Chapter 30
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: 09. Evil Ghosts (1)
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What must it feel like for someone whose resentment has pierced the heavens to finally face the day they settle that score?
Ma Yeop had shed every trace of the somewhat human demeanor she'd shown the night before. Now, she only exuded a ferocious ghostly aura from the occasional glint in one hollow eye socket.
Flying Tiger complied with her wishes without a word. He simply hoped she hadn't crossed the line—not yet, anyway.
He'd seen plenty of upright people cross that line due to their own circumstances, only to never return, becoming wandering wraiths instead. He himself had teetered on that very edge.
If she hadn't been there to hold me back, I might have crossed it too. The one who kept me in check back then... sigh.
Ma Yeop stayed holed up in her room except for meals, while Flying Tiger wandered aimlessly like some idle loafer.
As dusk fell, the two left the inn, circled around, and slipped through the back door of a shuttered bookstore.
In the empty bookstore's second-floor attic, the other members of Unit Jeong were waiting. The spot was about thirty zhang from the building occupied by the Yeonpyeong Young Flower Sect—one of three outposts secured by the Face Pursuit Squad to monitor them over the past two weeks.
"You're here."
Jin Ga-yong greeted them calmly from his neat seated position, and everyone exchanged light nods, though tension hung heavy on their faces. Hwa Yeong's expression was especially grim, as if he'd steeled himself like no other. He'd boasted about showing them a thing or two with his blade, and it looked like he meant it.
As Ma Yeop moved to sit in a corner, Jin Ga-yong spoke up.
"Ma Yeop of Hwau."
"Speak."
"Are your preparations complete?"
"They have been for a long time."
"Good. Let's deliver their punishment first. Then we'll settle accounts cleanly."
"......"
"I'm saying we stick to the order."
"...Very well."
Ma Yeop stared at Jin Ga-yong for a moment before closing her eyes. Flying Tiger sensed something between them but said nothing.
A heavy silence stretched on for half a shichen—an hour.
Then the lookout arrived.
"They're on the move."
"Numbers?"
"As expected, Leader Nima Pangjo set out with six subordinates."
"Take the lead."
As Jin Ga-yong stood, A Jeok-gang followed close behind. He addressed the group.
"We'll start in about an ilgak. Expect further word. Dismissed."
"Squad Leader, good fortune."
Deputy Choi Ong rose to bid farewell to the departing Jin Ga-yong and A Jeok-gang, while the others stood and offered brief bows.
The rest began gearing up to leave as well.
The second of the Eight Fiends, Leader Nima Pangjo of the Sect of Claws, had set out in high spirits.
Officially an inspection tour, it was really just a chance to be wined and dined by the heads of subjugated sects. Chang'an City's nightlife was decadently lavish, but what truly captivated Nima Pangjo were the courtesans. Every one was voluptuous and supple beyond belief.
He'd even fantasized about ripping out one's heart at the peak of passion and swallowing it raw.
Nima Pangjo lounged in the carriage, lost in thoughts of the pleasures ahead. Anticipation stiffened part of his body and pooled saliva in his mouth.
Lust and hunger surged, trailed by dark, damp murderous intent.
A minor side effect of his demonic arts. What once flared only in anger now bubbled up at the end of every emotion—joy, sorrow, love, hate. At first, the emotional swings felt awkward, but he'd grown accustomed. It wasn't bad.
Why? Because the complicated world simplified into crystal clarity.
How?
Kill whatever strikes your fancy!
Suffused with euphoria, Nima Pangjo's good mood soured the instant the carriage turned into an alley barely wide enough for two carts.
Thud.
The sudden hard braking jolted the carriage violently.
Two unwelcome guests stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the alley.
Unbenevolent Sword Jin Ga-yong and No Use A Jeok-gang.
It was them.
"Who the hell are you?"
"We have business with the Yeonpyeong Young Flower Sect."
"What business?"
The six warriors who'd accompanied Nima Pangjo drew their weapons. One stepped forward to confront the intruders, ready to strike if unsatisfied—as if he'd sever their heads on the spot.
A Jeok-gang advanced without hesitation. He drew the two axes tucked at his back, one per hand, spun them in the air, and gripped them firmly.
What other "business" could there be when wielding man-slaying axes like that?
Thus, A Jeok-gang's actions spoke the answer to "what business" louder than words.
The two men quickened their pace toward each other.
Thud-thud.
With six paces between them, a Young Flower Sect warrior leaped in, slashing diagonally.
A fierce blade wind howled.
A Jeok-gang shifted sideways, twisting his axe to hook the enemy's blade tip.
Grind.
The diagonal slash veered off course.
As A Jeok-gang used his left axe to deflect the weapon and spun in, he smashed his right axe into the foe's side.
Splurtch.
The Young Flower warrior folded at the waist like a 'L', gasping futilely. As he crumpled, three comrades charged in with killing intent blazing.
"Die!"
Splurtch.
A Jeok-gang hurled his right axe, embedding it in one attacker's forehead.
Dropping low like he was diving to the ground, he let a second warrior's swing pass overhead, then cleaved the third's instep with his left axe.
Splurtch.
Springing up, A Jeok-gang chopped the third's thigh, then rent the staggering man's chest.
Spinning, he flung his blood-soaked left axe at the second warrior who'd slipped past.
Whirr.
The second warrior twisted desperately, batting the flying axe away with his sword.
Clang! The axe ricocheted.
The warrior lunged to stab A Jeok-gang, judging now his chance with the enemy disarmed.
But...
A Jeok-gang now held two fresh hand axes, one in each hand.
In the blink of an eye, he'd flung open his long robe and drawn two from the six strapped to his belt.
A Jeok-gang calmly met the foe. His left axe parried the thrust, his right smashed the sword-wrist.
Crack.
Then came the sound of splitting logs.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
In that instant, a figure burst from the shattering carriage, flying straight at A Jeok-gang in a single breath.
The second of the Eight Fiends, Demon Lord Nima Pangjo.
Jin Ga-yong, who'd watched from behind, charged out and drew his sword.
Whoosh, whoosh.
Their movements were so swift even shadows flickered.
Jagged fangs of a savage butchering blade clashed head-on with a sleek longsword fresh from its sheath.
Clang~
A clear temple bell tone filled the alley before shattering.
The clash's shockwave hurled Nima Pangjo back wildly until his back slammed a wall. He still slid down it, scraping all the way.
Jin Ga-yong, face pale, retreated seven steps before regaining his stance.
In this exchange, Nima Pangjo had taken the greater loss.
Of course, it wasn't a grievous wound. Just two teeth broken from his butchering blade—and a matching crack in his pride.
Crack.
Nima Pangjo rolled his neck with an audible grind and advanced on Jin Ga-yong, the whites of his eyes reddening.
A sign of channeling his demonic art, Blood Embryo Black Rock Scripture.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Second of the Sichuan Eight Fiends, Nima Pangjo."
"Oh ho~"
"You've grown bold enough to stick your guts out. Daring to plant yourselves here—do you think Shaanxi's martial world that easy a mark?"
At Jin Ga-yong's rebuke, Nima Pangjo scratched his head and sighed deeply.
"Haa~ Damn, too much to hope for, huh?"
The Eight Fiends' survivors had never planned to set up base in Shaanxi's capital from the start.
Righteous sects dominated here too—great Taoist schools like Huashan and Zhongnan representing the Central Plains, plus powerhouses like Lion Hall and Zhao Family Manor. It rivaled Sichuan's martial scene.
Only a madman would hole up long-term in a bustling metropolis like this.
That had been the plan.
But Shaanxi was in chaos now. The Martial Qin Alliance and its dissenters had battered each other bloody. With the fight over, the victorious alliance was drafting warriors for provincial wars, leaving a massive security vacuum.
And the Fiends' survivors had perfect timing for a gamble. To advance their demonic arts, they needed heaps of hearts. Scrounging discreetly in the boonies? It'd take forever. So they saw Shaanxi's turmoil as opportunity.
Just one year.
Secure a base, gather materials feverishly, achieve a breakthrough, then vanish without a trace. By then, too many deaths would make hiding impossible anyway.
But...
Damn it all—it really had been too much.
"You know who I am, eh? But that's odd. Let me ask one more thing."
Nima Pangjo's eyes, now facing Jin Ga-yong squarely, burned even redder—like a hundred crimson maggots writhing in nauseating horror.
He'd ramped up the Blood Embryo Black Rock Scripture further, signs pointing past the sixth to the seventh stage. Meaning he'd harvested at least sixty-four hearts since, deepening his demonic fire.
Jin Ga-yong's eyes twitched at the uncomfortable truth.
"Why just you two? Got something up your sleeve?"
Jin Ga-yong dipped his longsword in cold reply, no words needed.
He trusted his blade.
And now, he'd teach this vermin pest exactly why.
At that moment, a messenger burst urgently into the Yeonpyeong Young Flower Sect's compound.
First Sect Leader (Leader Nima Pangjo) had been ambushed on his patrol by unknown masters—that was the gist.
The guard captain hesitated.
Such late hours forbade entry to the compound on pain of death, a rule strictly kept—until now. But this was grave.
The messenger pressed urgently—what are you waiting for?—so the captain relented, admitted him, and sent a subordinate to report to Third Sect Leader (Ung Yacha Sang Gokbi).
The subordinate raced to the Third Leader's lodgings for the night but dared not enter, shouting from outside.
The place was a stone pagoda in the inner courtyard. It looked ornamental but hid stairs to an underground chamber.
Two pairs of eyes watched this scene from hiding: Flying Tiger and Ma Yeop, who'd tailed them.
The enemy messenger had been Jin Ga-yong's deliberate signal. Thanks to their "helpful" guide, the pair had just pinpointed tonight's target's location.