Chapter 57
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: 18. Regrouping (2)
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“Why didn’t you bring the ledger itself?”
“Financial records are relatively loosely guarded. Martial artists don’t pay much attention to that sort of thing, after all.”
Ui nodded as she looked over the stack of papers nearly thirty sheets thick that Flying Tiger had compiled. Each sheet bore records of over a dozen signed documents.
That made roughly three hundred in total?
Copying that much somewhere else would have taken too much time, and hauling off all the originals would have made the theft obvious. Memorizing them made the most sense.
But he’d committed all that to memory? What the hell was this guy?
As Ui marveled, Flying Tiger raised an even more astonishing issue.
“And there’s a more fundamental problem. Does a real kill list even exist?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying the Martial Qin Alliance created the Face Pursuit Squad without even a kill list?”
“There are surely targets to eliminate, and plenty more they’d like gone. But if the numbers don’t run into the dozens or hundreds, do they really need a full kill list? It’s not like they’re circulating a petition.”
“Rumors say it exists, though. We judged them credible.”
“True, the leader of the Face Pursuit Unit Jeong did mention it. That the kill list exists and is undergoing final review. They’d publicize some targets but keep the rest classified for security reasons.”
“And?”
“Hearing that made me wonder. Maybe there’s a pool of candidates, but they’ll keep ‘reviewing’ it indefinitely without ever finishing.”
“Why?”
“Because it benefits the Martial Qin Alliance more that way. Think about it. Once kill list rumors spread, won’t factions that have been uncooperative or hostile start behaving themselves? Sure, they’ll make examples of a few villains to keep up appearances—like how my unit took down the Eight Fiends of Sichuan this time.”
Ui found herself drawn in, murmuring, “Maybe you’re right.”
“So here’s my dilemma. Is chasing an uncertain, unverified kill list rational? Wouldn’t it be better to…”
“Examine their funding sources instead?”
Flying Tiger nodded and neatly rolled up the papers he’d written out, handing them to Ui.
“Ui, deliver these to Hidden Moon along with my message. In lieu of the kill list, I present this data, completing your first commission. We’ll discuss the rest face-to-face next time we meet.”
“...!”
With that, the first of Hidden Moon’s dual commissions was complete.
Flying Tiger had demonstrated his capabilities while signaling—or warning—that this partnership depended on trust.
Ui took the documents, lightly brushing his fingers. When he glanced at her, she met his eyes with a soft gaze, one corner of her mouth curved in a blooming smile.
“Message received. Official business done. So, junior, what now? Night’s still young. Care to share another drink with your senior and build some personal rapport?”
The next morning.
Flying Tiger woke clutching his pounding hungover head. Empty bottles littered the room.
Still at the brothel. Ui must have left at dawn.
He told a serving girl to wake Namok, and they ate hangover soup outside. Both looked wrecked, slurping it down like it was their only salvation.
“So, brother, did you have enough fun last night?”
Flying Tiger grinned and prodded for a review, but Namok coughed awkwardly and straightened up.
“Yesterday was enjoyable, thanks to you. But playing so casually in broad daylight after one night of drinks feels a bit off.”
“Oh? Business done, so back to formal distance?”
“Ahem.”
“If that’s what you want. I got all the latest Face Pursuit Squad rumors from you, so it was a satisfying trade.”
Flying Tiger drew a firm line, leaving Namok smacking his lips in regret.
Last night’s pleasures had been intense, but restraint was called for now. He couldn’t tarnish his family mingling with lowlifes.
Well, one night’s indulgence was forgivable.
The now-strangers left the brothel and headed to the Face Pursuit Squad’s area in Red Lantern Temple’s grounds. The sun was nearing midday.
“Hey, Flying Tiger.”
“What? Flying Tiger? You my friend? Say it again.”
It happened as Flying Tiger and Namok entered the Face Pursuit Squad’s deep inner territory.
Namok called out casually, but Flying Tiger growled.
Backtalk was fine, but mouthing off to his face was an insult—classic rough mercenary or street thug behavior.
Namok flinched, coughed, and tried again.
“My friend, Flying Tiger warrior.”
“What is it, Lord Namok?”
“Any plans to head out again? No misunderstanding—I need to track your movements per orders from above.”
“Just got back, heading out soon anyway. Where else would I go? I’m diligent like that. I’ll stick around quietly for now, so no worries. Rest up a few days. I’ll contact you if I need to go out.”
“Ahem, alright then.”
Namok left, a mix of unease and relief.
Flying Tiger parted with Namok and skipped his unit’s quarters, heading straight to the armory to maintain his weapons before deployment.
The Face Pursuit Squad offered weapon maintenance, loans, or sales for a fee, for the warriors’ convenience.
Not primarily for sales, their stock wasn’t great—mostly consumables like arrows and throwing stars, the rest just for show. Most reputable warriors treated their weapons like life itself, limiting demand.
Flying Tiger was unusual. He’d discard used blades without hesitation and pick up enemy swords mid-fight.
The armory’s weapons were low quality, but the rotating blacksmiths’ skills were top-notch.
Better than average smithy apprentices, since even high officers needed constant upkeep.
Flying Tiger finished entry at the entrance and stepped in. Lunchtime made it quiet, letting him meet a blacksmith in his fifties, seasoned and grizzled.
The smith said curtly,
“Here to drop off a weapon?”
“Sharpen my blade, and check for balance issues or cracks.”
“Leave it there, sign the ledger next to it. Ready by this time tomorrow.”
“Can it be sooner?”
Flying Tiger slipped him a silver coin.
“You know your stuff. Let’s see it.”
Flying Tiger unwound the rope dart from his left wrist, separating the line and repair dagger, handing over the dagger.
Then he drew Ma Yeop’s sword, worn like an ornament. He stroked it apologetically before handing it over—for sharpening, of course.
Ma Yeop’s sword was called “Clear Stream.” Engraved at the base of the blade.
The moment Flying Tiger gripped it, he knew it outshone any blade he’d handled. He also sensed how cherished it had been by its owner.
Recalling their first spar after teaming up, Ma Yeop hadn’t flaunted Clear Stream’s sharpness. It would’ve overwhelmed Flying Tiger’s sword otherwise.
Anyway.
Despite its excellence, Flying Tiger hadn’t planned to use it. It was like Ma Yeop’s soul. He’d meant to carry it reverently and return it to the Qingcheng Sect.
But after dreaming the “Eighteen Phantom Prison Dreams” the night before, his mindset shifted. The tenth monster had trounced him with a death grip.
He took the dream as prophetic.
‘From now on, your foes will be stronger than that tenth freak. If you don’t want your head smashed, quit slacking and gear up properly!’
So he resolved to use whatever it took—even Ma Yeop’s heirloom Clear Stream.
“The dagger’s no slouch, but this longsword’s exceptional too. With gear like this, you’re no ordinary warrior.”
“You flatter me.”
The blacksmith inspected meticulously, turning them over, muttering “Nice~” in admiration several times. Noticing Flying Tiger’s stare, he chuckled sheepishly.
“Sorry, got carried away showing off to a young warrior. Been fixing junk from bums lately; these beauties got me excited.”
“Glad you like them. How long?”
“Perfect condition. Just a hone. Wait one hour.”
“I’ll browse then.”
“Take your time. Not much to see.”
To kill time, Flying Tiger checked the armory’s weapons. Maybe snag a decent sword.
Why a sword after picking Clear Stream?
He’d use Clear Stream if needed, but not as primary yet—just keep it ready.
Anyway.
He’d heard the armory wasn’t impressive, so expectations were low. “Maybe?” became “As expected.”
Bored, he left the swords and browsed spears, axes, staffs, meteor hammers, and oddities.
There, he spotted a striking pair.
Midnight-Noon Mandarin Duck Axes.
The close-range weapons he’d held when the tenth monster killed him in the “Phantom Prison Dreams.”
‘Huh? They have these?’