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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Teottry
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“Kill the Martial Alliance leader.”
Yan Wuyong chuckled, a mixture of amusement and disbelief, at Wu Ming’s nonchalant suggestion.
“Hah!”
This man… he was difficult to read, his demeanor shifting between timid and arrogant.
“While I did hire you for that purpose, it’s not the right time. Besides, my master… the Martial Alliance leader… isn’t someone you can easily eliminate.”
“Well, I’m an assassin. I simply follow my employer’s orders. But…”
Wu Ming hesitated, then, cautiously gauging his employer’s mood, he continued.
“Forgive my impertinence, but… aren’t you going to see Nangong Xiaoshao?”
“What?”
“It’s just… you came all this way yourself. While you agreed to the assassination as a member of the Sun Moon Holy Cult, perhaps… you actually want to save him?”
His dark eyes, sharp and observant, belied his awkward, almost ingratiating smile, as he watch his employer.
“He is, after all… your senior brother’s son, your nephew. You trained under the same master.”
Yan Wuyong frowned at the mention of Nangong Xian, Xiaoshao’s father, and the blatant presumption in Wu Ming’s tone.
“If you cared about my senior brother, you wouldn’t be working with me, his murderer.”
“Haha… I suppose… you’re right. My apologies.”
Wu Ming, realizing he had overstepped his bounds, apologized quickly, though he had only been asking out of genuine curiosity.
Yan Wuyong looked towards where he sensed Nangong Xiaoshao’s qi, cold and clear like the azure sky, and muttered, as if to reassure himself,
“Everything is for the plan. I cannot allow past attachments to interfere.”
It seemed he was conflicted, despite his words.
Regardless, it was too dangerous to linger, so Yan Wuyong and Wu Ming retreated into the shadows.
-Tap… tap…
“Tsk!”
A sudden numbness in his leg made Yan Wuyong grimace, his pale face contorting in pain.
“Are… are you alright?”
“It’s fine. It’s nothing.”
Despite having replaced his flesh and blood with a jiangshi’s body, he still occasionally experienced phantom pains in his leg. It was irritating.
‘Useless.’ ‘Failure.’ ‘Crippled trash.’ ‘A disgrace to the Eon family.’ ‘Worthless.’
The insults he had endured since childhood echoed in his mind.
He remembered the revenge he had dreamed of, alone in his small, damp room, infested with rats and leaks, looking up at the sky.
He would destroy the martial world that had scorned and rejected him, that had treated him as less than human, simply because of his crippled leg.
That was his sole purpose.
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“Martial Art – Silently Drinking Water.”
Zi Lu, the Martial Alliance leader, one of the Ten Great Masters, said to have mastered a thousand techniques, calmly raised a waterskin to his lips and drank, unfazed by the tense situation.
-Gulp, gulp.
His throat bobbed rhythmically as he rehydrated.
The members of the Sun Moon Holy Cult exchanged bewildered glances at the absurd display, the Martial Alliance leader’s ridiculous antics.
They were irritated by his apparent nonchalance, his leisurely sipping of water as if he wasn’t facing a group of powerful martial artists, but what truly angered them was his mockery of their martial arts.
Even demonic sect members were martial artists, pursuing the Way of the Martial.
To call the simple act of drinking water a martial art was an insult they couldn’t tolerate.
“That’s… that’s not… a martial art!!”
Tian Xuan, one of Ma Yang’s seven disciples, her pretty face flushed crimson, shouted indignantly.
She couldn’t contain her anger, her outburst fueled by her gratitude towards Ma Yang, who had rescued her from a life of prostitution, and her pride in the martial arts her respected master had taught her.
Or rather, she hadn’t contained her anger, forgetting her place.
“And what are you going to do about it?”
Zi Lu’s single sentence, uttered as he lowered the waterskin, silenced them, his voice like a crushing weight. It was as if they had been plunged into the depths of the ocean.
“I’m the Martial Alliance leader. If I say it’s a martial art, it’s a martial art. What are you going to do about it?”
They struggled to breathe.
They wanted to retort, to argue, but the words wouldn’t come out.
And then, the Martial Alliance leader vanished.
“Martial Art – Super Fast Movement.”
By the time they heard his rough, deep voice, he was already among them, and before Tian Xuan could react, Zi Lu’s arm lashed out, striking her from behind, as if swatting a fly.
“Tian Xuan!”
Ma Yang, who, while she saw Tian Xuan as a replacement for her beloved junior sister, still cared for her disciple, intervened swiftly, her blade deflecting Zi Lu’s attack.
-Clang!!
The sound of flesh against steel, amplified, echoed through the air. And then…
“Martial Art – Beating People Up.”
With that calm declaration, a flurry of blows followed, his qi-infused fists clashing against her blade, their auras colliding.
-Clang! Clang, clang!!
Ma Yang, who had just moments before dominated the battlefield, was forced to retreat.
“Ugh…!”
Realizing she couldn’t win at this rate, Ma Yang created distance.
“…….”
Zi Lu, despite the yin energy gnawing at his body, a consequence of his Nine Yin Divine Meridians,
continued to fight, unleashing waves of cold energy. He watched Nangong Xiaoshao, the frail daughter of his deceased disciple, who had inherited her mother’s short lifespan, forced to fight using chilling techniques that further damaged her health.
He glared at the members of the Sun Moon Holy Cult, their pristine white robes a stark contrast to his dark aura, his eyes burning with a cold fire.
He had sipped his water slowly, carefully, because otherwise, his stomach would churn, and he might choke or vomit.
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“Th-that’s… that’s… the Martial Alliance leader Zi Lu’s two hundred and eighty-ninth secret technique! Beating People Up!!”
Xue Yuehua, perhaps frightened by the prospect of being left alone,
had crawled over to Mancheon and was now clinging to his leg, her voice trembling as she exclaimed dramatically.
“…….”
But Wang Meiyang and Mancheon remained silent. They had realized something.
Ma Yang, too, having exchanged blows with him, had undoubtedly realized that the Martial Alliance leader’s technique wasn’t simply a series of fast punches.
“What… what is that…?”
Wang Meiyang, well-versed in Quanzhen martial arts, recognized elements of Daoist techniques in Zi Lu’s movements, his footwork and fist techniques, but it was unlike anything she had seen before.
And Mancheon, honestly, was overwhelmed by the sheer difference in their skill levels.
He wanted to declare, “Okay, I’ve seen enough. You guys are amazing. I’m going to cry now,” and hide behind Wang Meiyang’s small frame.
But as a budding martial artist, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the high-level spar between two masters, a rare opportunity, a stroke of luck.
His every sense was focused on the fight, absorbing every detail, etching it into his memory.
Despite the danger of being grazed by the swirling gang qi, a single touch potentially fatal, he didn’t retreat.
His amber eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger, devouring the display of martial prowess.
But the moment didn’t last long.
-Clang-! Clang-!!
Ma Yang, realizing she couldn’t win with her current techniques, summoned Longyuan, one of the Ten Swords of Heaven, its clear cry echoing through the air.
“Haah… you’re all safe. I’m relieved.”
Xiaoshao, her lips pale, appeared, her blade wreathed in chilling qi, her light footwork carrying her swiftly towards Mancheon and Yuehua.
And another figure appeared on the rooftop.
‘Dammit… Wu Ming behind us, the Martial Alliance leader in front… this is bad.’
Tang Wu, the Third Elder of the Sun Moon Holy Cult, who had been pursuing Jang Sam, arrived, glaring at Zi Lu, his heart sinking.
All the players from the beginning of the incident had gathered once more, the stage set for the final act.
“So, Tang brat, you left your sect to join the demonic factions?”
Zi Lu, who had known Tang Wu from his days as an aspiring martial artist in the Martial Alliance, before he had defected to the Sun Moon Holy Cult, raised an eyebrow, his tone mocking.
“I’m not a brat anymore.”
Tang Wu’s voice was sharp, his pride stung by Zi Lu’s condescending tone, but his legs trembled slightly.
Zi Lu, one of the Ten Great Masters, the Martial God.
A former outer disciple of the Wudang Sect, who had risen to the position of Martial Alliance leader, a genius among geniuses.
The closest to the title of Strongest Under Heaven.
He sighed inwardly. He couldn’t understand why the Martial Alliance leader would personally involve himself in this matter.
‘Is there a traitor within the sect who leaked information?’
He looked at Zi Lu, his face as ruthless and predatory as any demonic sect leader, his killing intent radiating outwards, and a cold sweat trickled down Tang Wu’s cheek.
He remembered his time serving under Zi Lu.
‘What the hell? Drinking water isn’t a martial art. If that’s all it takes, I could master a thousand techniques.’
‘Martial Art – Taking a Nap Instead of Working!’
He had been beaten nearly to death for his insolence, a “lesson” from his former master.
“…….”
One thing was certain.
The mission to assassinate Nangong Xiaoshao had been a catastrophic failure.
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Well they can’t do anything 🤣 btw what a technique! 🤣🤣
