intent.
Then observe from the shadows.
This one's key here.
Fox's gaze locked on Liang Mok.
Among those eyeing the bodies Four Thousand Four left, he picked the sturdiest-looking.
The leader.
All in civilian garb—no warrior robes, no weapons. Some looked fresh from farmwork; one shouldered a water jug.
At a glance, just curious gawkers.
And some were. Dead bodies sparked natural interest.
Separating other three clans warriors from civilians wasn't easy.
Fox sorted them cleanly.
Gait, poise, gaze, fist clench—bodies screamed martial artist.
He pinpointed the strongest, the one leading the pack.
Munch! Munch!
Fox crammed hardened rice cake into his mouth.
His mission ended at identification. Spot the boss, but no chase, no confrontation. Not a sleeve touched.
Memorize features, physical traits. Nothing more.
Finding them came first.
He rose with his beggar bowl.
Yellow broth swirled with rice inside—someone's castoff.
Slurp! Slurp!
He wove through the other three clans' warriors.
No one watched. Not even Liang Mok.