Zhan Zhao Adventures - Chapter One (Part IV)

Chapter One: The Youthful Traveler (Part IV)

Both newcomers were middle-aged men in their forties. One was tall and the other short, but both possessed piercing eyes and bulging temples, indicating immense internal energy.

 

The tall one carried himself with a permanent hunch, while the short one stood with his chest thrown out rigidly.

 

Though their robes were soaked through, the fabric was exquisite—expensive silks tailored by the renowned "Bai Sheng Xiang" of the capital, Bianliang. The hilts of the long swords hanging at their waists were inlaid with a row of brilliant pearls.

 

They carried the arrogant aura of wealthy landowners who owned thousands of acres. Yet, their expressions were as grim as if they had just suffered a death in the family.

 

The stout innkeeper began to shake like a leaf, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. The fat on his face contorted as he nodded frantically.

 

"Master... Master Jiao, Master Mu."

 

In the martial world, the saying went: “The Golden Overlord, the Silver Fortune Cloud, and the Jade Exquisite.” This referred to the three wealthiest and most powerful factions: the Overlord Villa of Hangzhou, the Fortune Cloud Villa of Lake Dongting, and the Exquisite Mountain Villa of Jiangzhou.

 

The men who had just arrived, entirely unescorted, were none other than Jiao Chaogui, the Master of Fortune Cloud Villa, and Mu Xiuquan, the second-in-command.

 

To think that figures of such high standing would arrive in person without a single bodyguard.

 

"Who killed Ge Yunfei?" the tall man asked, his voice dripping with a sinister chill that made everyone shudder. His gaze swept over the room before settling squarely on the three Tang Clan assassins and the youth in the yellow tunic. The innkeeper was already too paralyzed with fear to speak.

 

Since stepping through the door, the short man had kept his eyes narrowed, acting as if the people standing before him did not even exist.

 

The youth in yellow seemed to find the situation increasingly amusing. Smiling, he asked, "Would you happen to be Master Mu Xiuquan, the second-in-command of Fortune Cloud Villa? Pray tell, why must anyone who knows about the item die?"

 

The tall man replied, "I am indeed Mu Xiuquan. Who might you be, sir, and why do you show such interest in the belongings of our Fortune Cloud Villa? Was it you who murdered our third-in-command, Ge Yunfei?"

 

The youth curled his lip, then jerked his chin toward the three assassins. Extending a fair, slender finger, he laughed with blatant amusement at their expense. "I hardly possess that kind of skill. As for the death of your third master and the whereabouts of that blue floral bundle, those three over there know the details best."

 

The moment his voice fell, three black silhouettes lunged directly at Mu Xiuquan.

 

Since a battle with Fortune Cloud Villa was inevitable, the assassins chose to strike first to gain the upper hand. Every killer raised within the Tang Clan’s "Hall of True Alignment" was trained to possess impeccable tactical judgment.

 

Jiao Chaogui, whose small eyes had been narrowed the entire time, suddenly snapped them open.

 

In an instant, he seemed to transform into an entirely different person. Standing as immovable as a mountain, a fierce and overwhelming murderous aura erupted from his body.

 

Figures blurred across the room as the radiant glow of sword-light filled the hall. Within a few exchanges, swords clashed against palms, emitting the distinct, sharp ringing of striking metal.

 

The figures abruptly separated.

 

Jiao Chaogui's short frame remained completely stationary, looking as though he had never moved an inch. His expression, however, had turned incredibly grim.

 

— "Are you men from the Sichuan Tang Clan’s 'Hall of True Alignment'?"

 

There was no answer.

 

Only the suffocating pressure of their intent to kill grew heavier.

 

The figures lunged forward once more. A dense web of palm strikes and a flurry of sword-light intertwined in a chaotic frenzy.

 

In the heat of the clash, between the dark blue palms and the flash of white swords, a swift and nimble yellow streak suddenly shot into the fray. The yellow dog, which had been guarding the frail boy, could no longer contain itself. With a low bark, it leaped forward, snapping its jaws directly at one of the Tang Clan assassins.

 

The youth in yellow had been focusing entirely on the battle. Glimpsing the yellow blur, he gasped in terror. "San'er, come back! Don't bite!"

 

But it was too late. The agile yellow dog twisted its body mid-air and clamped its teeth firmly onto a black-clad assassin’s arm.

 

The assassin’s arm was forced down by the sudden weight.

 

The lethal formation, which had previously been an seamless sphere of palm strikes, instantly exposed a fatal flaw.

 

It was a split-second opening that would vanish in the blink of an eye.

 

With a sharp metallic crash, sword and palm collided once more.

 

The three Tang Clan assassins retreated rapidly. The last man stumbled, clearly having sustained a grievous injury.

 

Mu Xiuquan and Jiao Chaogui also retreated in haste. Gripping each other’s hands, their faces flushed with a dark, unnatural energy. With a thunderous shout, they struck down at a long table beside them. The table shattered into splinters like dry leaves, and a faint wisp of green smoke rose from the debris before being swept away by the wind.

 

Both men were well aware of the terrifying nature of the Tang Clan's poisons and martial arts, which were notoriously difficult to defend against. Throughout the exchange, they had not only held their breath but had been extremely careful to avoid direct physical contact with any part of the assassins' bodies. Such constraints naturally prevented them from gaining a decisive upper hand. They had not expected that even with their caution, the proximity during the clash of sword and palm would allow the chilling energy of the Prayer Mat Palm to seep through their weapons. Had they not immediately combined their internal energy to force the poison out, they would have ended up exactly like San'er. Even so, they exchanged a horrified glance, breaking into a cold sweat.

 

At that moment, San'er let out a weak whine and collapsed to the floor. His limbs twitched once before he went entirely still. Within moments, his yellow fur was consumed by the virulent poison, falling away completely. The frail boy slumped beside the yellow dog, staring blankly. Though he could not speak, his small eyes filled with tears.

 

The yellow-robed youth trembled, and a scream that sounded as if it had been ripped from the depths of hell erupted from his throat.

 

"You... dare... kill... my... San'er..."

 

His previously cheerful, round face was now violently contorted. His thin lips quivered slightly. Large tears welled up in his black eyes, threatening to spill over.

 

"Your reckless slaughter of the Fortune Cloud Villa people was something you deserved to be punished for, but now you dare kill my San'er!"

 

Reaching into his robes, a sharp ring echoed as a sword was drawn.

 

The veins on the back of his hand bulged slightly as he slowly raised the weapon. Everyone in the room laid eyes on the blade.

 

It was a short sword, two feet in length, and entirely pitch-black.

 

The hilt was a deep, vivid scarlet, resembling the color of blood mixed with a parting lover's tears.

 

The onlookers barely caught the briefest glimpse of a black flash as the yellow figure surged forward and retreated in the span of a single breath. Suddenly, the short sword was embedded directly through the palm of the foremost assassin.

 

The Tang Clan member had raised his hand just in time to shield his throat. Had he been a fraction of a second slower, or miscalculated the trajectory of the strike, the blade would have pierced his neck.

 

His hand was twice the size of a normal man's. When fighting Jiao Chaogui and Mu Xiuquan, his palms had deflected swords with the sound of clashing metal, proving they were far from ordinary flesh. Yet, when this youth's short sword pierced through it, it did so without making a single sound. The weapon had been thrust and retracted without generating the slightest whisper of wind, and the blade emerged without a single drop of blood clinging to it.

 

The Tang Clan assassin stood frozen, staring at his palm in utter disbelief.

 

He knew that from this day forward, the hand he took such pride in would never again execute the Tang Clan’s Prayer Mat Palm.

 

Having crossed paths with this particular sword, his hand—ranked third on the "Dragon-Tiger Roster"—was permanently ruined. His life as an assassin was effectively over.

 

In his mind, he could almost hear that familiar, spine-chilling sigh of his clan master. He could almost see the hand adorned with a green jade ring slowly removing a portrait from the Dragon-Tiger Roster.

 

His own portrait.

 

The youth in yellow seemed temporarily stunned by his own actions. He had actually drawn this sword. He had actually used it to maim someone.

 

What kind of sword was this?

 

The sole uninjured Tang Clan assassin seized upon this momentary distraction. With a flick of his wrist, a shower of iron caltrops was unleashed, blanketing the air.

 

In that critical instant, the youth leaped into the air, his yellow robes fluttering gracefully. His short sword danced through a swift sequence of parries. A rapid, dense pattering sound—like heavy rain hitting wood—echoed through the hall as the iron caltrops clattered uselessly to the floor.

 

When the youth looked up again, the three Tang Clan assassins had vanished. Only the wind and rain outside raged on unabated, howling like demons trying to burst into the room.

 

With a soft hiss, a faint blue flame suddenly ignited on the youth's yellow tunic.

 

He flipped his short sword and sliced downward, letting half of his sleeve drop to the floor. The tip of the pitch-black blade tapped the blue fire, extinguishing it before it could even emit a wisp of smoke.

 

What kind of sword was this?

 

Upon closer inspection, the discarded sleeve was the very one that had been torn earlier by the wind of Ge Yunfei's flying halberd. An iron caltrop had quietly slipped past his defensive net, catching itself on the torn edge of his cuff.

 

His two swift strikes had finally allowed Jiao Chaogui, who was standing to the side, to realize the truth.

 

It wasn't his sword technique, nor was it his internal energy—it was his movement and his short sword.

 

— What was truly terrifying was not his swordsmanship, but his movement technique, which appeared incredibly soft and weightless.

 

— He had managed to pierce the Tang Clan assassin's hand not because his thrust was exceptionally fast, but because his movement was fast enough to close the distance instantly.

 

— The reason his blade made no sound against the air was simple: when a person's lightness skill has reached the absolute pinnacle of mastery, even the slowest, most deliberate strike can kill.

 

Jiao Chaogui exchanged a look with Mu Xiuquan before finally asking in a deep voice, "Who exactly are you to the Exquisite Mountain Villa?"

 

The youth in yellow stood dazed, acting as though he hadn't heard the question.

 

Now that the dangerous enemies had fled, his eyes were filled with profound grief. His thoughts were entirely consumed by the loss of his beloved dog. Slowly, he turned and began walking toward the corpse of his pet.

 

He kept his eyes fixed on his dog, failing to notice Mu Xiuquan's sudden movement.

 

Mu Xiuquan, who had been standing motionless, suddenly lunged forward. He thrust his sword straight toward the youth's back.

 

Fortune Cloud Villa was ranked fourth among the great martial sects, and Mu Xiuquan was its second-in-command. His blade was far from slow, and the youth had never anticipated a treacherous sneak attack. The youth had intervened to resolve Fortune Cloud Villa's crisis; the sect should have been indebted to him. Mu Xiuquan was not only a top-tier martial artist but was also renowned for his cunning intellect. Why was he so intent on killing him?

 

Mu Xiuquan's sword was still coated with the residual poison from the Tang Clan. The lethal strike was inches away from piercing the youth's spine.

 

Yet, at that exact moment, a violent gust of wind seemed to sweep past everyone in the inn, causing the surrounding candles to dim sharply.

 

Mu Xiuquan let out a sudden, strangled roar. The sword in his hand was jarred loose by an immense force, flying upward and embedding itself deeply into the wooden rafters of the ceiling.

 

The tassel on the hilt of the suspended sword vibrated violently. A section of it had been cleanly severed by an incredibly sharp edge, drifting down like snow onto Mu Xiuquan's face and shoulders.

 

A large spark erupted from one of the candles, finally illuminating Mu Xiuquan's face clearly.

 

His eyes were fixed on empty space, his eyeballs bulging to the point of popping. His mouth hung open, but he could not utter a single syllable.

 

A short halberd had pierced clean through his throat.

 

— It was Ge Yunfei’s right halberd—the very same weapon that had been casually caught and had subsequently vanished from sight earlier.

 

Blood began to trickle from the edge of the iron weapon.

 

The wolf head carved into the iron halberd remained as ferocious and menacing as ever.

 

As Mu Xiuquan’s body crashed heavily to the floor, the final strands of his sword's severed tassel drifted down, settling gently against his face.

 

Among the guests hiding in the corner, someone began to retch violently once more.

 

Jiao Chaogui's face turned as pale as a corpse.

 

He had been projecting an aura of overwhelming arrogance just moments before, but now he looked like a panicked ghost that had crawled out of a graveyard.

 

— He recognized that short halberd all too well.

 

— The weapon of the deceased third-in-command, Ge Yunfei, had somehow returned from the shadows to execute the second-in-command, Mu Xiuquan.

 

The hand holding his sword began to tremble violently, a tremor that quickly consumed his entire body.

 

With a loud bang, a powerful gust of wind slammed the inn's doors wide open, driving bean-sized raindrops inside to lash against the occupants.

 

Jiao Chaogui let out a terrified shriek and leaped into the air. Bolting through the entrance like an arrow, he vanished into the raging storm within the blink of an eye.