Chapter 2
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Flying Tiger (2)
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Flying Tiger had long heard from the villagers about the appearances of the four bandits and the name 'Go Deok-bae'—a name that had popped up amid their boisterous chatter among themselves.
And now, he confirmed it was Go Deok-bae by the blue spot on the left cheek of the man responding to his name.
He had no idea how their numbers had swelled from four to twelve, but unfortunately, this entire crowd was his target.
What more words were needed?
As he ran, Flying Tiger stamped the dirt ground hard with his left foot.
Crack.
A blue flash arose from his dantian and surged in an instant to the Bubbling Spring Acupoint on his left sole. The left foot shoving against the earth 'sprang upward like a fountain of vital energy,' catapulting his body into the air.
Whoosh.
Flying Tiger rolled his body and launched forward!
By the time Go Deok-bae shouted, "What's going on?", Flying Tiger was already twenty paces away—the distance permitted for conversation. It was far enough that even a skilled martial artist couldn't close the gap in a single breath.
So when Flying Tiger, who had been panting and stumbling toward them laboriously, appeared right before them in the very next instant, Go Deok-bae's group recoiled in shock.
Especially the warrior at the front of the pack, suddenly face-to-face with Flying Tiger, thought for a split second that the man had teleported.
"Eh?"
Flying Tiger tore off the ragged robe draped over him mid-air with his left hand, sending it fluttering into the sky.
In that same moment, his right hand drew the sword concealed within the robe from its scabbard.
Shing.
With a sound like a snake flicking its tongue, the blade sliced coldly across the face of the dazed warrior leading the group.
Where the icy edge passed, a scorching agony erupted like a pit of fire!
The warrior's face split open diagonally; he lost all reason and screamed—that was the final death cry of his life.
"Uwaa~ Ack!"
Flying Tiger soared in, slashing the first warrior on contact, then stepped onto the back of his horse and plunged straight into the midst of the group.
Then he danced with his sword.
No questions asked, no arguments made!
Slash—slash—slash—slash—
His opening strike had been a clean iaijutsu draw, but this was a savage barrage. He struck so wildly and relentlessly that blood sprayed in thick gouts like a raging storm.
Three men tumbled into bloody heaps without a single chance to fight back.
Only then did the first ring of clashing metal erupt.
Clang~
Go Deok-bae, snapping to his senses a beat late, leaped from his horse and swung his sword. Flying Tiger, about to claim his fourth victim, spun his body to parry.
Flying Tiger slid back under the force of Go Deok-bae's committed overhead strike.
Flutter~
Slither.
At last, the ragged robe he had shrugged off billowed and dropped to the ground.
In a mere three or four breaths.
Four warriors lay slashed open!
Trembling with fury at the carnage, Go Deok-bae finally bellowed the question he should have led with instead of "What's going on?".
"Who the hell are you? Reveal yourself!"
Flying Tiger let the words flow in one ear and out the other as he thought.
There was no point in exchanging names and fostering camaraderie now. And from the look of it, Go Deok-bae wasn't asking out of real curiosity either. It was just to buy time and rally his rattled comrades.
Flying Tiger had a guess about their situation but kept it to himself.
He had just poured everything into that ambush, leaving his dantian temporarily drained. He needed this breather too.
'Eight left... This won't be easy. Too damn many.'
The initial surprise attack had worked because it caught them off guard.
But it fell short in several ways.
If he had taken out more than half, their morale would have crumbled hard. He could have kept dictating the fight from there.
But their swift reaction had scuttled that plan, and the enemy numbers remained formidable.
So how to handle this?
Right then, not just Go Deok-bae but the other warriors were vaulting off their horses, drawing blades, and closing in.
And for Flying Tiger, it was the moment his labored breathing eased as a thread of true qi began circulating through his meridians.
Flying Tiger roared.
"Allana dua reika!"
"......?"
It was a curse from some foreign tongue, leaving Go Deok-bae and his men momentarily cocking their heads—what the hell was that?
Thud thud.
Flying Tiger whipped around and bolted down the roadside slope. Back fully exposed, it was a brazen flight.
His sudden move left them all blinking in confusion, but the old man guarding the woman from behind reacted differently. He had already drawn a flying dagger from his bosom and toyed with it; now he hurled it with a furious shout.
"Ha!"
Like a crow spewing blood in a shriek? It was a sonic technique that clawed at the nerves and hammered the heart.
As the sound art made the fleeing Flying Tiger flinch, the dagger streaked from the old man's fingertips like a bolt.
Swish—
Flying Tiger leaped like a deer struck by an arrow, dropping his sword as he tumbled down the slope.
Roll roll roll~
Led by Go Deok-bae, four of them half-slid down the steep incline in hot pursuit. Time to finish this ambusher for good.
The two who had dismounted returned to the old man and woman, wary of any further attacks.
Rumble.
Darkness was swallowing the surroundings.
The wake of that storm was oppressively still.
From horseback, the woman stared vacantly at her dead subordinates. Venom slowly crept into her dazed eyes, and soon she rasped,
"Uncle Im, assassins from Red Cloud Hall?"
"Who can say. Perhaps."
"Those filthy dogs! I'll make them..."
"Niece, hold on. That's not the priority now."
The old man quelled her outburst with a somber face.
She followed his gaze awkwardly—toward the direction Go Deok-bae and the others had chased.
Why? She opened her mouth to ask, but the old man cut her off with urgent command.
"You two—don't budge an inch until I return. Guard the young lady with your lives."
"Yes, sir."
"And niece, I'll be right back. Wait here."
"Uncle Im?"
Before she could finish, the old man shot into the gloom and vanished.
The woman was utterly bewildered.
What in the world had just struck them? Moments ago, they had been the predators dictating life and death...
Her anxiety gnawed as she bit her lip raw.
The four chasing Flying Tiger were dead set on catching him quick before he slipped away, then beating answers out of him.
But he tumbled downhill like a madman, so fast they struggled to close the gap. Dusk was falling fast, and the obstacles demanding care were legion.
Urgency mounted; soon they abandoned formation and sprinted at their own paces.
That let Flying Tiger, reaching the base first, welcome the descending foes one by one.
A simple ploy.
He had barely deflected the old man's dagger back then, but on instinct, faked a hit—leaping, then tumbling down the slope with a roll.
Dropping his sword was part of selling the act. Who drops their blade unless it's dire?
It worked.
In a different spot or circumstance, they might have spotted the fakery.
But fresh off a lightning ambush in chaos, they chased on pure gut reaction.
Flying Tiger settled silently into the brush, eyeing the lead warrior descending.
The rest trailed in line—no issue. A heartbeat would do.
Soon the warrior passed him, back turned, scanning below where Flying Tiger's presence had cut off.
Rustle.
Flying Tiger shifted like a tiger on the prowl, a jagged blade gripped in his palm.
Something felt off from the start... Did he target us all along?
The old man bounded down the pathless cliff like a mountain goat, zigzagging nimbly.
The instant he hit the base, his dread turned real.
No—worse.
Go Deok-bae sprawled with eyes rolled back. A cross-shaped hole pierced the center of his forehead; fluid from it soaked his head crimson.
The other two lay strewn about. No proper sword clashes heard—they must have died to ambushes one by one on descent.
In that brief span.
A pro assassin!
Of the four sent down, the last survivor teetered awkwardly, sword shaking in his grip.
About 1.5 zhang (4.5 meters) opposite stood Flying Tiger. He flicked a glance at the old man and yanked the cord wound on his left wrist.
Pop.
The rope dart clamped on the final warrior's nape ripped free, geysering blood.
It flew back to Flying Tiger—the hook linked by cord to his wrist. A retrievable weapon: the rope dart.
Rattle.
Flying Tiger rewound the cord, reclaimed the dart, then strode to the crumpling fourth man and snatched his sword. Killing and looting a foe's gear—it flowed with eerie naturalness.
No novice handiwork.
Flying Tiger twirled the fresh blade once to test its heft and reach, then pivoted to lock eyes with the old man.
The gaze of a veteran killer.
Too late already, the old man watched in silence before demanding,
"I am Im Dal, last elder of the Hubei Sama Family, the Dragon Eyebrow Sword. And you?"
"Flying Tiger, a nameless peon."
"Red Cloud Hall send you?"
"Hired sword from the mountain village."
"Hill folk? You mean bandit heroes?"
"No—the Uga Mountain Village you lot were off to seize. They bought me for thirty taels."
"Those bumpkins dared after my head? For a piddling thirty taels?"
Not their mortal foe Red Cloud Hall—just some backwater villagers.
Im Dal felt absurdity curdle into emptiness. Flying Tiger interjected,
"They might look like bumpkins to you, but 'piddling' doesn't fit. That was everything left after your crew stripped them bare. Their last gambit."
"Ha~ A gallant hero descends."
Flying Tiger replied icily.
"Nah. You're vermin. I'm just the sweeper needing thirty taels."
"......"
What more talk?
The old man drew his sword and thrust it skyward rigidly. His stare pinned Flying Tiger's, eyes blazing to devour.
Flying Tiger met him in a lax stance, gaze betraying no intent—blank void.
Silence stretched.
They stood stock-still, locked in gazes already—thrusting, yielding in brutal contest.
The verdict: instant.