Chapter 3
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Flying Tiger (3)
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Twitch.
The Dragon Eyebrow Sword Im Dal was just about to charge in when Flying Tiger recoiled as if shoved back, hurling the rope dart looped around his left wrist.
Im Dal leaped forward without the slightest hesitation, slashing his sword to knock away the dart head—the flying blade—hurtling toward him.
Thunk.
The blade shot up into the sky.
At that moment, the distance between the retreating Flying Tiger and the pursuing Im Dal was nine steps, rapidly closing due to the difference in their speeds.
Im Dal immediately leveled his blade into a thrusting stance, his movements utterly devoid of waste.
This was all within the range Im Dal had calculated.
Deflect the hidden weapon and rush in to kill.
In that instant, Flying Tiger folded his right arm gripping the sword and wrapped the rope dart's line around his elbow as it whipped back.
The rope dart then spun around his elbow as a pivot, tracing a small circle. In that brief moment, it had altered its trajectory.
Whirrr!
By now, the gap between them was seven steps.
The next instant, Flying Tiger twisted his torso and swung his arm. More precisely, he extended it, releasing the coiled line of the rope dart.
The dart, having completed one full revolution, shot straight toward Im Dal like a horse with its reins cut loose!
Thus, Flying Tiger had reeled back the flung rope dart and hurled it again, and now the distance between them was a mere four steps.
Im Dal had never imagined the blade he'd deflected could pivot so sharply and strike again.
His experience in the martial world was far from shallow, but like most others in the jianghu, the rope dart was an unfamiliar weapon to him.
His heart sank!
Im Dal urgently retracted his thrusting sword to guard his face. Even in that frantic moment, his swordsmanship was masterful enough to switch seamlessly from offense to defense.
Clang.
The fiercely incoming blade struck his sword flat hard, veering off and grazing past, scraping his scalp.
It burned, but he hadn't died. Wasn't that enough...?
Really?
Im Dal's eyes darkened ominously.
Damn it!
As he staggered back, Flying Tiger had already closed in, seizing and pinning Im Dal's sword hand with his left.
A momentary lock.
Then Flying Tiger extended his previously folded right arm, slashing at Im Dal's throat with the sword in his grip.
Slash.
The battle between Flying Tiger and Im Dal, which had begun with their mutual glares, concluded in a single exchange—regardless of its ferocious intensity.
"Please... spare the young lady at least. She's the last blood of the Sama Family. I beg you..."
Elder Im Dal of the Sama Family worried for the woman even as he lay dying, pleading earnestly while casting aside a warrior's pride.
But his words merely circled inside his mouth. His windpipe had been severed.
This veteran warrior, loyal to the end, thus breathed his last with a faint mumble.
Huff. Huff. Huff.
Flying Tiger panted raggedly, waiting for the numbing tremor in his chest to subside. It was the aftermath that always followed unleashing that explosive lightning force.
Due to his unstable internal energy cultivation method.
Half-baked. Someday, this uncontrollable lightning would run rampant. Or perhaps he'd die by someone else's blade first.
But that's why I survived today too. Yeah. That's enough.
The sky Flying Tiger looked up at was fading into dim light as thick darkness gathered.
He staggered back up the mountainside. Having dealt with the strongest foe, now it was time to finish the remaining three.
Oppressing powerless commoners and plundering their goods was utterly shameful.
Things he wouldn't even dream of normally.
But now, as the sole survivor of the Sama Family, she had work to do. A blood debt she absolutely had to repay!
For that, she needed to shake off Red Cloud Hall's relentless pursuit right away and find a place to catch her breath. A temporary hideout where she could regroup her scattered comrades. A spot to hole up for a year, honing her blade of vengeance.
That was why.
Why, though uneasy and guilt-ridden, she had poisoned them with the mindset of "Can I make kimchi if I'm scared of the maggots?"
And yet now...
Those maggots were biting back at her.
Sama Eun-ryeong, the woman Elder Im Dal had guarded to the end, glared fiercely at Flying Tiger.
But it was a mask.
She hid her bewilderment and terror from the enemy behind an angry facade.
A little earlier.
Im Dal and his men, whom she'd been waiting for, never returned. Instead, Flying Tiger had appeared.
He burst from the brush without warning, hurling his blade without explanation, swiftly cutting down the two warriors protecting her.
He was like a beast, and she had dazedly watched as those warriors were torn apart by its savage claws.
She should have moved, but doing so might have gotten her shredded by those claws too.
And now.
Sama Eun-ryeong had questioned Flying Tiger's identity and purpose, learning she'd been betrayed by a sellsword for a mere thirty taels of silver.
Everything...
All the vows and resolves she'd sworn through bloodshot tears, undone for the price of thirty taels!
And now this beast asked impassively,
"Anything else you're curious about?"
"......"
Step. Step.
The beast approached, whispering.
Oddly, his voice was gentle, mismatched to him.
"Close your eyes."
"Wait."
Step. Step.
Terror gripped her suddenly, and she blurted desperately,
"Please, just wait! I beg you. Give me a moment. Okay?"
He halted.
Flying Tiger, drawing near, covered the tearfully wavering Sama Eun-ryeong's eyes with his left hand.
Even the faint light cut off, plunging her into darkness.
Was this the end?
Ridiculously, as her frantic heart finally calmed, a thread of reason returned. Shame washed over her, yet she felt relief too.
She'd nearly clung to his legs, begging for life—promising everything she had, anything he commanded, even womanly submission—in abject groveling.
Wouldn't that have made her final struggle in life too pathetic?
No way to know now. No longer mattered.
Sama Eun-ryeong composed herself, squeezed her eyes shut, and said,
"Phew! I'm ready now."
Flying Tiger struck her death point to induce eternal slumber, and Sama Eun-ryeong slipped into deep sleep like a gentle fade, eyes closing softly. He caught her collapsing form and laid her carefully on the ground.
Flying Tiger's actions were cautious, but his eyes held no particular joy or sorrow. This was the extent of consideration he could offer this ruthless woman.
He said gloomily,
"That place may be hell too, but I hope your journey there is at least peaceful."
Flying Tiger instructed the villagers to gather and burn the corpses.
From the dead, he took a few identifying tokens, a horse, and a sword that caught his eye, telling the villagers to dispose of the rest as they saw fit.
Strictly speaking, all those items were his spoils of war. Stolen goods, sure, hard to sell for half their value, but gathered up, they'd net several times his bounty fee.
But they'd greatly aid the village, whose food stores had run dry.
As the village head, old man U, and the others stared in shock, Flying Tiger grumbled,
"You're too damn stingy. Asking me to handle over ten bandits for thirty taels? Poverty's no crime, but this is straight-up robbery. And on top of that! You send a warrior to risk his life in your stead with nothing but a single rice ball. How's he supposed to fight on an empty stomach?"
His words rang true, so the head bowed repeatedly, apologizing profusely.
Flying Tiger grimaced at the sight and turned away slyly.
"Whatever. Don't just stuff your faces—when things improve, repay this favor. I'm not some sucker handing out charity; consider it an investment. So no misunderstandings!"
Finishing his speech, Flying Tiger swiftly mounted and rode off, brushing off the villagers' pleas to stay the night and leave at dawn.
He didn't want to see their teary gratitude calling him a benefactor, and honestly, with his own hunger gnawing, he had no desire to starve alongside them sucking thumbs. He'd realized earlier that the rice ball he'd eaten that afternoon was the last of their provisions.
Above all, he was in a hurry to leave as soon as possible.
After all, he'd already been away two days for this job.
Flying Tiger rode through the night, alternating between his original horse and the new one, pushing them to the brink of foaming at the mouth. Thus, he covered a full day's journey in a mere three shi—six hours.
By dawn, he reached the outskirts of Chang'an City. His usual stop after a bounty. The valley at the foot of Mt. Oksoon.
There, Flying Tiger stripped off his clothes and plunged into the water, splashing playfully for a bit before meticulously washing himself.
He'd lived roughly, far from cleanliness, but she despised the blood scent clinging to him. Who wouldn't, unless a bloodthirsty demon?
He washed his filthy beggar rags and changed into the spare, worn but clean clothes he'd packed separately.
From ragged beggar to refined youth. His eyes stark black-and-white against the whites, features delicately handsome.
He himself found his looks unmanly and displeasing—ever since childhood, street toughs had mocked him as girly. Of course, he'd beaten those hecklers to a pulp.
Thus transformed, Flying Tiger entered Chang'an City at first light as the gates creaked open.
Creeeak.
He entered the shabby thatched hut.
Tucked in the dingiest alley of the city's market district, it always reeked of filth and menace. A forsaken urban corner where society's dregs gathered, shunned even by sturdy men.
But Flying Tiger loved it.
Shabby and dangerous? So was he. No issue. Above all, it was his and her nest. If hell suited their lot, why not?
"Come on in."
She—Gong Won-yeong—murmured sleepily, drowsiness lingering in her voice. She lay on the bed taking up a third of the single room, bundled tight in blankets with eyes shut.
He'd entered quietly, but her sharp senses had woken her.
"I'm back. Nothing out of the ordinary?"
"Yeah."
Flying Tiger sat by the bedhead, stroking Gong Won-yeong's hair. Pleased, she made a catlike face with eyes closed, then patted the spot beside her.
An invitation to lie down.
Flying Tiger slipped under the blanket, gently embracing her from behind.
She was so light, yet still wasting away. He feared she'd shatter if he held too tight.
Gong Won-yeong was dying.
But warmth still emanated from her, so Flying Tiger buried his face in her lush hair and thought,
She's alive like this, so today is a good day.
And he prayed tomorrow would be the same.