Chapter 69
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: Discarded Stone (4)
Clunk!
The door to the Thunder Prison swung open.
Four Thousand Four was used to this sound. It was one of the noises he heard most often in the Nineteen Hells.
How long had it been since he'd left the Nineteen Hells? There was no way he'd forget it so soon.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Footsteps echoed.
'Three men.'
He spotted the people entering the Thunder Prison. He recognized all three without a doubt. Two were the Zhuge Clan Thunder Prison guards who'd brought him in, and the third was Vanguard.
Vanguard had been taken alive.
It was something he'd seen coming. Zhuge Clan warriors had been keeping tabs on them. They probably hadn't even realized they were under surveillance. The Zhuge Clan's watch had been incredibly discreet.
If Four Thousand Four had been roaming the streets like Vanguard, he never would have noticed the Zhuge Clan's eyes on him. No doubt about it. He'd only spotted them by sheer luck, having a bird's-eye view of everything from up high at just the right moment.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The footsteps drew steadily closer.
Soon enough, they passed right by the Thunder Prison cell where he was locked up.
Vanguard caught sight of him.
"Caught, huh?"
"That's how it turned out."
Four Thousand Four answered with the mildness of a lamb.
When he wasn't unleashing his killing arts, when he held perfectly still... Four Thousand Four was quieter than anyone. More at peace than anyone. In that state, when he spoke, he came across like a simple farmer who wouldn't know one end of a fight from the other.
"Throwing in the towel?"
"Still working on it."
"Hahaha! Knew it. Good enough."
As they traded a few words, the guards who'd dragged Vanguard in shoved his back with rough force.
"You punks have any idea where you are! Think this is your damn bedroom back home? Shooting the breeze! Get moving!"
Vanguard stumbled forward from the brutal push.
Clunk!
The door opened again. And just like before, three sets of footsteps rang out.
'Jaja.'
Four Thousand Four could guess who was being hauled in this time.
It was the same two guards who'd brought her. They'd come for Jaja too.
One thing was now crystal clear.
At this hour, only two guards were manning the Thunder Prison. They might even be the only ones assigned to it.
The guards' martial prowess was shallow.
By their age, they weren't total greenhorns when it came to martial arts... More likely, they'd hit a wall due to mediocre talent.
Third-rate fighters, through and through.
The entire Zhuge Clan—retainers included—practiced martial arts.
He'd sized that up while surveying the clan from the brothel rooftop.
Even the servants moved with unnatural lightness. Regular-sized footmen hauling wood like they were Herculean strongmen. Impossible without internal energy. Sure, some might be born burly.
The maids employed lightness skills too. He'd seen them vault corridors in single bounds several times.
Nothing surprising about guards knowing martial arts.
But their skills were so superficial, they couldn't be counted among the Zhuge Clan's true warriors... The clan seemed to draw a line between those who'd properly mastered their core arts and those who hadn't.
"Caught?"
Jaja's question carried a double edge.
Taken by Zhuge warriors, or walked yourself in?
"I'm inside, aren't I?"
Four Thousand Four said something unexpected.
The Zhuge Clan was a nightmare to sneak into. The Sacheon Tang Clan layered poison everywhere, scaring off wall-scalers. The Zhuge Household was the same, riddled with mechanisms and traps that made blind entry a fool's errand.
And yet he'd slipped right in.
Sure, bound and dragged—but inside all the same.
"Curfew's midnight?"
"Hence my current state."
Jaja studied Four Thousand Four intently.
He stood frozen, back glued to the wall in the cell's corner.
A downright eerie pose.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Jaja got no reply. The guards hauling her gave her back a vigorous shove.
"These idiots turn chatty the second they hit this spot!"
"Right? That one's the boss?"
The guards smirked at Four Thousand Four.
Boss or grunt, they were all prisoners now. They spoke from ignorance of the Zhuge Thunder Prison—once inside, you didn't leave, not even in death. It was saturated with the clan's pinnacle trapwork.
Clunk!
The door creaked open once more. Followed by exactly three footsteps.
This time, it was Hanbi. His signature heel-to-toe glide made him unmistakable to anyone.
Hanbi spotted Four Thousand Four. But he couldn't get a word out. The guards trailing him anticipated it and shoved his back before his lips could part.
"What, you got words too?"
"Move it! Plenty of time to yap later! Afterlife's got no schedule, yeah? Catch up then."
Four Thousand Four and Hanbi locked eyes, nothing more.
Four Thousand Four flashed Hanbi a grin.
All three had opted for live capture. They'd been primed to surrender before the ropes went on, and each had gotten the signal.
What fate awaited them? No clue. Truth be told, he had no bandwidth to fret over it. Bluntly put, with his own neck on the line and no way out, who had he to spare a thought for?
'Huuuup!'
He stifled his breath. Drew in a long, slender inhale.
"Hahaha! What an intriguing bastard."
The report of Four Thousand Four's bizarre antics drew an immediate reaction from Zhuge Myeong.
"Intriguing, you say?"
Zhuge Soso asked.
She supplied the brains; he brought the brawn. She plotted the schemes; he made them reality. She shone in military tactics, while his forte was martial prowess.
On fighting matters, even she looked to him for answers.
Zhuge Myeong chuckled.
"Doesn't what he's up to scream Mourning Soul Heart Art to you?"
"Isn't that a technique cultivated inside a coffin?"
"Take that corner wall he's hugging as his coffin. Standing instead of lying down... Everything else lines up perfectly."
"Hohoho! Hahahaha!"
Zhuge Soso dissolved into peals of laughter.
"That guy's the real deal—an assassin through and through. Oh, it's too much. Where on earth did he pick up the Mourning Soul Heart Art? But more to the point, how'd he know Father needs it right now?"
"Better go ask."
Zhuge Myeong rose, grinning.
Zhuge Soso caught his sleeve as he stood.
"See? That's why he's a genuine assassin. Say you told Father exactly what you're thinking. What would he do?"
"What else? March straight to the punk and— Ah!"
"He wants Father to come to him."
"Hahaha! Thinks that clown can take out Father?"
"Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes. He can assassinate him."
"..."
Zhuge Myeong blinked in stunned silence.
"He took out the merchant guest right in front of me. Sacheon Tang poison territory, killed with poison."
"Poison's the problem, then."
"He's got none. We frisked him top to bottom on capture—no worries there. I watched him dose the guy myself. Think I'd slack on poison?"
"Fair enough. So what's his plan for Father?"
"No idea."
"No idea? Hahaha!"
"No clue what he's got left up his sleeve, but here's the truth: Strip him bare, toss him in an empty room with nothing to grasp—not a thing—and Father still ends up dead."
"Overrating him a bit?"
"No. Not overrating. Seeing him for exactly what he is."
"Hmph!"
Zhuge Myeong grunted.
A prisoner in the Thunder Prison, limbs pinned so tight he couldn't twitch... yet somehow assassinates a peak master? In that state?
Zhuge Myeong burned with curiosity over the assassin's ploy.
"Still... we ought to grill him on how he knows the Mourning Soul Heart Art. And how he knew we needed it."
"We will."
"You, personally?"
"No. I'm on the same page as you, brother."
"...?"
"Dying to know how he'll assassinate Father."
"Ah! What did you say? Then Father..."
"We'll hand Father over to him. Only way to witness his real killing art."
"Soso!"
"Hahaha! Relax. Who said anything about the real one? I'm going to craft a fake."
"Hmph!"
Zhuge Myeong caught her drift and settled back down.
To force a true assassin to bare his authentic technique, strip away every crutch.
They'd strip him for real.
Shove him in a barren room devoid of any fixture or tool, limbs trussed up tight.
Even then, what move could he muster?
'No poison, limbs bound solid... All he's got left is talk. Breathing. Speaking. Working his five senses... You don't kill with that.'
He racked his brain for the assassin's play, came up empty.
If anything, his intrigue only deepened.
"The room's ready."
The report finally arrived.
"Furnishings?"
"Cleared out everything as ordered. Not a mote of dust."
"The prisoner?"
"Naked and bound tight."
"Search complete?"
"Yes, sir."
The subordinate reported with full confidence.
Even stark naked, hiding spots remained: mouth and rectum.
Orders had covered those explicitly. Especially comb teeth gaps and hair—assassins stashed poison capsules in yanked molars.
The assassin carried nothing.
No weapons in his mouth. None up his rectum.
'Your move now—what've you got?'
"Good. Anything else?"
"Shall we bring him in?"
"Do it."
Her words barely landed when a man eased cautiously into her chamber.
Zhuge Soso scanned the entrant with a hawk's gaze.
Assassins read qi like a book.
He'd done it with the merchant guest too—zeroed in on the target amid a throng.
Forging a convincing Zhuge Clan Lord wasn't easy.
Yet this stand-in... reeked of weakness. The clothes and poise held up, but his qi utterly lacked a patriarch's gravitas.
A real assassin would clock it instantly.
Too late for a swap now. And honestly, who else could pass muster?
"Fog the room with incense smoke."
"Incense smoke...?"
"Muddle him some. He won't get close, so keep it light. Enough to let us gauge reactions."
"Got it."
The subordinate picked up the nuance.
Block the assassin's qi read on the "lord," and the rest was flawless. The build, the stride... he carried the unmistakable scent of lifelong privilege.
"Let's go!"
Zhuge Soso led the faux clan lord from the room.