Chapter 41
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Chapter 9: Caught by the Scruff (1)
Roofs are no place to linger.
They might seem safe at first glance, but they're anything but. He had to be content with the fact that none of the Merchant House disciples had spotted him.
If even one of them had leaped into the air... it would've been over.
But there was no other way. There were plenty of escape routes, but none he could take.
He had to vanish in an instant!
Now it was time for his second move.
This second move was just as perilous as the first. But again, there were no alternatives. Nine times out of ten, he'd be discovered, but he pinned his hopes on that slim chance and went for it.
Swoosh!
He rolled his body toward the edge of the roof.
If he kept rolling, he'd plummet straight into the courtyard. He had to stop. But his body was already tumbling uncontrollably.
Thud!
His body dropped from the roof to the ground.
In that instant, he curled up as tightly as possible, drawing his knees up to his chest.
His right hand seized a roof tile.
He entrusted his entire weight to that single tile.
It wouldn't hold for long. No, it wouldn't hold even for a moment. Soon, he'd crash to the ground along with it.
But for Four Thousand Four, that fleeting instant was enough.
Whoosh!
He shot out both feet, clamping the rafters between his soles.
Now the weight was distributed. His feet bore eighty percent of it, gripping the rafters, while his hand on the tile merely steadied him.
Swoosh!
Four Thousand Four moved again. He released his grip on the tile with his right hand and swiftly grabbed a beam.
He was now hidden beneath the eaves.
Shh! Thud! Whoosh! Rustle!
Martial artists climbed onto the roofs.
When searching a compound, the first priority is always securing the rooftops.
It's easier to observe the lower areas from up high.
From the roof, spotting someone moving or fleeing is a cinch.
Roofs are the prime vantage points for surveillance.
A group of martial artists took positions on the roofs at the east, west, south, and north. They began scanning the compound.
But first, they had a job to do.
"No one's here!"
"Clear!"
The same report came from all four directions.
Those who climb onto the roofs naturally check the rooftops first. If anyone were hiding up there, they'd be spotted immediately.
It's basic protocol.
Any seasoned wanderer of the jianghu knows it. That's why fugitives never hide on roofs. They might use them for escape, but never as a hiding spot.
The men on the roofs found nothing.
Of course not. No fool would flatten themselves on a roof they knew would be searched.
The rooftop watchers surveyed the compound.
With eyes like hawks, they tracked every moving figure, searching for the assassin hiding among them.
Under the eaves was no place to stay, not even for a second.
Anyone crossing the courtyard would spot you instantly—the worst possible hiding spot.
Four Thousand Four had no intention of lingering. Not even for a heartbeat.
Thud!
He dropped straight to the ground.
He was a New Moon Sword Sect disciple, clad in their uniform. As long as no one saw him descending from the roof, he'd be fine.
When he'd rolled off the roof, he'd already confirmed his landing spot was clear.
Assassins never move blindly.
Foresee one move ahead, and the risk drops accordingly. Two moves, even better. Three, and it's minimized. Always observe. Always prepare.
Before rolling, he'd already scoped out the back courtyard.
The danger wasn't over yet.
It was empty now. But soon, someone would come. At least four or five were approaching.
And the situation was worse because... he was wearing New Moon Sword Sect robes.
To an outsider, there seemed to be plenty of sect disciples. But to them, it was just a few hundred men who'd shared rice from the same pot for two, three... even ten years. They knew each other on sight.
A stranger in New Moon Sword Sect robes?
And word was out that the assassin who killed the Merchant House escort was wearing them too.
In the inner quarters crawling with New Moon Sword Sect disciples, running into one spelled trouble.
Swoosh!
He pressed himself against the wall and closed his eyes.
'One!'
He attached a trigger to his body, his heart, his mind.
The Nineteen Hells had been his most comfortable time. The pitch-black darkness was cozier than the softest bed. The silence, where even a falling needle roared like thunder—that was bliss.
Back then, every sense in his body sharpened to its peak.
His skin registered the slightest brush of a hair. His ears caught cockroaches skittering. Smell, taste, sight piercing the gloom—all heightened.
It was like the pinnacle of Opening the Senses.
He remembered that state. How slow his breathing had to be, how steady his mind.
One!
'One' was his trigger.
When he uttered 'One,' his body was back in the Nineteen Hells. In that suffocating dark, deaf and blind. His breath steadied just like then.
If you checked his pulse now, it'd match his time in the Hells.
The trigger linked him to that state.
The fastest way to become the man from the Nineteen Hells once more.
'One!'
His breath slowed. His ears opened wide. He heard the approaching martial artists' breaths.
Step! Step! Step! Step!
'One, two, three, four!'
Step!
'Five...'
Four coming from the front, another about twenty paces back.
No. Footsteps from the opposite direction too—behind him.
Step! Step! Step...!
He shook his head after counting to five.
No point counting further. It was beyond what he could handle.
The only exit was ahead.
He couldn't climb the roofs or wander about. The walls were out too—he'd never scale them. The moment he tried, the rooftop watchers would spot him.
He held the 'One' state. Listening to the footsteps closing in, he stayed calm and silent, presence erased like in the Nineteen Hells.
Step!
The first footsteps arrived.
Four Thousand Four whipped around the corner. He came face-to-face, close enough to collide.
"Whoa!"
The approaching man startled and shouted.
Not because the sudden stranger looked unfamiliar. Just the shock of nearly bumping into someone.
Phfft!
A breath dart flew. The mist from his mouth enveloped the New Moon Sword Sect disciple's face.
Phfft! Phfft! Phfft!
Breath darts fired in succession. The four pouches in his mouth were spent in a blink.
Four Thousand Four shoved past the still-shocked disciples and pressed forward. He closed in on the last one, about twenty paces away.
Only then did the poisoned disciples start collapsing, one after another.
"Wh-who are you!"
The lone survivor sensed danger and reached for his sword. Too late.
Swoosh! Stab!
A dagger shot up, piercing under his armpit into his chest.
"Gack! Gack!"
The disciple couldn't even scream, just gasped. He didn't crumple either—stood frozen in death. Probably because Four Thousand Four gripped his shoulder.
Four Thousand Four shoved the corpse aside and moved on.
He had to vanish before the rooftop watchers saw. Before the ones behind rounded the corner. And... he could do it.
The five New Moon Sword Sect corpses were discovered quickly.
Less than three breaths had passed. A man rounding one corner spotted his fallen brothers at the opposite one. He rushed over and...
"They just got hit!"
"Sneak attack!"
"Breath darts. Same method as inside."
"That bastard's close. Search everywhere! Don't let him slip away!"
"Got it!"
Today was the worst day in New Moon Sword Sect history.
The inner quarters they'd guarded were breached. The Merchant House escort they'd sworn to protect was dead. And ten sect disciples—five pairs—had lost their lives.
All to a single assassin.
Worse, the last five fell amid a frenzied swarm search. Right in the middle of it, silenced without a sound.
What kind of monster pulls off stealth kills like that!
"Search every inch! He's here! He hasn't escaped—find him!"
The thunderous roar shook the inner quarters.
Beneath the colonnade—this was his final destination.
From the start, he'd known escaping the compound was impossible.
Once the assassination hit, a heaven-and-earth net would spread before he walked thirty paces.
With nets blanketing sky and ground, where could he flee?
Five hundred escorts glaring inward—any gaps?
No way out meant staying inside.
A place their hands couldn't reach. They'd look, but not search... There was one: under the colonnade.
He'd used it before when cornered. Three or four times. It felt familiar now. Like second nature to burrow underneath.
Once under, he had to move faster, quieter, more secretly.
Under the colonnade wasn't truly hidden.
Anyone searching would check it.
With practiced skill, he dug into the earth.
The soil under colonnades was dry yet crumbly. Looked hard, but dug like mud with a dagger. Easy.
He dug quickly and lay down.
Covered the excavated dirt back over. First his legs, then torso flat, arms over chest. One arm buried the other, then face under soil. The last arm pulled straw and debris for light cover.
Only his mouth exposed, everything else buried.
Torches would shine here.
Searched three or four times a day.
'Now I have to play dead. One!'
Four Thousand Four invoked his 'One' trigger.
Body and mind to death's state. Motionless as a corpse, just listening.
A day, two days—who knew. Escape might never come. Or his body might rot from lying too long.
But it was the best option.
Four Thousand Four didn't see himself in peril. He'd done all he could... Now it was time for rest. Truly, nothing left but to rest deeply.
He could even sleep if it came.
Though snoring from exhaustion would be disastrous.
Four Thousand Four rested deeply to shake off fatigue. Utterly ignoring the commotion outside.