Chapter 46
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Chapter 13. The Worthy Do Not Come (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The clash of sword energies had ravaged the surrounding terrain, making it impossible to guess what injuries the Flying Tiger had sustained.
But his blade lay shattered in pieces, while the tracker’s sword remained unscathed.
Thus, it was clear the Flying Tiger had come out on the losing end of that exchange.
‘He must’ve taken a bad hit. Otherwise, why would you run, you bastard? No need to rush, then. This is our chance to score some merit. Or is it not, you mangy dog?’
Ban Chung steeled himself as he took the lead. His eyes blazed with determination, and he charged forward with renewed courage.
Sure enough, not long after leading the group into the forest, he found a blood-soaked scrap of heavenly fabric.
And shortly after that...
Damn it all, they were ambushed by the Flying Tiger.
Without warning.
The Flying Tiger’s target was Yi So-ja, who was bringing up the rear.
It was completely unexpected and lightning-fast.
Yi So-ja shuddered as a searing pain bloomed from his spine, like fire erupting in his back.
He didn’t even get a chance to turn and see his attacker. Overwhelmed by the sharp agony, mixed with bewilderment and despair, he staggered a few more steps before collapsing sideways.
Thud.
The Flying Tiger darted out, stabbed Yi So-ja, and withdrew in a single fluid motion, utterly efficient and without waste.
By the time the tracker whirled around to give chase, he was already ten paces away, watching them with preparations to flee at any moment.
The tracker narrowed his eyes and asked,
“You... are you alright?”
The Flying Tiger waved the spare blade he’d prepared.
If one had to interpret the gesture, it was something like, ‘Yeah, fit enough to skewer you lot with this.’
The provocation hit its mark. The tracker’s face hardened, and he shot forward. The Flying Tiger bolted.
And so began the chase.
About fifteen minutes later.
The tracker had to admit it. Astonishingly, the Flying Tiger’s lightness skill was no inferior to his own.
Especially in the dense forest, where the thick trees hindered him but seemed to pose no obstacle to the Flying Tiger, who slipped through like a flying squirrel with effortless grace.
‘Fine. I’ll grant you your speed. But lightness skill needs inner energy to sustain it. So how’s your endurance?’
Short battle wasn’t working? Switch to a war of attrition.
Another fifteen minutes passed.
The tracker finally halted. The Flying Tiger had vanished from sight entirely—pursuit failed.
In the chase, he’d realized the Flying Tiger’s lightness skill was nothing short of miraculous. It looked like he wasn’t even using half his power, and with that kind of efficiency, raw inner energy reserves didn’t matter.
Damn it all.
The tracker felt ridiculous and furious. Now what? His mind raced.
With that, his eyes grew bloodshot, his thirst for blood intensifying.
‘Damn, should I call for more hounds? With just the one left, it’s iffy... Useless bastard. If this fails, maybe rip out his throat and drain him dry? Losing three subordinates or four... eh.’
The tracker licked his lips before reluctantly turning back the way he’d come.
First, find Sam So-ja, who’d dropped out earlier from exhaustion.
Then he could resume the hunt or lop off that useless head.
Yes, but after walking alone for about seven or eight minutes, his frustration boiled over at his ragged state.
“That slippery bastard. Where the hell have you been this whole time?”
His question was answered soon enough.
“Save me~”
About twenty zhang away. Sam So-ja’s scream echoed from there. The pathetic pleas for mercy repeated at regular intervals, reverberating through the trees.
The tracker’s face flushed with rage, curses spilling out.
Who the hell was that useless fool begging to save him?
No, more importantly—who had put him in that state?
Of course, he knew the answer.
The Flying Tiger, that damned cur, hadn’t just fled. The moment he shook off pursuit, he’d circled back and tormented the lone Sam So-ja half to death.
In short, he’d been thoroughly toyed with!
......
The scene that greeted the tracker was a sight to behold.
Ban Chung lay sprawled, beaten just short of death. Terror had rolled his eyes back, and he mumbled “Save me” in a dying rasp.
The tracker couldn’t stomach the pathetic display. He swung his sword and slit Ban Chung’s throat.
Slash. Drip, drip.
Red blossoms bloomed in the air, dotting the void.
They were his favorite, usually. But today, they did nothing to quench his thirst.
His bloodshot eyes twitched, then he let out a long sigh.
Slowly turning, he stared into the empty air somewhere and spoke.
“Flying Tiger, was it? Enough games. Come out.”
Slipping from the shadows.
The Flying Tiger revealed himself. But again, ten paces distant.
Out of reach.
The tracker glared with fury and took a step forward. The Flying Tiger retreated half a pace.
Another step, another half-pace back.
Even while wary, the Flying Tiger didn’t flee, so he must have something to say.
‘At this range...’
The tracker had no patience for games.
So he unleashed the inner energy he’d quietly gathered in a single thrust.
His form was like a shooting arrow, red aura converging on the sword tip.
Whoosh.
The Flying Tiger had anticipated it and retreated swiftly. The tracker’s longsword stabbed empty air.
But it wasn’t over.
The tracker kicked off again, leaping toward the retreating Flying Tiger. He swung his extended longsword behind his back in an arc.
A predator pouncing from midair.
Before the Flying Tiger could react, the tracker brought his glowing red blade down in a diagonal slash.
Slaaash!
Red sword energy tore through space like ripping silk, gouging a deep scar into the earth.
And the Flying Tiger?
Roll, tumble~
He evaded with the Lazy Donkey Roll, barely escaping disaster.
Lazy Donkey Roll.
This technique, meaning “a lazy donkey rolls fiercely on the ground,” was scorned in the jianghu.
Not just the undignified sight of rolling on the dirt, but the filthy, mud-caked aftermath wasn’t pretty either.
Perhaps that’s why?
Many jianghu folk, who staked face and life alike, tabooed the Lazy Donkey Roll, finger-pointing at users as “disgraces to martial artists.”
But that was their problem.
From the Flying Tiger’s view, he’d roll a hundred times over if it meant survival.
Scamper.
Not content with donkey-rolling, he scrambled away on all fours like a four-legged beast, lest pursuit follow.
An eyesore.
Enough to make one want to chase and kill him...
Especially for someone convinced another miss meant no chance at all.
So the tracker summoned every ounce of strength. Fresh off expending full power, his breath came in gasps, but he ignored it. Even if it caused internal injuries, he’d land one solid blow now.
His determination closed the gap to under ten paces in an instant.
Then that shameless beast climbed a tree like a monkey on all fours.
The pursuing tracker squeezed out more inner energy and bellowed,
“Go!”
Thud thud.
He bounded up the trunk, body parallel to the ground, kicking off with both feet.
Like sprinting on flat land—couldn’t last forever, but seven or eight steps? Possible.
And that would suffice!
That’s when it happened.
The Flying Tiger released his hands mid-climb, kicking his legs skyward.
Spin.
He flipped in midair, completing a full rotation before dropping with a downward slash.
The target? Naturally, the tracker, too focused on his own tree-climbing stunt.
‘Fuck!’
No time to dodge or block. No energy left for sword aura. He could only twist his thrusting blade in irritation and slash upward.
But it was like an egg against a rock.
The Flying Tiger’s committed downward strike carried terrifying momentum—one of his three slashing arts, Heavenly Punishment.
Splaaatter!
The trunk, thick enough that a grown man couldn’t wrap arms around it, split vertically in a freak accident.
And the one climbing it met the same fate.
‘What if we’d clashed properly? Heh heh, why bother saying it? You fell for the bait—death is your due.’
Such were the tracker’s thoughts as he plummeted.
His fading vision fixed on the red petals spraying from his body like gore, blooming in the air.
So very...
So very beautiful!
At last, the madman who craved those crimson blooms felt his unquenchable thirst finally sated.
Then darkness fell.
Splat~
The Flying Tiger wanted to interrogate the tracker—and Ban Chung—further, but they were both dead.
What could he do?
He departed.
Wandering aimlessly through the forest, he found a suitable spot to hide, laid his exhausted body down, and fell into deep slumber.
Like the dead.
Fortunately no major wounds, but countless scrapes plus overexertion had left him utterly drained and a mess.
In his dream, the Flying Tiger met Gong Won-yeong.
She was dressed beautifully, as if on a long-overdue outing, sipping tea with elegant poise. Sensing his presence, she turned, looked down, and showed brief surprise before a soft smile.
The familiar expression, just as he loved her.
Joy surged, and he ran to her.
But for some reason, no matter how he ran, he couldn’t reach her. Dream logic offered no explanation, and after frantic effort, realization dawned.
This way, he’d never make it.
He stopped. And called out to her.
“You’re okay, right?”
“......”
“Wait for me. I’ll come to you, no matter what.”
“......”
“So hold on, even if it’s tough. Got it?”
She said nothing, but he didn’t mind. He was certain she had reasons not to reply but heard him—and would wait because of it.
Why?
He was desperate. In this uncertain world, what he needed now was faith.
He turned and retraced his steps. This path led nowhere; he needed another way.
Then it hit him.
“Right. That’s why I’ve been searching for a method.”
The Flying Tiger murmured that as he woke. His throat burned, his body ached. His heart pounded.
He stared blankly at the dim predawn sky for a long while.
Recalling yesterday: decent gains, some regrets. But all that was secondary, even if his life hung in the balance.
The only thing that mattered was Gong Won-yeong’s survival.
Soon, he rose, dusting himself off, and began circulating energy with his lifelong companion technique, the Nine Breaths Pacification Method.
Circulating diligently, he cleansed the fatigue from body and mind. Once somewhat recovered, he descended to a nearby village, changed into fresh traveler’s garb, and by then the sun blazed fully.
Mounting a horse, the Flying Tiger galloped along the official road.
His destination: Hanzhong.