Chapter 121
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 121
Chapter Title: Chapter 34. The Tiger's Maw (4)
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Swish, swish.
The viper—known as the "seven-spotted snake" for the seven black markings on its head and the "seven-step killer" because its victim dies before taking seven steps—silently slithered through the cover of night sounds and chaos. It was one of the toys kept by Lady Bongyeon, dispatched on her orders to bite a certain light-fingered human.
Lady Bongyeon had secretly unleashed it while chatting with Flying Tiger, planning to give the overly frisky fellow a taste of her sister's fiery temper.
The viper circled quietly to Flying Tiger's rear. Judging it close enough, it stiffly raised its head and flicked out its tongue.
Battle ready?
Whoosh.
But Flying Tiger struck first.
He shoved the Gon-son Monk he'd been holding backward. The viper chomped down on the lunging Gon-son.
This remarkable spirit beast, after grueling training, could distinguish and bite the target Lady Bongyeon designated. That was the plan, at least. But sensing a threat, it had lunged on pure instinct.
In truth, the viper had no knack for picking out specific humans. Snakes as a species have barely any sight, hearing, or taste to speak of.
Instead, their tongue-driven sense of smell was extraordinarily keen.
Humans barely notice it, but to a snake, it's a horribly foul odor—a concentrated perfume of sorts smeared on the target for training.
And applying that drug to the mark? Lady Bongyeon handled it personally. She'd dab a drop on her middle fingernail, then flick it onto the victim with a subtle technique.
Even so, could just any viper be trained like that? No. Which made Lady Bongyeon's viper worthy of the spirit beast title.
"Eek."
It was the sound from Gon-son Monk—already drenched in blood—as he tumbled, got bitten by the viper, and collapsed atop it.
The viper wriggled every which way to escape the crushing weight.
Crack.
Flying Tiger smashed its head with his mandarin duck moon blade and flung it toward Lady Bongyeon.
"Lady, looked like you dropped something just now. This the useless toy you mentioned?"
Flap, flap.
Both the viper, honed through arduous training to near-spirit-beast prowess, and the bitten Gon-son Monk were in death throes, thrashing belly-up.
Lady Bongyeon, seeing her prized toy wrecked like this, flew into a rage and shrieked,
"Hey, you mangy dog bastard!"
One-Strike Free Style Ilgwang, who'd been watching the scene, stepped forward swinging his iron rod wildly. Time to repay the earlier humiliation and properly leave his mark.
On whom?
The client Chao Erjin, the night-ready Lady Bongyeon, or both.
"You little punk. Wanna taste this old man's flavor?"
"Yeah? Wanna sample some retard taste yourself?"
"What'd you just spit... uh......"
No sooner had Flying Tiger finished than he yanked Gon-son Monk up by the hair, wrenched his arm behind his back, and thrust him forward.
Anyone could see it was shield duty.
Flying Tiger had his limbs locked tight now—no more flailing. Instead, eyes rolled back, foaming at the mouth, twitching and bubbling.
'Hmph, all that big talk, now an epileptic shield... Pfft, total retard—hilarious.'
Ilgwang ached to swing his rod freely at the infuriating Flying Tiger, client be damned. But duty restrained him, so he spat curses in frustration.
"You goddamn worthless lunatic!"
"Heh heh, the one's getting screwed is the retard."
Flying Tiger fired back.
(For the record, those were Ilgwang's words from earlier.)
Jeong-geum, watching it all, popped her top. She crammed down her killing intent and growled as menacingly as she could.
"You really that eager to die?"
"Ho Yehwa, rein in your buddy. This'll tank the whole op before it starts. Gon-son's already useless—if he drops out too, who the hell we taking on the mission?"
"......"
Ho Yehwa glared at Flying Tiger for a beat, then let out a hollow chuckle. "Ha ha~ really."
Oddly, Flying Tiger's logic here perfectly mirrored Jeong-geum's pitch to shield Gon-son Monk earlier.
Coincidence, no doubt.
Ho Yehwa shook her head and warned him.
"Cut the games. Put Gon-son Monk down. Now."
"Why should I?"
"I grant your methods' brilliance. Misunderstanding aside, your flare-up makes sense to a point. But that's the line. Cross it again, and......"
"Here."
To everyone's surprise, Flying Tiger handed over Gon-son Monk before the warning even landed.
Lady Bongyeon shot Flying Tiger a venomous glare, then hurried to Gon-son. She pulled powder medicine from her bosom, dusted it around the bite, and dumped the rest down his throat.
Even after, at Jeong-geum's plea, she gave the wrecked Gon-son emergency care. Poison and medicine were flip sides of the same coin, after all—and her mastery of toxins made her no slouch at healing.
Flying Tiger watched the scene vacantly before sighing and turning to Ho Yehwa.
"What’s the verdict? I stopped here—didn't cross the line, right?"
"It's ambiguous."
Ho Yehwa eyed him with eyes full of true ambiguity.
Too valuable to ditch, but his career hung in the balance. Keep him? Too many headaches. How many already trashed by this guy's hands? The mission might end before kickoff, everyone diced by this demon.
So...
"What’s your take, Elder? Best move?"
Ho Yehwa's gaze drifted past Flying Tiger's shoulder, to the rear.
A new player had appeared quietly at some point, looming right behind Flying Tiger.
That explained Flying Tiger's sudden meekness.
A wizened, unremarkable old man.
He wore a threadbare brown robe, back hunched, arms so long they dangled near the ground—like a long-armed gibbon.
Come to think of it, his wild mane and tangled beard framed skin so wrinkled and gnarled it resembled a tree yokai.
And those eyes?
Windows to the soul, extinguished. Hollow as a dead hearth, missing some vital spark.
Yet the occasional glint from those barren orbs sent chills down the spine.
To the point where Flying Tiger—sensing his back taken the instant he did—hadn't so much as turned his head since. No need to check; this was a top-tier master.
A peak expert of the Realm Beyond the Heavens.
Survive the jianghu long enough, and Flying Tiger might climb there someday. But not today—not something he could handle.
This was the Old Man of Shandong, also known as Thousand Armies.
The organization's certified true master, Ho Yehwa's pick too. If Flying Tiger was dead weight, this was the guy tasked with help to dispose of him.
Flying Tiger's instincts screamed he was inside the "Elder's" blade range. Any unapproved sudden move, and it'd be one clean cut.
But... were his senses on point?
'No rush. If that unavoidable moment hits, test it then.'
Thump, thump.
Flying Tiger willed his pounding pulse to calm, shifting to practical worries.
If that moment came, how to prove his sense right? In other words, if the enemy swung, how to respond?
Roll-dodge?
Deflect and pivot?
Solid guard?
Strike first?
None felt right. Back pinned, foe's intent opaque—this shitty setup doomed any play to slim odds.
Unless some trigger hit—a wild card flipped the board. Otherwise, failure!
'Fate's in the hands of the guy behind me, huh. Too cocky?'
Flying Tiger gave a wry smile and shook his head.
Future unknown—every instant a gamble. Play too safe, never reach the end. Spare a Gon-son type despite the opening? Eternal regret.
Decision made: charge ahead!
'Fine. If fate decrees it, accept. But... least I pick my death? So tell me—what end do you crave?'
Balanced on a knife's edge, Flying Tiger faced himself head-on. He hoped for a lifeline, waited for a twist—even as he steeled for death.
"What do you want me to do? Why ask me? You lot ask, I oblige. Not our deal?"
The Old Man of Shandong threw it back. Ho Yehwa replied.
"He's chicken ribs. Waste to toss, hassle to keep."
"Hassle?"
"No telling where he'll bolt. Can't control him—embarrassing."
"Hm. So dump him on me?"
"Yes."
Flying Tiger cut in—not a golden chance, just fearing the last sliver slamming shut.
"Sorry to butt in, but..."
"No buts—if sorry, shut it."
The Old Man of Shandong shut him down, but Flying Tiger had no time for pride or queues. He ignored the order and pushed his case.
"I'm useful."
"Shut it."
"Useful and no hassle. Quick on the uptake, handle jobs slick."
"You little shit..."
"It's true."
"......"
The Old Man's glare sent ice down Flying Tiger's spine.
Thump, thump.
Shit, air's gone frigid. Did I fan the flames?
"Useful, eh?"
"Yes."
"Quick and nimble?"
"Yes."
"Yet they say zero control?"
"All relative, no? Stubborn mule's tamed by the rider."
"You're the mule. I'm the rider?"
"Well... figuratively. If Elder wants, I'll be your steed or plow ox!"
Did the bootlicking land?
The Old Man of Shandong chuckled. "Seen every freak out there." Then, grin fading,
"Fine. Now just test if you're really useful—my bar. Deal?"
"Pardon?"
That instant, killing intent stabbed his lungs. The moment he'd dreaded—here it was.
Goddamn it!
Flying Tiger lunged a step, spinning. It forced him back a step—instantly hurling his twin mandarin duck moon blades at the Old Man of Shandong.
First real look: arms loose, grinning like it was cute.
Am I spooking myself silly here?
No chance!
Next beat, the Old Man's right arm snapped level with his shoulder, cleaver gripped tight.
Shrick—
The sound chased!
Flying Tiger's hurled moons cleaved in sequence—four chunks!
The Old Man of Shandong advanced, blade held horizontal to the earth.
Flying Tiger fell back another step, hand flying to the back-mounted Ma-yeop sword 'Blue Stream'. Blue lightning crackled in his eyes—frontal showdown it was.
All on one slash!