Chapter 50
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: Chapter 14. Preliminary Work (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The first assailant flinched, huddling in shock as chair fragments battered his entire body.
Meanwhile, Flying Tiger pulled back while shielding his vital spots—only to spring forward instead.
And with his sword, Flying Tiger traced the character.
Whoosh. Swish~ Thwick.
The first stroke grazed the assailant's face. The second curved back, carving a deep gash across his chest.
The finishing upward flick severed the right hand he'd desperately thrust forward.
Thud.
Spraying a fountain of blood, the assailant let out no more screams. He merely slumped, mumbling.
"It hurts... damn..."
The other assailant turned tail without a second thought, bolting for the tavern's back door.
Flying Tiger wasted no time. He hurled the rope dart coiled around his left hand, embedding it squarely in the man's right calf.
Stagger.
Realizing escape was impossible on that leg, the assailant whipped around, regripping his sword.
He wasn't about to go down without a fight—even if it meant mutual destruction.
His eyes burned with grim resolve.
But it was all for naught.
As Flying Tiger charged and yanked the rope dart's line, the assailant was dragged off balance.
Flying Tiger followed up with a kick that sent him sprawling to the floor.
Then he closed in, stabbing relentlessly.
Another brutal kick sent the assailant tumbling head over heels until he slammed into the wall.
That was the end of it.
Clink.
Flying Tiger sheathed his sword in the scabbard at his waist and turned to Aruk, still bound to the chair.
"Aruk, you alright?"
"……."
"You got lucky. Let's move."
Flying Tiger freed Aruk and slipped out the back door first.
Aruk followed, his mind a whirlwind of turmoil.
The joy of survival was fleeting. Seeing those cleaners—who rampaged like messengers of death—swept aside so effortlessly left him with complicated feelings. Worse, the chain of events stemmed from that man drawing them in. And perhaps even he...
Did he draw them in on purpose?
Flying Tiger, who had gone ahead, climbed atop the alley wall connected to the tavern's back door and scanned the surroundings. As soon as Aruk emerged, he hopped down and asked,
"Where to now?"
"Mm. Still got trackers on me?"
"Most likely."
"Then, Flying Tiger warrior—could you escort me to the Hui district down south?"
Chang'an City teemed with people and groups tied directly or indirectly to the West State Party. But Aruk couldn't just call in favors lightly. Given the Pursuers' overwhelming force and reckless tactics, it'd only bring more harm.
So Aruk aimed for a place where he could definitely shake his pursuers—and requested Flying Tiger's company there.
In truth, as a high-level informant for the West State Party, Aruk was skilled at evasion and hiding. But his body was in no shape for it now, and the mental shock weighed heavy. Perhaps that's why he felt this frail urge to lean on Flying Tiger's demonstrated might.
But the response was ice-cold.
"No."
"Pardon?"
"My goodwill ends here. Time we each handled our own business."
"Ah..."
Shame surged through Aruk.
Just moments ago in the tavern, when Flying Tiger had probed about the Pursuers, he'd drawn a line, citing it as burdensome. Was this payback?
Aruk watched Flying Tiger depart, then let out a deep sigh.
Either way, the man was his lifesaver. He couldn't very well cling like a drowning rat demanding his pouch in return.
"My deepest thanks for saving my life. Safe travels."
Downcast as he was, Aruk mustered a proper fist salute. Flying Tiger didn't even glance back—just gave a casual wave and kept walking.
Aruk turned and quickened his pace as well. And so the two men went their separate ways.
Aruk's destination was, as he'd told Flying Tiger, the Hui district. On a normal day, with his swift stride, it was a two-ke walk—thirty minutes at most—from the wrecked tavern.
But today, it felt impossibly distant.
'Might never make it there.'
It was a thought that struck him three ke—forty-five minutes—after parting with Flying Tiger.
Aruk had moved with utmost caution, slinking stealthily. Yet he'd barely covered half the distance when he sensed the pursuers.
From that moment, it became a deadly game of cat and mouse.
For a while at first, he'd shaken them off several times with every trick in the book. But they kept catching up, forcing him to admit it was far tougher than he'd hoped.
And now, with body and spirit utterly drained, as he crept across a commoner's courtyard, he wrestled rising tides of negativity.
'Should've grabbed Flying Tiger's pant leg back then and begged? Told him since he saved me, see it through? Heh, Aruk, you've gotten pathetic. Snap out of it. Just survive this once, and then... Sigh. Wonder if that guy's getting chased too right now? How's he holding up?'
Aruk suddenly wondered what Flying Tiger was doing at that moment. Perhaps it was the only way to distract himself from the desperation.
The Pursuers had mobilized over thirty warriors for this operation, split into two main roles, as usual.
Hunters—derisively called cleaners—and herders who drove the prey straight to them.
Once the hunters began seriously tailing Aruk, the herders switched tasks, pairing off to watch likely paths.
"This time it's gotta stick, right? With even Lady Ho Ye-hwa charging out, coming up empty again might earn us a lashing."
"……."
"How'd we end up chasing a slippery bastard like that? Damn. Hey, Dong—heard that Flying Tiger vanished without a trace? Anything on him?"
"……."
"Huh? Buddy? You wouldn't be dozing off right now, would you?"
To kill the boredom with chit-chat, the warrior turned to his silent comrade Dong.
Unlike his expectation of a mere nod-off against the wall, Dong was slumped fully, dead to the world. So deep in sleep he didn't twitch—like a dead rat.
Like a dead rat?
Unease prickled. Then his sharpened senses caught another presence.
Too late.
Schwick.
Horrific pain tore through his nape. His mouth gaped wide, his mind went blank as a sheet, and he could do nothing more.
As he crumpled, his dilated pupils brimmed with one question.
'Who?'
It was Flying Tiger—the one said to have vanished clean.
He dispatched the pair and got straight to work. First, he thoroughly rifled their pockets, pocketing anything of value.
Then he opened the sack he'd prepared separately; it already held a jumble of assorted loot, each item claiming its space.
After that, he dragged the corpses to less conspicuous spots nearby and hid them.
The whole job—looting and concealment—took less time than half a tea break.
Very practiced. Not his first rodeo.
Clap, clap.
Flying Tiger dusted his hands and rose.
Stretching his back, he naturally glanced at the night sky. Unusually clear tonight, not a cloud in sight. Stars didn't just twinkle—they seemed ready to pour down like rain. Yet his impression was disappointingly curt.
"A fine night for hunting."
After sending Aruk off first, Flying Tiger hadn't gone anywhere. He'd dug into the earth and lain in wait.
For one sikgyeong—thirty minutes.
Then he'd shadowed the Pursuers hunting Aruk, picking them off one by one. Looting along the way.
Classic backstabbing.
So when he'd told Aruk "each do our own thing," it meant Aruk played bait while he hunted and gathered.
As Aruk had suspected, Flying Tiger was goading a clash between the West State Party and the Pursuers—milking it for all it was worth.
That didn't mean he wanted their operatives dead or planned to let them die out. The moment he'd spotted the Pursuers' cleaners tailing, he'd sprung into action.
Just methodically.
No need to overdo it.
But even he hadn't anticipated how recklessly aggressive the cleaners were—or how quickly the fights would end.
Sorry they'd dropped like flies in droves?
Not a chance.
He'd warned them. Aruk had drawn the line first.
He could understand the choice—no hard feelings or expectations.
It was a contract, not some sacred bond of loyalty.
So he'd do what morals allowed. But one's life was one's own to guard. At least for those scraping by on steel in the jianghu.
That was Flying Tiger's take.
And what was he plotting now?
Before setting out for Ma Yeop's vengeance, he'd sensed the need to tidy his surroundings first. Lined up before him were armed groups with iffy ties—some ambiguous, some primed to sour, others already rotten.
The West State Party, under Hidden Moon.
The Face Pursuit Unit Jeong, spurred by Jin Ga-yong.
The Shadow Division, commanded by Na Yul-chan.
And the Pursuers.
Four in all. Leaving them unresolved would spell major roadblocks ahead.
So Flying Tiger had struck first at the West State Party and the Pursuers. Preliminary work before the main event.
Flying Tiger began moving faster and lighter than before.
Everything has an expiration date. No more slow nibbles.
Tadak.
He bounded along walls, leaped across rooftops, then dashed on more walls.
Straight toward five masked figures scouting near Aruk's position. His movements were so fluid, one might doubt he was human.
"Who's there?"
One masked man drew his sword toward the empty air behind, barking sharply. But his face held doubt.
Meow~ Patter.
The fading footsteps of a thief cat. Embarrassed, the masked man turned back—to find his lead comrade glaring at him in shock.
"Ah, sorry. My mistake..."
Mid-excuse, the masked man startled and backpedaled.
His comrade was radiating killing intent, sword raised high.
Has he lost it?
"Enemy!"
The growled word made the masked man flinch.
"Who? Me?"
Flying Tiger answered with action.
Not you—me.
Feigning retreat, he leaped in at terrifying speed and smashed the nape of the still-clueless masked man.
Schwick.
Blood sprayed skyward, dying the heavens crimson. On the ground, a one-against-four battle erupted.