Chapter 35
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: What Are You Doing? (5)
He stepped into Yao City.
"Noon today, right?"
"What kind of lunatic would dare touch Merchant Escort?"
"Hey, that's why it's a lunatic—they touched him. Would anyone in their right mind do that?"
"Heh heh! True that. Heh heh!"
The moment he entered Yao City, he knew exactly what was going on today.
"What's happening?"
"Some crazy bastard's threatening to kill Merchant Escort. And by noon today, no less."
My God! Not just the martial artists knew about this—the whole city was buzzing.
"Who's gonna do it?"
"No idea."
He asked a few more questions.
"How long has this chaos been going on?"
"You must be from out of town."
"Yeah. I got here this morning, and it's already like this. When did it start?"
"Hmm? About ten days ago?"
"Ten days?"
"Hey, it's been about ten days, yeah?"
"Yeah, around that."
If the uproar in Yao City had been going on for about ten days... that lined up with when Vanguard left the mountain stronghold. After the Heavenly Annihilation Division handed him the job, they'd announced they were going to kill Merchant Escort.
'Heavenly Annihilation Division, what the hell are you playing at?'
The thought flashed through his mind. It wasn't really his place to wonder, but it crossed his thoughts anyway.
He quickly figured out where the manor was. No, he didn't even need to try—it revealed itself naturally.
The people in the city knew all the details about what was going down today. Grab any passerby, and they'd point him straight to the manor Hanbi and Jaja had sketched out.
But he didn't need to ask.
The manor housed over five hundred martial artists.
From the Right Sword Sect, the New Moon Sword Sect, and even the disciples of the Merchant Sword Gate under threat—way more than five hundred fighters crammed into one spot.
The Merchant Sword Gate manor wasn't small by any means. But with five hundred martial artists suddenly flooding in, it had turned into a cramped mess with nowhere to sleep.
That was no small issue.
The sheer amount of grain, vegetables, and fruit they went through just to eat and drink was staggering.
From morning on, city folk were hauling carts into the manor. A long line of food wagons snaked toward it, sucked right in.
With all that going on in the city, how could the Merchant Sword Gate manor not know?
He found the manor Hanbi and Jaja had drawn.
He took a seat at a teahouse overlooking it and sipped tea from dawn, before the meal.
On any normal day, that would've drawn eyes—unusual behavior. But today, no one batted an eyelid. Dawn had just broken, yet the streets teemed with people. Some, like Four Thousand Four, were having tea before breakfast.
He eyed the manor. Watched the martial artists inside.
Looking for a gap? No. He wasn't scouting gaps—that was Vanguard's job.
He was hunting for attention.
What could he do to make all five hundred in there turn and look at him? Something so absolute it'd pull their eyes off the Merchant Escort they were guarding.
That's what he sought.
A cart loaded with wheat rolled into the manor.
The gate guard seemed to know the wheat seller well.
"When'd you harvest this?"
"Fresh this morning. They said they needed two carts, so I got up at the crack of dawn and hustled to thresh it. Gotta deliver this quick and grind another load."
"Making a killing off us."
"Haha! Always in our debt... Come back later. Drinks on me."
"You got it. Haha!"
It wasn't just the wheat sellers chatting with the guards. Nearly every veggie or fruit vendor knew them too.
He wasn't listening to the words. He read the tension beneath them.
The folks coming and going from the manor weren't tense. Neither were the gate guards.
The manor should be on edge. There was a threat to kill Merchant Escort by noon. Yet everyone bustling in and out acted unfazed.
They weren't tense.
Right Sword Sect, New Moon Sword Sect, Merchant Sword Gate... over five hundred martial artists, and not a hint of tension.
They didn't dream anything would happen today.
Nothing's gonna go down. No need to sweat some empty threat. Just stay vigilant till time's up.
That was their vibe.
Four Thousand Four spotted one more thing.
The Heavenly Annihilation Division valued promises. If they threatened noon, it'd be by noon. Past noon... they'd already broken their word. No kill after that, opportunity or not.
Was that their way?
Four Thousand Four wasn't sure he'd nailed it.
But their attitudes screamed: just make it past noon, no matter what.
He kept watching.
He didn't move a muscle. Nothing to do right now. No action to take. So he just watched the manor. No thoughts churning. Just watching.
Watching. Watching. Watching still.
The guards rotated.
The new guards didn't know the vendors—they checked identity plaques and receipts one by one.
Situation changed.
"What's this?"
"Liquor. For today's feast. You ordered it."
"Liquor came in earlier."
"Not my call. Just delivering as ordered."
"Open it."
He cracked one jar.
A thick booze scent wafted out.
The gate guard pried open all five jars. Not just that—he even stirred a spear shaft through each one.
"Fine. Go in."
"Y-yes, sir."
He bowed repeatedly as he pulled the cart inside.
He knew where the storeroom was.
Jaja's sketch of the manor marked what looked like the storeroom. Rough as it was, the building layouts were spot-on—no mix-ups.
He wheeled the cart to the storeroom.
He looked utterly ordinary—no one watched him.
What was "ordinary"? Indistinguishable from the everyday folk you'd always seen.
His clothes matched commoners': worn, a bit stained. Hair not wild, but not neatly combed either. Face? He'd washed that morning, but sloppily—grubby vibe.
Your run-of-the-mill guy, anywhere you looked.
"What're you hauling?"
The storeroom guard eyed the jars.
"Liquor?"
"Liquor? Didn't we get some? Who ordered it?"
"Beats me. I just deliver."
"Park it inside for now. It's a mess in there—stack it neat in a corner!"
"No worries."
He spoke like any average Joe.
A killer had to blend into the daily grind. Never stray from normalcy. Pour every effort into staying unremarkable, unseen.
He'd always been good at it.
Sometimes a servant, a merchant, a scholar... whatever guise, he melted into crowds.
He stacked the jars neatly in the storeroom. Shoved his handcart to the back. Then... slipped deep inside and lay down.
The storeroom keeper didn't notice him slip in. Four Thousand Four's footsteps were too quiet to catch.
Now he could rest.
Swoosh! Shh!
Wind from outside the storeroom.
Martial artists rotating shifts.
That let him track time precisely.
They swapped every half hour. Manor in chaos, but they stayed disciplined. Even rotations were stealthy, positions shadowed.
Still, he heard it all.
Ears honed in the Nineteen Hells came in handy.
He'd entered at the end of the Dragon hour. Now it was the start of the Snake hour.
Exactly one hour till noon.
'Too early still.'
Shh! Shush! Shh!
Movement again. Another rotation.
'Mid-Snake hour.'
The rotating martial artists called times aloud.
Time to move.
After a comfy half-hour nap in the storeroom... now to hustle.
The storeroom brimmed with oils. Sesame, perilla for food; lamp oils like sesame, bean, hempseed, camellia, cottonseed, whale, sardine, fish oils; lard... every kind stacked high.
He poured them out freely.
Besides ingredients for immediate use, there were sacks of rice, barley, beans—grains galore.
He drenched them in oil.
Sopping wet, no holding back.
Snake hour midpoint. Time for Vanguard to move. If they meant to kill Merchant Escort, it'd start now somehow. Otherwise, impossible.
Truth was, he'd waited for outside chaos.
If he held back, Hanbi or Jaja would stir something. They'd play bait anyway... didn't matter who first. Their move signaled Vanguard's, and he could light up then.
But no movement.
Hanbi and Jaja still hunting gaps. No way in yet.
Crack! Crack!
He lit the fire starter.
"Wh-what the hell?! Who are you, hiding in here?! Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
The storeroom keeper, sensing something off and rushing in, went pale and yelled. Too late.
Whoosh! Roooar!
Fire hit the oil-soaked grains deep inside. Flames leaped to the stacked sacks. Followed the oil trails, engulfing the whole storeroom.