Chapter 34
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: 10. Each One's Stories (1)
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Ma Yeop gathered his battle spirit and took a single step forward. It was then that Deung An-gil raised a hand with a bizarre smile, stopping him.
"Blue-Eyed Sword, before that, let me ask you one thing."
Ma Yeop hesitated.
He had no intention of trading words, but curiosity flickered when the man mentioned his old moniker, 'Blue-Eyed Sword'.
"Do you know me?"
"I've known for a long time that you were doggedly chasing our brothers. You should've been more careful with that battered look of yours. That's why the brothers talked about killing you this and that, but in the end, they let you be, thinking it would just stir up trouble. I opposed it, but they hid here anyway."
"And?"
"By now, the other brothers are probably under attack too, right?"
"They've all fallen to hell. You're the last of the Eight Fiends left."
Ma Yeop, of course, had no idea what was happening outside. He was just spouting nonsense to rile him up.
But Deung An-gil's reaction was unexpected. Without a hint of doubt, he readily accepted Ma Yeop's lie.
Deung An-gil let out a long sigh.
"I see. So in the end, they chose wrong and walked right into their graves. ...No, maybe they knew it was coming but pretended not to, wandering off to find their burial spots? We were tired, after all."
"Heh heh heh, what bullshit. What, now you're trying to sell some sob story? For people who were so 'tired', you sure caused a lot of dogshit trouble here."
"Dogshit trouble? Oh, you mean ripping out the hearts of the locals?"
"Hmph."
"What can you do? Once you've mastered the Black Rock Scripture, that's the fate of our brothers. Even if you die tomorrow, you still eat today, don't you?"
"Bullshit! I'm sick of listening to this crap!"
Ma Yeop exploded in rage and lunged, swinging his sword. Deung An-gil casually flicked his left hand as if swatting a fly.
Clang~
Ma Yeop grimaced at the heavy impact through his hand—it felt like clashing with an iron club.
Still, his movements flowed seamlessly like water.
He immediately whipped the rebounding sword around and thrust again, unleashing a full barrage of attacks from there.
Deung An-gil stood rooted like a tree, feet glued to the floor, moving only from the knees up as his hands busily parried.
Clang~ tang tang. Clang. Clang. Clang—
Ma Yeop pressed fiercely, but he couldn't pierce Deung An-gil's iron arms, which stuck purely to defense.
The sword aura coating Ma Yeop's double-edged blade was sharp enough to slice steel, but Deung An-gil wasn't some brute relying solely on tough flesh.
He was a fist technique master.
After one exchange, Ma Yeop leaped back, eyes blazing with fury.
Ma Yeop demanded.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Calmed down a bit? I told you, I have something to ask. I haven't even—"
"Shut up! Heh heh heh, An-gil. You think I'm some joke you can block so leisurely? Consider this a warning. Drop the bravado and show me your real skills."
The first clash had been a mere probe.
Ma Yeop's strikes were like testing the waters—light feints to gauge reactions.
But the response was disappointingly lukewarm!
Of course, the defense itself was solid enough. If it weren't Black-Faced Deung An-gil. And that solid defense alone couldn't block Ma Yeop's sword.
In a life-or-death duel, Deung An-gil seemed unfocused, half-assing it. That sloppiness irked Ma Yeop.
Even if it killed him, Ma Yeop wanted a thrilling fight with his mortal enemy.
Yet Deung An-gil spoke in an utterly weary voice, saying something unexpected.
"Sorry to disappoint, but it's not your turn."
"...?"
"The one who killed the last inheritor of the Black Rock Skill, the final survivor of the Sichuan Eight Fiends, Black-Faced Deung An-gil—it's not you."
"What the hell are you—"
As Ma Yeop stared, the crimson glow pouring from Deung An-gil's eyes rapidly faded.
And that tired voice now, plus the limp movements just before.
Was Deung An-gil dying?
The vigorous vigor up to moments ago must have been the 'return of the light' phenomenon, a final burst before collapse.
How?
From the earlier clash... Flying Tiger?
Deung An-gil spoke laboriously with drooping eyes.
"So let me ask. Who killed me?"
"..."
"No grudges or anything. I'm just purely curious. Please."
"Flying Tiger."
"Never heard of him. A moniker?"
"They called him a 'nameless soldier'."
"No moniker? A new star rising in the martial world? Hmm, Flying Tiger... Yeah, 'tiger racing through the skies' is moniker enough. No need for some fancy epithet."
"..."
"Haa~ The Yangtze's waves push the front ones out. Tell Flying Tiger congratulations for me."
"Hmph, as if demonic scum like you has any congratulations worth taking."
"Heh heh heh heh."
Deung An-gil, fifth of the Sichuan Eight Fiends, Black-Faced Deung An-gil, died standing tall after that laugh.
For Ma Yeop, brimming with anticipation, it was an empty end. Too peaceful for the crimes he'd committed. But he didn't rage; he silently watched Deung An-gil's passing.
Not out of fondness, of course.
Regardless of good or evil, he agreed with the senior martial artist's blessing for Flying Tiger, and respected the magnanimity to speak so of his killer.
"Pay for your sins in hell for eons."
Instead of a eulogy, Ma Yeop spat coldly, approached, and severed Deung An-gil's head in one stroke.
The upright death was an eyesore, and he feared revival.
Thud. Roll~
The head rolled aside, the rotting corpse sprawled on the cold floor.
Ma Yeop hurried to Flying Tiger. The dust had settled enough to spot him slumped in the corner.
Flying Tiger convulsed violently, in clear agony.
Ma Yeop was relieved he was still breathing, and aside from minor bruises, no major wounds—one less worry. He wouldn't die immediately.
Ma Yeop rolled up his sleeves and began a thorough check.
......
In his delirium, Flying Tiger felt something hot and cold pierce his blocked insides, snapping him briefly alert.
But breathing was still hard, opening his eyes a struggle.
In his haze, Ma Yeop's voice rang out—like a soaked growl? Even his grating tone sounded softer, tolerable.
"Flying Tiger, can you hear me?"
"Brother Ma?"
"Yeah."
"That bitch..."
"Dead."
"Congrats. And that bastard?"
"Dead too. You did it."
"Yeah? Good."
"What were you thinking, pushing so hard?"
"Damn, you think I wanted to? Our eyes locked, and I knew right then—if I didn't go all out, no chance. And if not now, no opportunity ever. So, cough. I overdid it."
"Why not run?"
That way, Flying Tiger's survival odds would've been high. But Ma Yeop, exposing his back, would've died for sure.
In that instant, Flying Tiger made a ruthless call, even borrowing lightning qi for the gamble. Reckless overreach, inner energy backlash—clear signs of qi deviation.
Flying Tiger chuckled despite his state, relishing the thrill.
"Crossed my mind for a second. But then I thought, Brother Ma has to take down that bitch personally, right? The one who gouged your eye. No choice. Gotta watch your back till then."
"I see. This Ma Yeop owes you a debt greater than life, little brother!"
"Eh, just happened that way. Just happened... So don't sweat it. Whew... Hurts like hell."
"Scared of dying?"
"Kinda. What do you think, Brother Ma? Gonna kick it?"
"Want to leave last words?"
"Uh... well..."
Flying Tiger mumbled, his voice fading. He barely knew what he was saying, rambling like a drunk.
Ma Yeop listened intently, then vowed softly to the fainted man.
"I'll grant your second request. But the first, you'll make yourself. I'll save you for sure."
......
Flying Tiger woke two and a half days later.
As he opened his eyes and looked around, two things baffled him.
First, qi deviation meant death or cripplehood, yet his body felt fine—just heavy and stuffy.
Second, this unexpected place, and the owner's words that he'd stay here awhile.
Why?
The Face Pursuit Unit Jeong successfully eliminated all surviving Sichuan Eight Fiends and disbanded the Eternal Prosperity Shadow Flower Group.
Though one member died and two were gravely wounded, such minor losses couldn't mar the feat.
Not just because the Eight Fiends were demonic scourges shaking Sichuan, but because they'd prevented a crisis in the heart of this great capital.
Interrogating survivors and searching based on testimonies uncovered over two hundred skeletons. And these fiends planned to claim eight hundred more lives within seven months, hit a thousand, then leave without regret.
A thousand lives.
Unbelievable carnage unless plague or famine struck—nearly in the capital's midst.
How riotous would public sentiment have become?
Thus, from the capital's elite to the lowly, all hailed them. The happiest were the Martial Qin Alliance, who'd lost much face lately. This restored it grandly.
That's why they formed the pricey Face Pursuit Squad. The subtly sidelined Face Pursuit Unit Jeong struck first.
This was Choi Ong's summary to Flying Tiger of the past four days.
In other words, two more days had passed since Flying Tiger woke.
"I see."
"Yeah. So our unit scored big bonuses for the merit, and ten days' paid leave to boot."
"Everyone worked hard. Good for you."
Flying Tiger nodded.
It was now the evening of his second day awake, in a small tavern on Ye Mountain, a hundred li from Chang'an. Ye Mountain housed Zhao Family Manor, home sect of Zhao Jang Jin Ga-yong, making this his childhood haunt.
Seven sat around the table now, Flying Tiger included.