Chapter 110
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: Chapter 32. Contact (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Flying Tiger headed to the Face Pursuit headquarters.
There, he stopped by the guard post to look for Jin Ga-yong. One of the squad members replied that he wasn't at headquarters and suggested he was probably at the Zhao Family Manor on Ye Mountain, then asked what the matter was. Flying Tiger, looking troubled and anxious, dodged the question and slipped away.
It was around noon.
Leaving the Face Pursuit headquarters, Flying Tiger made his way to the blacksmith village on the outskirts of Chang'an City.
It was a sword forging workshop with a sign reading 'Jeongho Workshop' on the outside, but in truth, it was a hideout for the Yin Evil Squad under the Sungyang Sect. It was the place he had stumbled upon while tracking traces of the Ghost Face with Jin Ga-yong in the past, where he had met Ban-chung and made covert contact that very night.
In other words, it was the starting point where Flying Tiger had connected with the Initial Edge side.
Flying Tiger poked around the village, inquiring discreetly, but when he came up empty-handed and left, the shen hour (3-5 p.m.) was drawing to a close.
Nothing was going right, and afterward, his footsteps turned northwest.
What was there?
Any number of things, but perhaps the Zhao Family Manor on Ye Mountain, a half-day's journey from the blacksmith village? After all, he had checked Face Pursuit headquarters for Jin Ga-yong.
But no one could know for sure.
Flying Tiger's trail went cold after that.
Just like that, he vanished, leaving behind his tracks.
Flying Tiger traveled by night.
As darkness fell, he began scouting for a suitable shelter.
Cave, open air—it didn't matter. He had no intention of eating, so no need for a fire. He just needed a spot where he could spend a full day undisturbed, a place to prepare his mind and body.
Thus, it was deep into the night when Flying Tiger finally settled in a small thatched hut.
The hut lay abandoned in the depths of an uninhabited mountain. He had followed a hunter's path (*what ordinary folk wouldn't even call a path) deep into the woods before finding it, so it was likely a shelter they had used for overnight stays. Judging by its condition, no one had used it in at least a year.
"Luck's on my side from the start."
That was Flying Tiger's thought as he quickly cleared the inside of the hut. He had braced for a windy night outdoors, but stumbling upon this made him say it.
What did it matter, really?
But for this bounty, he needed luck in every way. So he took this first stroke of fortune as a good omen, pleased, and hoped his luck would hold.
After cleaning, Flying Tiger sat, staring blankly at the night sky through the window.
Like a man with nothing to do.
As he did, the mountain's myriad sounds grew louder, gradually burying his presence in the clamor.
Time passed.
And with it, a flood of thoughts and emotions drifted away. Meanwhile, he tightly wrapped desires like his longing for Gong Won-yeong—things he couldn't discard—and tucked them into a corner of his heart.
He cleared and emptied himself that way.
Only then did Flying Tiger begin honing his blade in his mind's eye. Sharpening it to slice anyone, to pierce anything. He whetted his dulled killing intent to a razor's edge.
It was the return of the assassin once called the "Visitor of Death" in that distant land.
Flying Tiger couldn't tell if the Jin Ga-yong he had seen was genuine or a facade. Nor was he naive enough to ask outright if he was wearing a mask or if he could yank it off for a look.
So what to do?
In the end, Flying Tiger planned to fall back on his old ways.
Strip him bare with overwhelming violence, drag him to death's door—then his true nature would emerge, wouldn't it?
That was his understanding of humanity.
Be they tyrants at the world's pinnacle, conquerors who plunged it into fear, or tycoons with wealth piled to the heavens—once you stripped away the glorious cloaks that made them shine, they were all the same.
So why would this time be different?
The problem was Jin Ga-yong's martial prowess. Flying Tiger couldn't gauge his limits. He had already surpassed the abilities Flying Tiger had estimated before, so his true strength was immeasurable.
Thus, Flying Tiger sought to revert to his assassin days. He needed assassination arts akin to yet distinct from martial prowess.
Flying Tiger sank deeper into stillness, and eventually, the surroundings fell silent.
A long while later.
A eerie wind whispered in his ear. It came from beyond the edge of his consciousness.
Whoooosh—
Flying Tiger's eyes snapped open.
His pupils were pitch-black and bottomless, inhuman.
The result of embracing darkness.
Recalling it, it was the same darkness Ma-yeop had glimpsed and recoiled from in the underground chamber the other day, when they went to deal with the Sichuan Eight Fiends together.
Shrrrr.
Moments later, the inky blackness in his pupils faded like receding water, regaining their normal hue.
Flying Tiger exhaled deeply. He slowly clenched and unclenched his fist, then muttered in a raspy voice.
"It's been a while. And this feeling... not bad."
Eight hours had passed since he settled in; night had yielded to dawn.
Flying Tiger shook off the stiffness and stretched his body.
Then he gripped his sword.
He had honed his mind thus far; now it was time to sharpen the blade that would wield that killing heart.
The swordplay Flying Tiger prepared was a single ultimate technique.
Among the three assassination arts he had mastered—Heaven, Earth, and Man Punishments—the most difficult to learn and even harder to execute: the "Man Punishment."
"...What do you think?"
"Pardon?"
Na-mok startled and asked back. He had missed the other's words, lost in thought. His face flushed.
It was rude.
Especially considering the man's status and dignity—a grave discourtesy.
The middle-aged man across the table stroked his beard once, gazing steadily at Na-mok. As Na-mok fidgeted apologetically, the man nodded understandingly.
"It happens. This is no small matter. Naturally worrisome."
"My apologies."
"No need. Let me be clear: if you refuse, we won't meet again. No harm will come to you either. I stake the honor of the Six Arms Iron Legs on it."
"...Yes."
The middle-aged man chuckled at Na-mok's pause and joked.
"What, does the honor of the Six Arms Iron Legs seem too cheap to trust?"
"No, not at all!"
Six Arms Iron Legs Sang Bang-suk.
That was the middle-aged man's title. Not yet sixty, he was from Dance Melody Manor like Na-mok, with rumors swirling that he would be the next elder. His martial arts were exceptional, and he had amassed great merits in battles under the manor's banner.
Not quite on the level of Tiger Chi Wang Baek-gun, but anywhere he went, he was treated as a Dance Melody Manor master. In short, his status dwarfed Na-mok's to the point of embarrassment.
His temperament was rough, causing endless incidents in his youth, but since many in the jianghu—regardless of orthodox or unorthodox—were like that, it was overlooked.
With all that, how could Na-mok nitpick when Sang Bang-suk invoked his own honor?
No matter his inner thoughts, it would be utterly unreasonable.
"So? Speak your mind freely."
"First my sect brother from the main house, and now even you, Senior... joining that secret society..."
"Initial Edge! Call it that. 'Secret society' has a bad ring—like we're scheming evil in some back room."
"Ah—yes. Initial Edge."
Na-mok muttered "Initial Edge," sweating, then spoke cautiously. He sensed he was at a crossroads.
"So, I understand Initial Edge is a group formed with good intentions, with remarkable people involved. But my question is this: why take interest in someone like me?"
"Because Elder Wang marked you as his successor. What else?"
Sang Bang-suk stated it matter-of-factly.
Na-mok stared blankly at him, thinking.
'Elder Wang's name comes up again. Even in death, he's still my lifeline? Did he really pick me as successor? For real?'
But Na-mok's shock was premature. Sang Bang-suk wasn't done.
"That's why Initial Edge wants you to carry on Elder Wang's unfinished legacy."
"Legacy?"
"Tch, for jianghu folk like us, isn't there only one true legacy? Martial arts. And very special ones at that!"
"Uh..."
Na-mok was truly stunned this time, stammering.
Jianghu wanderers roamed the world for a scrap of another's arts, plotted, spilled blood without hesitation.
So this was...
"A fated opportunity. Congratulations. After much deliberation, the group settled on you."
"...!"
"Of course, if you're not keen, nothing to be done. But you know? Even at my age, I'm envious—jealous, even. It irks me toward the group. Why you and not me?"
"..."
It had been three days since Na-mok coincidentally(?) met his sect brother.
When contact came again, Na-mok went in a daze, only to find the famed Six Arms Iron Legs Sang Bang-suk from Dance Melody Manor there. And he too was Initial Edge.
Moreover?
According to Sang Bang-suk, Initial Edge had roots not just in Dance Melody Manor but throughout the Martial Qin Alliance's affiliates. Even several in the Face Pursuit Squad.
Their ranks ranged from low to high.
Even taking Sang Bang-suk's words with a grain of salt, it was no ordinary group. Na-mok wondered if a seismic shift was coming soon.
Of course, it felt ominous too.
They claimed to pursue only upright winds of righteousness(?), but Na-mok wasn't naive enough to buy it wholesale.
But.
When Elder Wang chose, there must have been reason.
And to inherit the martial arts he had been cultivating...
It was a night when Na-mok's heart wavered.
Meanwhile, that same night.
At another place, someone who had just weathered a storm emerged to calm seas, their turbulent mind and body settling.
Click.
The sword slid into its sheath.
Flying Tiger looked haggard, but his eyes gazing at the night sky burned sharp.
All preparations were complete.
And after this night, seven days remained until the promised date.