Chapter 189
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Private Meeting (1)
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The spot Flying Tiger had his eyes on was a small hillock that swelled up gently on the steep incline below the cliff. Dismissing it as merely the "tail end of the hillside" would be doing a disservice to all the painstaking artificial landscaping that had gone into it.
In other words, it was a little mountain and forest carved, shaped, and planted in one corner of Yulin Garden—an artistic masterpiece in its own right. About the size of a modest village hill, it was shaded by bizarre rock formations and rare flowers and trees, exuding a serene charm, while a babbling brook wound below, breathing life into the scene.
The entire Yulin Garden drew water from the Hansu River, channeling it into streams lined with willows and manicured gardens, making it rival any famed scenic spot. But this place was particularly enchanting, worthy of being called its own little world.
And dangerous. At least, that's how it looked through an assassin's eyes.
There was only one entrance, and the paths twisted and turned everywhere, leading to dead ends if you took a wrong turn. In short, the terrain had been arranged into defensive formations according to array principles. Of course, that was nothing a skilled infiltrator couldn't ignore, vault over, or leap past. But things changed if you stationed warriors at key points along those paths.
And that's exactly what Flying Tiger saw now. By his count, more than ten elite members of the Shadow Path Squad had flooded this hillock alone. Moreover, every one of those Shadow Path Squad operatives was a master of stealth and ambush. Even at a glance, the place didn't look like easy pickings—it seemed utterly vacant, like an abandoned fortress.
But thanks to that, Flying Tiger could easily guess who was holed up in the villa at the hill's peak.
And one more thing.
Their misfortune was that the hill's defenders happened to be cut from the same cloth as Flying Tiger himself—experts in ambush, concealment, and, he presumed, surprise attacks. To him, the pinnacle of that style, they were familiar, almost comforting presences.
'One ke (fifteen minutes). I'll handle it within that.'
After dispatching the two sentries at the entrance, Flying Tiger set his internal countdown at 150 and set off.
By the count of forty, Flying Tiger slithered forward on his belly like a snake. He'd spotted one ambush spot so far and two suspicious terrain features, but he'd passed them all by. They didn't sit right with him. Of course, time wasn't on his side. The two sentries he'd taken out at the entrance could be missed any moment. Still, he held his patience—for the sake of nailing that first button.
That's when it happened.
An owl hoot echoed from somewhere off to the side.
Hoo... hoo.
Flying Tiger moved swiftly, suppressing his presence. The hoot sounded convincing, but it had a slight off-note. Experience told him it was fake.
Why hoot at all, though?
It could be a regular signal exchange, or maybe someone had caught a whiff of something off and was checking in.
'Either way, the key point is that it's directing the nearby ambushers. And it's drawn me in.'
Flying Tiger closed in and waited. Soon enough, another "hoo... hoo" rang out. There was a tall fir tree rising there. He scanned the tree and its surroundings, then flicked a small prepared pebble with his thumb into the brush on the opposite side.
Rustle.
The next instant, Flying Tiger sprang up like a wildcat, clambered onto the tree, and crawled up on all fours.
Presence suppressed, but speed maxed out.
Thus, the fake owl atop the tree peered into the brush, at first mistaking it for a squirrel creeping his way. It was just a split-second illusion, and then unease hit. The fake owl bolted to flee—and that's when Flying Tiger lunged, seizing his leg.
With the dagger in his other hand, he stabbed deep—once, twice, three times.
Pfft... pfft... pfft.
The third strike plunged into a vital point after two effective hits.
Gasp.
The fake owl thrashed, mustering his last strength to cry out.
But Flying Tiger expertly pinned his struggles and throttled his throat, sealing all intent.
Crackling. Whoosh—
The fir shuddered, scattering twigs and leaves. After a moment, it stilled.
Flying Tiger wasted no time. He stripped off the fake owl's outer robe, hung it on a branch, hoisted the body, and descended. He stashed the corpse in the brush, then slipped into hiding a short distance from the scene.
His count had just passed fifty.
Soon, someone approached, letting out a blatantly fake owl hoot. No reply came, so he crept cautiously around the fir's base, tension plain on him.
Amateurish.
Flying Tiger, observing, clamped his dagger in his teeth and stalked the clumsy owl step by stealthy step.
Then pounced from behind.
He first stabbed deep into the left lung, puncturing it. As the owl gasped futilely, Flying Tiger snapped his neck for the finish.
Crack.
Flying Tiger added the body to his previous hidey-hole and melted back into cover.
He counted another ten, but no one showed.
'The silence suggests they haven't noticed yet. Does that mean their comms are temporarily cut?'
Curiosity could be sated with confirmation.
Flying Tiger moved out. This time, toward the first ambush spot he'd spotted.
Hoo... hoo.
Another owl hoot—this one convincingly done, courtesy of Flying Tiger's mimicry.
Two owl-masked figures popped up from the ambush point, scanning around.
But Flying Tiger had already vanished into the shadows. And he was closing in, utterly silent.
...
By eighty, the spot was empty. Dig up the ground and maybe, but on the surface, deserted.
After bagging his eighth owl, Flying Tiger stopped wasting time hiding his intrusion altogether. He just kept concealed to avoid detection.
By his estimate, the hill had around fifteen foes. Having taken out more than half, over half their guarded zones were now vacant. No point hiding what was already exposed.
Instead, he ramped up his pace. He'd strike the remaining owls before they could coordinate a response—classic divide and conquer.
His count had passed 110.
As the arm swung over his shoulder, the dagger in his grip whipped around and plunged in.
Thud.
Flying Tiger drew his hooked sword and charged. But he embedded the dagger in the nape first, brushing past the staggering owl. Past him, he rammed the hooked sword into the tree behind with all his might.
The tree soaked up red blood, and the camouflage tarp fluttered down.
The owl, blended into the tree like part of it, slumped against it, back pressed. His heart had burst in one strike, vision blurring rapidly. His retina's final image captured Flying Tiger's back, already turning to thrash the first ambusher.
Thump.
The bait-laying owl and his partner had fallen—the twelfth and thirteenth sacrifices.
And the count had barely ticked past 137. He was rampaging, sweeping them up.
The Shadow Path Squad elites hadn't botched their response. When Flying Tiger burst out, they naturally melted into hiding for a counter-ambush. It was ingrained habit, their first reaction.
Flying Tiger struck before they could shift to the next phase.
The problem was, he knew their habits and tactics inside out. That's why they crumbled without a fight.
Huuu... sssip.
Flying Tiger exhaled long to purge his foul qi, then drew in a fresh breath. The "lightning flash" fragments blazing in his eyes were sucked back in with the inhale, settling partly into his dantian. He'd recovered some of the qi he'd raised and partially expended.
Converging and emitting inner power.
This was the moment Elder Ho Chi Wang Baek-gun of the Face Pursuit Unit Jeong's teachings came alive in combat. He'd diligently internalized them bit by bit, and this was the payoff.
In the recent clash, he'd unleashed the lightning flash three times in succession—that's how he'd rampaged so fiercely. In the past, three uses would have drained his dantian dry. But now, he could reclaim about half of each pull, so after three rounds, roughly half his qi remained.
That meant combat endurance skyrocketed, expanding his tactical options massively. This qi efficiency unlocked things once impossible.
Like right now!
A monumental shift, dramatic enough after mere months to feel like worlds apart.
Thus, Flying Tiger was evolving from a finished assassin into a true warrior as well.
Now, the hillock stood eerily quiet, save for the lone villa.
No other presences stirred.
So Flying Tiger caught his breath and shoved open the villa's front gate atop the hill.
Creeeak.
In the courtyard, a stern old man gripped a spear, awaiting him. From the simple rear annex behind the elder, he sensed about one presence.
Flying Tiger eyed the old man blocking his path.
The elder was burly, maskless. His dignified, steadfast gaze marked him as a different breed from the Shadow Path Squad he'd just faced. Above all, a master.
"Who are you? An assassin from Hanjung Fortress?"
"And you must be the Stone Flower Spear, Left Responder Gi?"
Each spoke only to hear the other's reply first. Finally, the elder broke the silence—but not with the answer Flying Tiger wanted.
"No rush, eh? Beat you senseless till you spill it all. What do you think?"
"If you've got the skill, be my guest."
The elder didn't flare at Flying Tiger's cheek. Instead, his eyes lit with admiration.
"Remarkable, truly. To think Hanjung Fortress had another youth besides Hwa-a who could startle this old bag of bones like this. Even Hwa-a wasn't this good at your age... Could you be a secret disciple of the Fortress Lord?"
Classic probing.
The elder likely hesitated to act rashly if Flying Tiger was truly the Fortress Lord's disciple.
As Flying Tiger brushed it off, the casual "Fortress Lord's disciple" mention snagged.
'Hwa-a? If that's another disciple reference, then... Heavenly Chase Spear Yeo Hwa? Wait... what do you know?'
Heavenly Chase Spear Yeo Hwa was the Fortress Lord's youngest disciple, twin dragon with Nakrak's Ho Yeon-sang.
And currently, leader of the Face Pursuit Squad.
Yet the elder called him "Hwa-a"—a nickname for intimates only!