A Good Ending, My Ass
The faces of the three assassins were distorted beyond recognition. It looked as if someone had melted their skin with potent acid and then carved away the remains with a blade. Their features were a ruin of melted flesh; eyes, noses, and mouths were so warped that it was impossible to discern who they might have been.
...What ruthless bastards! They’ve clearly undergone professional training!
A chill ran down Bukjin’s spine. He approached the assassins who had lost consciousness from the poison and tore off their masks as well. Their faces were in the same horrific state. After a moment of grim contemplation, Bukjin decapitated all six of them. It was a "double-tap"—a finishing blow to ensure they stayed dead. His thorough, cautious habits remained as sharp as ever.
Who on earth hired such professional killers to come after me? And to think they dared to infiltrate the 3rd Academy! This isn't something an ordinary person would ever attempt.
As these thoughts raced through his mind, the hair on his arms suddenly stood on end. A primal sense of dread washed over him.
Swish—!
Bukjin immediately activated his Cloud-Walking Rain footwork and leaped from his spot. In the next heartbeat—
Thwack—!
A massive black arrow tore through the wind, hurtling toward him at an incredible speed. The projectile had been aimed directly at the center of his back. Fortunately, Bukjin’s lightning-fast reflexes allowed him to twist his body mid-air, but the arrow still found its mark, burying itself deep into his left shoulder.
The force behind the shot was monstrous. Pierced clean through the shoulder, Bukjin was sent flying by the impact, slamming violently into the wall of the Bamboo Garden. The arrow that had transfixed his flesh embedded itself deep into the masonry, pinning him there.
Agony flared. It felt as if his bones had been ground into splinters. Bukjin realized he had lost all sensation in half of his body. Blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth.
Faced with this dire crisis, Bukjin found his mind becoming strangely, preternaturally clear. Ignoring the white-hot pain, he let out a guttural shout and slammed his right hand against the wall. Using the counterforce, he yanked his shoulder forward, tearing himself free from the arrow still stuck in the stone.
The moment he was free, he blurred into motion, diving into the shadows of the nearby bamboo grove.
Zip—! Hummm—!
An instant later, two more black arrows hissed through the air, thudding into the exact spot on the wall where his head had been moments before. The shafts vibrated violently even after impact. If Bukjin’s reaction had been a fraction of a second slower, his throat would have been pinned to that wall.
"Who’s there!" Bukjin roared, shifting his position within the deep shadows of the bamboo.
Whish! Whish! Whish!
Three silver arrows flew from Bukjin’s hand toward the direction the black arrows had originated. They whistled through the air, but they only pierced harmless bamboo leaves before thudding uselessly into the dirt. It seemed the archer had already relocated.
Blood continued to pour from the hole in Bukjin’s shoulder. Every movement was a struggle. Taking a deep breath, he activated his footwork again, constantly shifting his position. He didn't dare stand still for even a second. He didn't even have the luxury of activating a Healing Circle to close the wound.
He knew with absolute certainty that if he stopped for a single heartbeat, a lethal black arrow would find his vitals. The sense of impending doom grew heavier in his chest.
The archer was a ghost, hidden somewhere in the dark. Like a hunter stalking a wounded beast, he was waiting—waiting for the prey to bleed out, for its strength to fail, before delivering the final, decisive blow. Bukjin could almost see the man in his mind, bowstring drawn taut, eyes locked onto his every move.
Where is he? Where are you hiding, you bastard!
Bukjin pushed his mental focus to its absolute limit, sensing everything within a ten-foot radius. Though only a short time had passed, an immense wave of fatigue washed over him. The heavy blood loss was rapidly draining his stamina, making it harder to maintain his high-speed movement.
Right then, Bukjin’s legs buckled slightly.
Whish—!
Three more lethal black arrows screamed out of the darkness. Bukjin raised his sword with his right hand and swung it with all his might.
Clang—!
The incoming arrows were deflected by his blade. However, hidden behind the third arrow was a fourth, trailing in its wake. The moment Bukjin swatted away the first three, the fourth arrow streaked toward his face.
It was too late to raise his sword. It was impossible to dodge. Death was a certainty.
As his mind went blank, Bukjin threw his head back and opened his mouth wide. It was a desperate, final gamble. He clamped his jaws shut on the incoming arrow.
The massive kinetic energy of the shot slammed into his mouth. He felt a jolt of pain so intense it felt as if every tooth in his head had been shattered. Fortunately, Bukjin had already reached the Black Iron Sword Bone stage of the Peerless Sword Body. His physical durability had increased exponentially. His entire skeletal structure was as hard as tempered steel. Since teeth are part of the bone structure, his were incomparably stronger than those of any normal human.
Boom—!
It felt as if he’d been struck between the eyes by a sledgehammer. The massive force rattled his skull and neck. Bukjin was blown back nearly ten feet, stumbling before finally managing to steady himself.
"Pah!"
Bukjin spat the arrow out. A torrent of blood followed it. In the process of catching the arrow, his throat had been lacerated. But thanks to his iron-like grip with his teeth, he had avoided the catastrophe of having his throat pierced through. He felt a searing heat rising from deep within his gullet. With his mouth filled with blood, even speaking was difficult.
And then, a ghostly figure slowly emerged from the bamboo forest. Stepping onto the carpet of fallen bamboo leaves, the figure moved without a sound, without even a ripple in the air. It was like watching a shadow manifest. Like the assassins before him, he wore black robes and a metallic mask. A faint, eerie light flickered within his eyes.
"Heh heh heh... It’s been ten years, three months, and four days since someone took my fourth arrow and lived. Im Bukjin, you should be proud of yourself!"
His voice was a raspy, grating sound, like two jagged stones rubbing together. It was clear his vocal cords had been surgically altered to disguise his true voice.
"You..."
Bukjin opened his mouth and spat out a glob of thick blood. Agony flared in his throat. He spoke with the low, strained voice of a wounded predator, putting every ounce of his strength into the words. "Who the hell... are you... Who sent...?"
"Ho ho, you want to know who wants you dead?" the archer asked mockingly. "You offended someone you should never have crossed. At this point, death is the best ending you can hope for. You should be grateful to me. If the one who came for you today had been Phantom Shape, you would have learned that there are things far worse than death!"
Convinced that the battle was already won, the archer seemed in no hurry to end his prey's life. Such behavior was uncharacteristic of a professional assassin, but he felt this indulgence was earned. After all, Bukjin had deflected three arrows at once and survived the hidden fourth arrow, known as the Mother-and-Child Arrow. The method Bukjin had used to stop it was so ingenious it had actually impressed him. For a brief moment, he decided Bukjin was worth keeping alive—just long enough to watch the life slowly drain out of him.
"A good ending, my ass!"
Bukjin snarled and charged at him, sword raised. But his steps were unsteady, staggering like a beast making its final, desperate stand. Seeing this, a look of cruel contempt flashed in the archer's eyes. He slowly raised his bow and released the string.
Whish—!
The fifth black arrow flew true, burying itself in Bukjin’s heart. The projectile tore through his body and flew onward, embedding itself in a distant rock.
"It’s over."
The archer let out a long sigh. It was his habit—to sigh after taking the life of a master. Like a high priest offering a prayer for a wandering soul, he used that sigh to bring a sense of ritualistic closure to the scene of the kill. He was a man who believed even murder required a proper ceremony.
In the next moment, a faint breeze brushed against his back. Suddenly, he felt a strange, icy sensation in his chest. With a look of shock, the archer looked down.
A massive blade had erupted through his chest from behind. The enormous, door-like edge looked ready to cleave his body in half. It was Bukjin’s sword.
Drip. Drip.
Fresh blood ran down the length of the blade and onto the ground.
"Like you said... the end is the end."
Bukjin’s raspy voice whispered from directly behind the archer. In his right hand, he gripped the Virtue Sword. His left hand was clasped firmly around A-kwang’s paw.
"H-How... did you...?"
As his consciousness began to fade, the archer looked toward the "Bukjin" whose heart had been pierced by his arrow. That body was flickering, its life force vanishing like a dying ember.
"How... could you...?"
The archer’s body slumped to the ground, his life extinguished. Even in death, his eyes remained wide open in disbelief.
"How did I do it?" Bukjin panted, pulling his sword from the corpse. "Because not only am I a great actor, but I can also use clones and stealth! You stupid piece of shit!"
As he spoke, more blood leaked from his lips. The wounds he had sustained tonight were severe. With a heavy thud, Bukjin collapsed onto the ground. He painfully raised his hand and cast a Healing Circle on himself.
"Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!"
A-kwang was drenched in a cold sweat, his white fur matted and damp. The rat stuck out his tongue, panting heavily from exhaustion. Despite his fatigue, he didn't forget to let out a series of proud squeaks, making sure Bukjin acknowledged the vital role he had played in tonight's victory.