Chapter 148
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 148
Chapter Title: Chapter 41. Human Slaughter (1)
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At first, the man had suspected that Flying Tiger might be his sworn enemy.
It started with the fact that he was a young bounty hunter under the Western Bureau. His appearance matched too, and many other details overlapped as well. Of course, the name was different, but there was no way to confirm whether it was an alias or his real name.
So when he heard Flying Tiger was coming, the man had prepared himself thoroughly.
But the Flying Tiger he actually met didn't match the information he'd gathered at all.
Hobi was known for using commonplace third-rate martial arts like they were second nature and for picking up any old sword to wield. Yet the Flying Tiger the man personally clashed with employed orthodox swordsmanship from a prestigious family, and above all, he wielded a treasured blade worthy of being called a broadsword.
In truth, this misunderstanding arose because Flying Tiger had thrust forward his Overgold Sword, claiming it was his prized weapon, and on this day, he'd used the "Lesser Cold Sword Technique" instead of his usual "Wind and Cloud Ring."
In any case, the man began to think that perhaps Hobi and Flying Tiger were two different people.
Then Flying Tiger revealed his past, saying he hailed from Yunnan Province. But the man had heard Hobi came from the Western Regions.
And that wasn't all.
From what he'd heard, Hobi was a righteous wanderer. Or at least, like many youths his age, a kid obsessed with playing the hero. But after going through a series of incidents with Flying Tiger, it was clear he was an expert in threats, abductions, torture—all manner of vile deeds. Anyone could see he was a scoundrel forged in the unorthodox paths.
For these reasons, though Flying Tiger still rubbed him the wrong way, the man became convinced he couldn't possibly be Hobi.
That said, a question naturally arose.
If he'd investigated Flying Tiger's past deeds as thoroughly as he claimed, how could he have gotten the enemy's name wrong all this time?
There were a few coincidences that led to it. For starters, the way he gathered information.
"Do you know anything about a ronin warrior called Hobi?"
"Who?"
"You know, that young, skilled ronin swordsman."
"Plenty of those around."
"The one who recently stepped up for a pittance to right the wrongs suffered by the people of Uga Village."
"Ah~ that insolent bastard? He slashed bounty fees to absurd levels, muddying the whole trade. Caused a real uproar! So what's he to you? Don't tell me you're after a commission too..."
"No. I just need info on him for personal reasons. I'll pay you handsomely, no hard feelings."
"......"
It went like that.
A misunderstanding born from casually switching to vague pronouns mid-conversation.
One might say the fault lay in keeping things murky, but there was an excuse for that too.
The Western Bureau handled commissions for bounty hunters but also dealt in information. As an outsider in Shaanxi territory, the man felt uneasy asking around openly.
Standing out too much might alert his enemies to his presence first.
He wanted none of that.
So to leave less of a trace, he'd acted discreetly. It all stemmed from caution.
Thanks to that, the Western Bureau never learned of the man's existence—and in turn, he continued to know Flying Tiger only as Hobi.
Thus ended this untold secret of the martial world, buried unknown to all.
A Jeok-gang asked,
"Then state your true intentions. Why warn the Zhao Family Manor through me to prepare for an unorthodox assault? And why threaten Young Master Jin that if he wants the Ye Mountain Sword, he should come here alone? What are you really after?"
"I wanted to summon Clan Leader Jin separately to ask him something. But as I schemed, I saw the unorthodox forces were poised to wipe out the Zhao Family Manor entirely. I couldn't let that slide, so I tipped you off to stay vigilant."
A Jeok-gang mulled over Flying Tiger's words, a chill running down his spine.
He checked his condition. It was a mess, naturally, with barely a scrap of internal energy left. Recovery would take time. But true to his bold and straightforward nature, he didn't drag things out. He cut straight to the chase.
"Didn't I tell you before? He's an honest man—if you have questions, just ask him directly. So why complicate things like this?"
"I acknowledge he's truthful and straightforward. Then why do you think I went this route?"
"......!"
A Jeok-gang let out a sigh, his hand drifting back to the hilt of his soft sword, tucked into his belt moments ago.
Then he asked coldly,
"Flying Tiger, are we enemies?"
Flying Tiger stared straight at A Jeok-gang.
Then, glancing up at the sky, he saw dawn had broken. The chaotic darkness of the night before had lifted.
Thus, all things revealed their true forms clearly. The hour of human slaughter was upon them.
The Shandong Old Man leaped in, slashing horizontally. He was about five paces from Jin Ga-yong—too far for blade to meet sword or man.
Chiiik.
In an instant, golden haze bloomed over the old man's blade, spewing a sickly yellow glow.
It was golden gang qi.
The qi flowed along the blade, extending straight out in a trail—a full zhang of golden sword-edge.
Shwaaaak—
From what the old man had observed, Jin Ga-yong handled his sword with finesse but lacked raw destructive power. In contrast, the old man's blade was crude yet ferocious and overwhelming.
Of course, this was relative; compared to ordinary warriors, both were flawless.
His strategy was simple: overwhelm from the start, leaving no room for tricks!
That's why he opened with the ultimate gambit of sword-qi made manifest.
But what if Jin Ga-yong withstood the initial barrage? The old man had a plan for that too.
Common wisdom held that only gang qi countered gang qi. Even if Jin Ga-yong blocked the onslaught, he'd burn through his internal energy matching it with his own gang qi or equivalent force.
Turn it into a war of attrition.
Then the one with deeper reserves would prevail, and a savage blade would outshine refined swordplay.
Under this strategy, the old man unleashed his first strike. Jin Ga-yong, without hesitation, charged straight in to meet it.
Jin Ga-yong thrust the tip of his Soul Spirit Sword skyward.
Horruk.
The blade warped the surrounding air, sucking it in like a rat hole devouring rainwater. Unlike typical qi infusion, the signs were extraordinary.
Then Jin Ga-yong swung the Soul Spirit Sword down.
Thud~ Ung~
It was heavy, profound. The reverberation clung thickly, spilling past the inner courtyard walls to engulf the command hall.
The backlash hurled the Shandong Old Man backward, upper body arching wildly, while Jin Ga-yong was flung far away.
It looked like the old man had gained the upper hand, but his expression soured.
The feel of it was off, and the clash's damage was too minimal.
Worse, the impact rang out clean as a temple bell—impossible for his metal-shattering, brutal swings.
This was not the outcome he wanted.
And sure enough, Jin Ga-yong flipped gracefully through the air and landed lightly.
He'd used the sword's rebound to launch himself skyward, dissipating much of the shock.
A clever sword trick.
''Using sword-flicking like that? Daring to show off parlor tricks before me?''
The Shandong Old Man stomped forward.
He'd close in instantly and rain down a hundred, a thousand strikes to test how long the tricks would last.
But do things ever go as planned?
Wobble?
As the old man launched himself, he lost balance and staggered. Alarmed, he realized the bell-like clash's echo still rattled his ears.
The tremor was subtle, insidious, enough to subtly disrupt his equilibrium.
He'd fallen victim to the Soul Spirit Sword's sonic assault.
By the time he realized it, Jin Ga-yong was charging with sword outstretched.
Tadak.
Jin Ga-yong's form shivered as he leaped.
The next instant, it split into two, appearing on the old man's left and right to thrust simultaneously.
The movements were so fluid it was hard to tell real from illusion.
The Shandong Old Man slashed in response.
He first moved right, cleaving the thrusting image there.
Pivoting on his extended right foot, he spun and, by a hair's breadth, cleaved the left one too.
Though sequential, the strikes were so swift the first's afterimage lingered as the second fell—making it seem simultaneous.
The old man had used a division technique too.
Whoosh~ Whoosh~
Jin Ga-yong's images vanished like smoke.
Both fakes.
From behind the second illusion, the real Jin Ga-yong emerged, thrusting at the old man's brow.
Kakang.
The old man parried with his upright blade.
The Soul Spirit Sword scraped along it and glanced off; the old man turned his head to deflect it fully.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked.
Flames danced in Jin Ga-yong's gaze, flickering chaotically in the old man's.
From the old man's perspective, he'd blocked the attack, but the situation was far from ideal.
He used to shatter any assault—be it sword, arrow, or hidden weapon.
Not this time. He'd been pushed back.
And this felt like just the beginning.
Of the locked blade and sword, the sword moved first.
Twitch.
The blade clung and entwined; one sought to repel, the other to bind, both unleashing every trick.
Kagak. Chachang~ Kak.
Amid it, the Soul Spirit Sword's bells wailed, assailing the old man's spirit. Each time, his balance issues amplified, focus waned.
'Damn it! Monstrous strength and chaotic spirit, they said... Now I see it's not the sword—it's the bastard wielding it.'
Jin Ga-yong, master of the Soul Spirit Sword, embodied "monstrous strength, chaotic divinity."
Defying norms, unleashing unbelievable power, deranging the mind—a true demon god.
On reflection, the old man was right. It wasn't some mere otherworldly blade; it was the hand that gripped and shook it.