Chapter 44
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Good Men Come Not (2)
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There were two.
One was a middle-aged man who seemed around forty, and the other was a greenhorn who didn't even look twenty yet. Each led a horse burdened with tightly packed saddlebags as they emerged from the forest onto the main road.
And as the middle-aged man who went ahead mounted up and advanced a few steps, just when the young one trailing behind hooked one foot into the stirrup to climb on...
Suddenly.
Flying Tiger, who had been lying flat by the roadside across the highway, sprang to his feet and charged out.
At that movement, the middle-aged man whipped around to see someone tackling his companion.
"Enemy?"
The young one paled in terror and instinctively reached for the sword at his waist, but his foot caught in the stirrup threw off his balance.
The result was...
Swish—swish—swish—
Flying Tiger slashed without preamble, seized the young one's collar, and hurled him to the ground.
Crash!
The young one tumbled, spraying blood, as the horse reared in fright, whinnying shrilly.
Flying Tiger wasted no time and bolted toward his next mark, the middle-aged man.
Thud thud.
"You bastard!"
The middle-aged man, sword already drawn, bellowed and vaulted from the saddle. He planned to launch a counter the moment he landed.
But Flying Tiger struck first.
As he charged, he thrust out his left hand. The rope dart coiled around his wrist rocketed toward the middle-aged man.
'Hidden weapon?'
The man hadn't even touched down, with no chance to steady his crumbling stance as he swung his blade anyway.
At that instant, Flying Tiger whipped the cord around his left wrist.
Whirr~
The dart, flying straight, spiraled wildly, vaulted over the man's sword swing, and plunged into his chest.
Thud.
Just like the young one, the middle-aged man hit the dirt in an ugly sprawl.
Flying Tiger pounced, following up with three expert stabs. The man floundered briefly before slumping lifeless.
Having pinned the middle-aged man, Flying Tiger whirled toward the young one to tie up the loose end he'd rushed past earlier.
Shiver shiver.
The brightening dawn sky shuddered repeatedly. It came from the ceaseless dripping amid the tremors racking his body.
Even then, the middle-aged man struggled to grasp what had just transpired.
But swallowing this abrupt reality was no easy task.
His head just burned hot, bile surging up his throat on its own.
Just end it now.
Kill me already.
Flying Tiger dragged the two captured trackers into the woods. An hour later, he emerged alone.
The time he needed to feel satisfied.
Before ambushing them, he had resolved that if their reason for coming fell short, they'd pay dearly. So after they paid in blood, he wrung out an explanation that rang true.
The trackers were surveillance agents, operating in pairs.
They had waited near Zhao Family Manor on Ye Mountain from the start. The moment Flying Tiger departed, they dispatched a messenger bird to base and began shadowing him.
But complications arose quickly.
They figured he'd head back to Chang'an City, so they dispatched the so-called "Cleaners" to the route from Ye Mountain to Chang'an. The path diverged instead.
The Cleaners rushed on contact but arrived too late.
Flying Tiger and Ma Yeop's pace was beyond reason, and they'd gone too far. Traversing 250 li in a single day—small wonder.
Even the trackers hanging back at a distance nearly lost the trail once, so Flying Tiger had shaken them off without trying.
They pursued traces and only past midnight finally spotted Flying Tiger and Ma Yeop camped at the Yerang Mountains' edge.
By then, half a day's gap separated them from the Cleaners. Lacking clearance for their own ambush, the trackers trailed all the way here.
Midway through their tale, Flying Tiger asked why their superiors nixed an ambush.
"Because of the Blue-Eyed Sword."
"You think the Cleaners can handle Ma Yeop if you can't? More importantly, what about backlash from Qingcheng Sect?"
"Lowly grunts like us don't know the full story, but the higher-ups stepping in should make it feasible—persuasion or force."
"Oh? So who exactly are these fine superiors?"
"Don't know."
"Hah, not playing coy?"
"Guh, we really don't. I swear!"
Chuoqin.
The name of their shadowy outfit.
They staunchly believed it a vast network, with plenty of Martial Qin Alliance bigwigs involved.
Indeed, both the middle-aged man and youth were Alliance warriors, strangers until this order paired them.
Like chess pawns, they assembled briefly on command for missions: tailing, tracking targets until Cleaners arrived to mop up.
Targets never included civilians; most vanished forever after serving their purpose.
In short, a covert faction inside the Martial Qin Alliance waged insidious power plays, with deep and entrenched roots.
Plausible?
'Well, with clashing roots newly bundled together, internals must be a mess. Can't say it doesn't track.'
Flying Tiger dropped it there.
Might be hogwash, but no nutritional value in deeper digging—and preparations loomed large.
Above all, he'd pose the question to the imminent "Cleaners." They'd have solid intel unlike these broken men.
Flying Tiger nodded, voice icy for his final query.
"Understood. Now spill on those responding to your signal, arriving soon. Numbers, leader. Satisfy me, and I'll send you off kindly. Who's first?"
Sching. Sching.
Flying Tiger honed his blade on the whetstone with care. Dawn use notwithstanding, plenty of work remained.
Thus organizing his thoughts:
一. Chuoqin constantly watched Jin Ga-yong; he'd merely caught lightning beside the rod. 'Close to the struck, you get hit too.' Spot on.
一. Exhibit A: "Cleaners," lightning bolts, incoming.
一. Key insight—they deemed him trivial, routine in such disposals: snatch if curious, squeeze dry, bury sans scruple.
一. Their breed? No surprise; he'd crossed paths often elsewhere.
一. True issue: Dodging this strike ended nothing. Unwanted eyes meant perpetual nuisance.
'Normally, bail early to contain it. But Young-i makes that impossible. Negotiation, then? To negotiate, first...'
Sching. Sching.
Flying Tiger halted rumination, focusing solely on the edge. Time to temper it viciously. He inspected the honed blade closely; pleased, a chill smile tugged his lips.
Murmuring thus:
"First, stir the bosses' curiosity. Not nuisance, but high utility."
Preparations done, Flying Tiger rose.
Off to greet the Cleaners. Time to demonstrate his specialty through them.
"Aigoo, you punk. Thought highly of you, but scampering like a rabbit where to? Dragged me on this godforsaken mountain hike, bad juju clinging hard. Fuck."
The man kept feet flying yet griped endlessly; his back drenched like post-bath, breath thick with sweetness.
Lifelong cultivation built stamina confidence, yet overnight Yerang traverse plus nonstop march invited gripes aplenty.
Who this sought "friend"?
Flying Tiger.
Then this faux-acquaintance's identity?
Ban Chung of the Yin Division, Songyang Sect's independent unit.
The day before yesterday, probing Ghost Mask traces, Jin Ga-yong and Flying Tiger backtracked their watchers.
They stormed Jeongho Forge in Chang'an's outskirts blacksmith village, nearly clashing with Yin Division lodgers.
That night, Ban Chung secretly conferred with Flying Tiger. Bait tossed; hooked firm.
Ban Chung probed Jin Ga-yong's daytime finds; Flying Tiger claimed naught notable.
Ban Chung then pitched Jin Ga-yong surveillance, camaraderie, fat purse proving sincerity.
Issue: Ban Chung's info on next Face Pursuit Unit Jeong target? Pure fabrication.
Thus Flying Tiger grasped: Ban Chung and sender viewed him "chew-spit pawn." Disappointing.
Flip view: To Ban Chung, Flying Tiger shifted from mite to menace. Risk of tattling to Jin Ga-yong.
Bribe secured silence cheap unlikely, yet...
Timely, Flying Tiger hunkered at Ye Mountain's Zhao Manor, "illness" excuse, days on end. Manor selective; proof of Jin ties.
Organization's dooming call.
'Interrogate everything Jin-linked, purge him and circle.'
Ban Chung plus cleaners mobilized—damn, target bolted wildly awry.
Hence suffering.
To Ban Chung, Flying Tiger: exhausting vile "friend."
Until now.
But faction friction ubiquitious. Cleanup prowess Yin cleaners' monopoly?
Thus, superior talent, who sweeps whom—watch.