Survival (2)
Number 127 of the Heaven Tiger Unit crossed the mountain forest in silence, using the branches as stepping stones.
He was on the move to eliminate the Zhongnan Sect’s novice disciples, as ordered.
Acting alone, he sought an isolated target.
Found one.
A light flickered in the distance.
Almost certainly a fire lit by a novice disciple.
On a freezing winter night, it was the natural choice for anyone hoping to survive until morning.
Number 127 approached as close as he dared and studied the situation.
A boy of about ten sat by the fire.
Luckily, he was alone. No companions in sight.
One thing, however, gave him pause: even by himself, the boy looked thoroughly at ease.
Fire, food, water, shelter—he seemed to have prepared every necessity for an overnight camp.
And that was not all. He was butchering a deer he had hung from a tree, apparently intending to cook and eat it, and his hands moved with the practiced ease of a seasoned hunter rather than a child of ten.
The unexpected sight startled Number 127, yet it did not hinder the work. If anything, it was an opportunity. Few moments left a person more vulnerable than a meal.
Still, the boy was alone. Caution would cost nothing.
From a distance, Number 127 weighed his chances.
The target was a Zhongnan novice—at best, no higher than a Second-class martial artist.
He himself was a Second-class fighter on the verge of First-class.
The ideal outcome would be a single strike from ambush that snuffed out the boy’s life at once. Even if that failed, as long as he exploited the advantage of surprise, victory should come without great trouble.
Besides, the boy had never tasted real combat.
If possible, aim for the crown of the head.
According to the intelligence, the first half of Zhongnan’s basic sword art—the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven—was weak against overhead attacks. Aside from the eighth form, Heaven-Overlooking Peak, the upper-guard technique, they had no other ready counter.
Watch for that one form, and there would be no problem.
Now.
The boy began roasting meat over the fire. Number 127 shifted to a better position and waited. The moment the target placed a well-cooked piece in his mouth and began to chew, the assassin dropped soundlessly from the tree, short blade already raised to drive into the boy’s skull—
Thud!
A dull impact twisted the assassin’s jaw sideways.
The boy had snatched up the wooden sword lying nearby and swung it like lightning.
Stunned by the blow to his chin, Number 127 crashed to the ground. The hard winter earth rang his head like a bell; his body would not obey. Had he not been trained to endure pain, he would already have blacked out.
He forced his breathing under control and tried to assess the situation. Through blurred vision he found the boy looking down at him.
There was no panic or shock on the boy’s face—only a calm so complete it seemed he had expected exactly this.
He sensed the ambush? How?
Even among Second-class fighters, Number 127 was a veteran assassin who had survived countless real battles. No sound, no presence—nothing should have betrayed him until the instant of the strike.
How had the boy known?
The question was never answered.
The boy raised the wooden sword high. Another heavy crack sounded, and Number 127 sank into darkness.
After knocking the assassin out cold, Cheonhwa lowered his wooden sword and steadied his breath.
A sudden hostile presence had flared across his Six Harmony Sensory Path; thinking it was one of the second-generation disciples testing him, he had struck on pure reflex. Now he saw it was no senior brother.
What is this one supposed to be?
He looked down at the man sprawled on the ground.
Clothes dyed solid black to melt into the night. A keen short blade still clutched in one hand. Everything pointed to an outsider who had come to kill him.
Just to be sure, Cheonhwa pulled off the hood and checked the face—a complete stranger. Searching the man’s robes turned up various hidden weapons and a wooden tag marked Number 127.
Black garb, concealed weapons, a numbered tag… This one’s an assassin from Amyasalmak.
Amyasalmak—the most infamous assassin organization in the Central Plains, and one of the six great demonic sects of the Six Tyrant Coalition. Famous for accepting any contract so long as the price was paid.
Why come all the way out here?
An attack in the middle of the promotion examination felt far too deliberate to be coincidence.
He would have liked to wake the man and demand answers, but interrogation required specialized skill. First, make sure he can’t run. Break the limbs and tie him up.
Without hesitation Cheonhwa snapped the assassin’s wrists and ankles. Years of hunting animals had made the work second nature. He finished by binding the broken limbs with rope.
Just as he completed the last knot—
Fwoosh—bang!
Somewhere a signal rocket exploded, streaking a bright trail across the night sky. More rockets answered from every direction. The cascade of distress flares told him the situation was far worse than a single assassin.
Have the other disciples been attacked the same way?
By the rules he should have stayed put until a second-generation disciple arrived. But if Amyasalmak was launching a full-scale assault, remaining alone was suicide.
Join them.
Decision made, Cheonhwa snatched up his wooden sword and set off, using the rockets as guideposts.
Before long the sounds of combat reached him. He sprinted toward the noise and burst onto a battlefield.
Yeonhwa, Jeokhwa, and four other novice disciples stood locked in a standoff against six assassins. The fight hung in the balance. The disciples held their ground with the Heavenly Six Sword Formation, yet they could not press the attack. First real combat—and a blood-match where one mistake meant death—had tightened every muscle. The assassins knew it and steadily tightened the noose.
Hit them from behind.
Cheonhwa smothered his presence, closed the distance, and aimed for the rearmost assassin’s skull.
“Reinforcement!”
“Only one!”
The rear guard sensed him at the last instant and shouted the warning. The ambush failed, but he had expected as much.
If I can just pull their eyes for a heartbeat, that’s enough.
The assassins’ attention flicked toward him—and Yeonhwa’s group did not miss the opening. Linked by the formation, wooden swords stabbed in from three directions at once.
“Guh—!”
Vital points struck in rapid succession, one assassin crumpled unconscious. Eyes snapped back to the formation. That was the moment Cheonhwa needed. He closed the gap in a single bound and swung. The target tried to dodge, but there was no escaping the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven driven to its absolute limit. A dull crack, and another assassin fell.
Six against six became seven against five. From then on the assassins were forced steadily backward. Unless they were true masters, assassins who lost the element of surprise and were dragged into open battle revealed every weakness. In the end they could not break the formation and went down to the last man.
When the fighting settled, Cheonhwa approached the group.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. We’re fine.”
One by one they confirmed they had escaped serious injury. Then Cheonhwa asked,
“What happened here?”
Jeokhwa stepped forward to explain.
“These six of us were camping together. Then Yeonhwa-saje suddenly said something felt wrong.”
“She sensed the assassins’ presence.”
“Yes. The moment she blocked the first ambush, we knew this was no ordinary drill and fired the signal rockets at once. After that we held on with the formation, waiting for the instructors….”
“And instead of the second-generation seniors, I showed up.”
How long the rockets had been burning he could not say, yet not a single second-generation disciple had appeared. In all likelihood the seniors themselves had been pinned down by the same kind of attack.
“It seems we cannot count on the seniors’ support.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Without the adults’ strength, our only choice is to gather as many of our own as we can.”
Just as he had come here, they needed to move toward every other rocket, rescue their brothers and sisters, and swell their numbers until their defense became solid.
“Will you come with me?”
Cheonhwa scanned their faces. The plan he offered was brutally dangerous—far beyond mere self-preservation. It meant staking their lives against professional killers. Even for those already steeled, it was no small decision.
Yet Yeonhwa and the other five nodded without a moment’s hesitation.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
“Of course. We can’t just sit here and take it.”
“The others might be struggling just like we were.”
“We have to hurry and save them!”
Even after the bone-chilling fight with the assassins, each of them had found their own reason to keep fighting. Looking at those resolved faces, Cheonhwa nodded.
“Understood. Then we move.”
From this moment it was a race against time. They had to link up with the remaining novices before the assassins could finish them off.
Cheonhwa and the six disciples plunged into the darkness, racing to the aid of their fellow disciples.
“Report from Number 241! Resistance from the second-generation disciples who have detected our movements is far too fierce! Requesting reinforcements!”
“Commit the reserve White Tiger Unit at once. Buy as much time as possible until the operation is complete!”
“Report from Number 193! Five teams have eliminated their novice targets and returned. The rest are still engaged!”
“Tsk. Progress is slower than expected. A famous sect is still a famous sect, it seems.”
Number 16, commander of the operation, clicked his tongue as he processed the flood of reports. An unfamiliar environment, a night assault under cover of darkness—yet the results were disappointingly poor.
Did they actually teach the novices anti-assassin tactics?
He shook his head almost at once. Training entry-level disciples against professional killers would be wildly inefficient.
Should I commit part of the reserve White Tiger Unit after all?
The remaining White Tiger Unit was not idle. They were watching the main Zhongnan mountain for any mass movement and judging the proper moment to withdraw.
Waging an all-out war against Zhongnan with only one branch is foolish. Better to read the situation and pull out at the right time.
Number 16 decided to hold to the original plan.
Then a report arrived that shook that decision to its core.
“Report from Number 156! The novice disciples are steadily increasing their numbers and countering with sword formations!”
Sword formations? How did mere novices have the leisure to learn formations?
“Exact numbers? What is the level of the formation?”
“Currently around thirty and still growing. As for the formation itself… it is considerable. The Heaven Tiger Unit is having difficulty opposing it.”
“What?!”
The unexpected counterattack by the novice disciples began to tear the foundations of Amyasalmak’s plan apart.