Chapter 39
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Chapter Eight: The Fallen (4)
“Ugh…… Ugh…… Ugh……”
He trembled so violently his teeth chattered in terror. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he began stumbling backward in retreat.
“H-Help! Somebody help!”
He screamed at the top of his lungs while fleeing. But his voice, choked by fear, couldn't burst forth properly. He barely managed to squeeze out the sound, only for it to catch in his throat.
Be startled like a startled man. Laugh like a laughing man.
A warrior must consciously express every emotion and sensation that humans unconsciously reveal.
“Hm!”
A low grunt escaped the warrior.
Success. The warrior harbored no suspicion toward him. That grunt carried undertones of bewilderment and distress.
No way that guy killed four of our brothers.
The four senior disciples had collapsed in an instant. It was either phenomenal martial prowess or a masterful killing art.
Poison? Did he scatter poison?
No, it didn't seem like poison. The dead showed no signs of poisoning—no discoloration of the skin, no bleeding or foaming at the mouth, no groans of agony.
The intruder here was an assassin…… so he fell to a killing technique.
When and how? In any case, impressive.
Someone with that level of skill posed no threat. He'd charge in boldly and unleash his killing art. With most of the New Moon Sword Sect mobilized to hunt the assassin, how could they falter against such a foe?
If that bastard charges, all I can do is blow the signal whistle.
The warrior readied his whistle.
Poised to slip it into his mouth and blow at any moment.
But he's running away while yelling for help? Doesn't seem fake. He's genuinely a servant. So what's going on here?
All these thoughts swirled within the warrior's brief grunt.
“Hmph!”
The warrior grunted again as he cautiously approached, step by hesitant step.
He scanned his surroundings vigilantly, ready to bolt at the slightest twitch of a grasshopper. His feet stepped forward, but his hips hung back.
He crept up to the fallen warriors.
He bent his knees slightly and prodded a senior disciple. Gripping his back and shaking him. Yet his eyes darted everywhere, sword gripped tightly.
Four Thousand Four counted silently within.
One, two, three……
Counting at a steady pace.
Giving the warrior time to lower his guard and focus solely on his fallen brother.
That window wasn't long at all.
There had to be a reason his brother collapsed before his eyes. But dismissing that reason from his mind took mere breaths.
Shh! Shhhhh!
He walked without a sound.
Stepping so softly not even he could hear his own footsteps.
He lifted his foot. It crossed empty air. Descended to the ground, toes touching first, then sliding heel to toe seamlessly.
One step, one step…… every movement deliberate.
The issue was speed.
Anyone could walk like this. It wasn't hard. But it was excruciatingly slow.
Applying this gait to killing arts demanded grueling, years-long training.
Paradoxically, the Nineteen Hells had given Four Thousand Four ample time.
No one interfered with his practice. Loud commotion drew trouble, but creeping silently? No one cared. The killers of Nineteen Hells didn't even notice him moving.
He walked like an ordinary person. Faster than most. Yet utterly silent. Every step checked against his own ear.
“Hey! Snap out of it!”
The warrior tried rousing his senior brother.
His vigilance toward the surroundings had vanished or at least eased.
Shh!
Four Thousand Four rounded the wall and slipped through the gate.
In that instant, his eyes locked straight with the warrior's, who jerked his head up.
A flicker of surprise…… but it swiftly darkened.
“Kuh!”
The warrior crumpled.
Four Thousand Four swiftly shed his clothes and stripped the similarly built warrior, donning his garb.
From martial robes to sword in hand—it took only five breaths.
Now, he was a disciple of the New Moon Sword Sect.
He bolted like a gale. Ignoring watchful eyes, he charged straight ahead.
No one paid him heed.
The inner courtyard held only a handful of New Moon Sword Sect disciples. It had once teemed with warriors, but now most clustered at the western wall.
He crossed the inner courtyard in a flash and reached the main hall.
Chaos reigned there too.
Vanguard was surrounded by four warriors. He hadn't breached the main hall, locked in fierce combat with them.
Hm?
Four Thousand Four kept running. He couldn't stop now. Stopping would look suspicious. No, even if it did, he couldn't halt. Even if blocked, he had to press on.
Yet he couldn't help furrowing his brow.
Vanguard hadn't entered the main hall. Then who was the one tossed out?
He glanced at Vanguard while running.
His feet already crossed the main hall's outer gate, but his gaze stuck fast to Vanguard.
Vanguard looked back at just that moment.
A glint flashed in Vanguard's eyes.
Four Thousand Four ended their brief eye contact and entered the main hall.
Damn it!
Danger surged upon him.
At such times, ordinary folk tense up. Even warriors and assassins do.
Four Thousand Four instinctively unleashed his killing sense.
The crisis was already here. He'd unwittingly stepped into the trap's heart.
From now on, everyone he met was an enemy.
He relaxed. Opened his senses wide, scanning surroundings. Scanning people. Watching for threats.
Inside!
The greatest danger hadn't struck yet. An overwhelming peril lurked out of sight.
Shhh!
He hurriedly took cover.
No hiding spots in the main courtyard. So he ducked behind some unknown figure—already tossed out.
Shh!
He pressed his blade to the fallen man's throat.
“Grk!”
The tossed-out men numbered more than one or two. Easily over a dozen at a glance.
He'd seized just one.
Fury blazed in Four Thousand Four's eyes.
“Heh heh heh!”
The captive laughed mockingly, as if resigned to death.
Hesitate, and I'm done for!
Four Thousand Four slashed precisely without pause.
Shh!
The throat-slashed man died instantly, without a scream.
Follow the killing arts inscribed in the Death Omission, and life fades fastest. Utterly silent extinction.
Just as fatal acupoints exist in the body…… so do death omissions.
A child's accidental jab could trigger instant death—a lethal chink.
Death omissions weren't human-only.
Fierce beasts like lions, tigers, bears—or livestock like chickens and ducks—all had them.
Four Thousand Four sprang up, shouting as he lunged at the next.
“One down!”
Before the words finished, the second man dropped with a thud!
“Two down!”
Four Thousand Four didn't stop. He charged another.
Shh! Pfsh!
“Three down!”
He seemed intent on slaughtering every tossed-out man in the yard.
Deliberately counting aloud for all to hear. His voice boomed deafeningly. Then—
“Halt!”
A thunderous roar erupted as a white-haired old swordsman emerged into the main courtyard.
The Old Swordmaster!
Four Thousand Four recognized him instantly.
He'd never seen the Old Swordmaster before. But he knew without doubt.
“What do you think you're doing?!”
A clear, resonant voice rang out too.
In that moment…… Four Thousand Four froze. Not by choice. No intent behind it. Body and mind compelled…… he stood dazed, staring at the woman.
Beautiful!
His mind emptied, thoughts vanished. The world faded; only she remained. The Old Swordmaster, the dead, his dire straits—all forgotten.
A woman like this in the world!
How to describe her?
She was morning dew. Crystal clear like droplets on grass blades. Pure and pristine.
Graceful, limpid, with jade-like luster.
Her eyes large and cool. Nose pert, lips vividly red. No flaw, no excess.
He'd seen many women.
Even among his group was one. Jaja was quite the beauty. Without her swordswoman's chill, anyone would chat her up.
Yet he felt nothing for Jaja.
This woman…… words failed. Too beautiful. Too perfect. A fairy incarnate.
She approached him.
“I asked, what are you doing?!”
She demanded sharply, her voice like frost.
Four Thousand Four jolted awake. Reality crashed back.
“Ah, I, uh…… the sect leader said one head each……”
Slap!
Before he finished, she backhanded his cheek.
His head snapped back; his stance staggered from the force.
Four Thousand Four reeled away.
His mouth burst, blood trickling, cheek swelling.
“The New Moon Sword Sect, of all places!”
She advanced step by step, venom in her eyes. As if one palm strike to kill him wouldn't suffice.
Then the Old Swordmaster intervened.
“Enough. It's over now, isn't it?”
She furrowed her brow at his words but relented.
“If my senior says so, I'll comply.”
Senior…… She called the Old Swordmaster her senior.
What was her identity?
Four Thousand Four burned with curiosity about her.
Though she'd slapped him, no resentment or hatred stirred. Madman or lunatic though it sounded, her touch lingered vividly.
“You, withdraw.”
The Old Swordmaster gruffly ordered, eyeing the corpses.
Blood pooled thickly from the dead.
Precise cuts for instant death, yet gushing rivers of it.
The main courtyard reeked of blood.
“Th-then this lowly one will take his leave.”
Four Thousand Four reversed his grip on the sword and cupped his fists in salute. Then he hastily retreated from the main hall compound.
I've done my part. Gave it my all. The rest is up to heaven……
He exited the outer gate.
Clashing blades rang fiercely. Vanguard battled the four warriors.
He walked past without looking.
Chaos would erupt soon.
Whether the Old Swordmaster lived or died was heaven's will. But disaster was inevitable regardless.
He needed the safest spot to brace for it.
No one had the mind or strength to aid others.
He had to preserve his own life meticulously.
Four Thousand Four thought of the woman.
That woman…… so breathtakingly beautiful…… a woman he'd likely never forget……
But his ties to her ended there.
He'd never see her again.
How could a mere contract killer, fulfilling assassinations, encounter a woman who called the Old Swordmaster senior?
Then! Before he'd taken a dozen steps from the main hall, a resounding shout boomed from within.
“The branch leader has fallen!”