Chapter 99
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 99
Chapter Title: Death vs. Death (4)
The assassins of the Heavenly Annihilation Division knew the arts of killing.
They knew nearly every method of taking a human life. They had mastered every killing technique, numbering in the hundreds, even thousands. In other words, the twenty-fifth squad of assassins had already figured out exactly which killing methods this man called Four Thousand Four employed.
They had analyzed his techniques and come at him accordingly.
Four Thousand Four knew their attack patterns. And he had prepared countermeasures for those patterns.
A couple of them could be taken down easily enough.
No, "easily" wasn't the right word. There was no such thing as killing someone easily. Even dispatching a powerless old man was never simple. That wasn't what he meant by easy.
He meant he could kill them using his old methods.
Just like he had slain the twelfth squad of assassins, he could dispatch the twenty-fifth squad the same way. One or two of them, at least.
But after that, they would inevitably counterattack.
And even if they did, he needed a place to escape to.
A place he could flee to where the enemy couldn't follow... Ha! As if such a spot existed in the world. Where could he possibly find a place that suited him so perfectly?
It existed. It might seem impossible, but it did.
A death ground!
On a place of certain death, they wouldn't dare follow. If stepping foot there meant instant death for them as well, they would never pursue.
Whoosh!
He ran and ran.
He sprinted twice as fast as the white ants chasing him. He dashed at a speed they couldn't hope to match.
But because of that, his trail stood out starkly, visible even to the naked eye. It was so obvious that even without the white ants, anyone could have followed.
He was playing a dangerous game.
Whoosh! Whoooosh!
The sound of wind rushed up behind him.
They definitely had the edge in martial arts. Fighting them head-on with pure skill would mean certain defeat.
Swoosh!
In that instant, he vanished from sight.
"Watch out!"
The moment he hid, a shout erupted from the assassins.
They truly had his killing methods pegged. They knew he stuck to the most common assassin tactic: stealthy approach followed by a sudden strike.
Tsss! Tss-tss-tss!
The white ants arrived late. They surged toward a cluster of rocks like a gale.
Four Thousand Four was there!
Shh! Thunk!
The first kill had occurred.
One of the twenty-fifth squad assassins attacked the rocks, chasing what he thought was a white ant.
In that moment, he dropped like a kite with its string cut.
The white ants didn't linger. They kept climbing the rocks in pursuit.
The assassin had mistaken it for Four Thousand Four—a rock that looked slightly different from the others... a rock he thought concealed the hidden killer. That illusion dragged him to his death.
"Wooden dart!"
The weapon that had slain the twelfth squad.
To be honest, Four Thousand Four's wooden dart didn't fire arrows. It launched tiny twigs. Toys made by snapping off branches and sharpening the tips.
Such playthings couldn't even bag a single pheasant.
Yet Four Thousand Four used them to precisely slaughter people.
First, he targeted vital points.
Spots like the philtrum or throat, where even a light strike meant instant death.
Second, distance was key.
He attacked from extreme close range.
He might not know exactly where the target hid, but he was certain they were very near.
And the wooden dart made no sound when fired.
Tss-tss! Tss-tss-tss!
The white ants pressed on.
Four Thousand Four wasn't here—he must be farther off... But then how could he fire a wooden dart from that far...? He had to be nearby, and the white ants couldn't have lost his direction...
The twenty-fifth squad grew confused.
Thunk! Whoosh! Slash!
A tightly coiled twig whipped out like an iron mace.
Ha! That bastard! When did he set this up?
He wasn't just fleeing. He was preparing counterattacks while on the run.
Of course, no one would fall for such a crude toy. It just demanded a bit more attention.
Bending trees into whips secured with vines, triggered when someone brushed them...
Who would get caught by such a petty trick?
"This guy's toying with us."
"Setting traps like this while running...? Doesn't make sense."
A few muttered among themselves.
But one man said nothing. He stared blankly at the twig that had swept across the ground.
Something felt off.
Whoosh!
The man beside him rushed over to check.
"Ah!"
The warrior who had been examining the stunned assassin let out a sigh.
Another wooden dart. This one had slipped into the man's open mouth, piercing his esophagus from the inside.
The twig trap had been a decoy to blind them. The real dart struck when they fell for the ruse.
The leader of the twenty-fifth squad let his sword droop.
He closed his eyes, lost in thought for a moment.
Could they catch him? Seize him? Or would they just keep chasing shadows and get picked off?
But the main division's orders were absolute.
"Stay sharp. That's all I can say."
If a chance for a surprise attack arose, they couldn't let it slip. Strike immediately. But if no opening presented itself, never attack. Under no circumstances.
Those opportunities... Good luck brought many; bad luck brought none.
Four Thousand Four had been driven to the edge of a cliff.
They were laboring under a misconception.
The wooden dart's range was farther than expected.
The darts were only about two finger-widths long. No bigger than a hand.
People assumed short darts meant short range, but that wasn't true. The wooden dart was the perfect tool for hurling tiny projectiles far. Master it, and it outclassed any assassination weapon.
No wonder no other arms caught his eye—only the wooden dart stood out perfectly.
But now, he couldn't use it anymore.
The twenty-fifth squad had closed in, and he was backed against the cliff.
One misstep, and he'd plummet into the abyss. He'd come here intentionally, but it was undeniably a death ground. He'd sought out his own grave.
Tss-tss-tss!
The relentlessly pursuing white ants halted.
Exactly three chi away... about the length of a sword. They hesitated, refusing to close the gap further.
What made them think they could catch him?
Heh heh heh! At last, we meet."
The squad leader stepped forward, a relieved expression on his face.
No situation could feel safer than having your kill target right in front of you.
"Who are you?"
Four Thousand Four asked politely.
"Me? Leader of the twenty-fifth assassin squad."
"And the squad we hit before?"
"The twelfth."
"I see."
Four Thousand Four nodded.
"Never thought killing you would be this tough."
"You haven't killed me yet."
Four Thousand Four gripped his sword tightly.
It was the sword from the twelfth squad. The character "Leader" engraved on the blade suggested it had belonged to their captain.
Taken from the twelfth squad's leader after slaying him.
"That sword."
The captain raised his own sword, also engraved with "Leader."
"Know who gave it to you?"
Four Thousand Four glanced at the sword in his hand.
"No idea."
"The Death Sovereign bestowed it personally. He summons those appointed as leaders and hands it over."
"Is that so."
Four Thousand Four replied flatly.
"A leader returns it after completing a hundred kills. But it's no easy feat. Only two have ever returned theirs."
Swoosh! Swooosh!
The other assassins revealed themselves.
Four Thousand Four had no room to maneuver. His back was to the cliff. All he could do was thrash desperately.
Relief washed over the assassins' faces.
Four Thousand Four's greatest strength was stealth. Without it, his options for killing were severely limited.
They already looked like men who had him captured.
"Finish it."
Four Thousand Four narrowed his eyes, staring at his own sword—not at the assassins, but at his blade. Ignoring the enemy entirely.
Swoosh! Shh!
The twenty-fifth squad encircled him, cautiously narrowing the distance.
Whoosh! Slash!
A whip lashed out. A segmented whip, like snakeskin, slicing the air with a sharp whistle.
Four Thousand Four remained still.
Slash!
The whip grazed the ground at his feet.
It wasn't aimed at him. A feint to gauge his reaction.
Four Thousand Four didn't flinch.
Whoosh! Slash!
The second whistle rang out.
This was the real strike, whipping straight for his torso.
Slash!
Four Thousand Four didn't dodge. He took the hit full-on.
For a split second, the whip coiled around him—then snapped straight again.
Blood sprayed. Flesh tore free.
Four Thousand Four convulsed. He was human, made of flesh and bone; he couldn't escape the agony of the lash.
Whoosh! Slash!
The third strike landed.
Again, Four Thousand Four didn't move. He welcomed the incoming whip with his entire body.
Whirrr!
The whip wrapped around him. In that instant,
Swoosh!
Four Thousand Four seemed to move.
Whoosh! Thud! Thud-thud-thud!
In an incredibly brief moment, shadows flickered as if dozens were lunging.
Four Thousand Four attacked. The instant the whip flew, he shot forward. And as if anticipating that very moment, four assassins unleashed their lethal strikes in unison. Even the whip-wielder dropped it for a sword.
Four Thousand Four's blade gutted one man's chest.
The whip-user. He'd abandoned the whip for a sword, but it was a step too late to block.
As his chest split open, the other assassins' swords shredded Four Thousand Four.
A blade pierced his left side and exited the right.
One that stabbed his gut protruded from his back.
The killing blow cleaved his heart, driven deep into the cleft.
"Huff!"
Instead of a groan, Four Thousand Four exhaled sharply.
Swoosh! Shink! Slash!
As the assassins withdrew their swords, Four Thousand Four spilled blood like a burst waterskin.
"Even now, he takes one down."
"I saw it clear. But these swords... they're awfully similar."
"What do you mean?"
"They look a lot like Hanbi and Jaja's. Not from the Nineteen Hells—Martial Camp warriors."
Heh heh heh! Sharp eyes. A shame to kill you... Farewell."
Whoosh!
The captain launched a killing strike.
Even now, Four Thousand Four teetered beyond death's threshold. He could die right there without surprise. But the captain wanted to sever his neck for certainty.
At that moment, Four Thousand Four hurled himself off the cliff.
A place he could go, but the enemy couldn't follow. The death ground.
This was why he'd come here. Prepared for such an eventuality.
Splaaaash!
Four Thousand Four plummeted into the endless abyss below the cliff.