Chapter 50: Assassination

Chapter 50: Assassination

Hu Sheng had been away from the battlefield for many years, and with life recently becoming increasingly comfortable, he felt he had indeed let his guard down.

It wasn't until the assassins broke through the door that he sensed the danger. Fortunately, his martial skills hadn't grown rusty.

He first grabbed Zhao An, and the two rolled under the bed, dodging the initial attack from the roof. Then he overturned the bed, pinning five or six men beneath it. Simultaneously, he snatched a long knife from one of the assassins and cut down three men in quick succession.

Yet these black-clad assassins seemed almost fearless. Those trapped under the bed didn’t even make a sound of agony; instead, they quickly worked together to push the heavy bed off and raised their knives to charge at Hu Sheng again.

What began as a silent slaughter changed when Zhao An, hiding in the corner, pulled out a hidden revolver and fired three shots, taking down three enemies.

Unfortunately, after three shots, it needed to be reloaded. The assassins clearly had no intention of giving him that time, so he tossed the gun aside and trembled like a leaf, trying to flee, as if the calm shooter from moments ago had never existed.

Zhao An wasn’t the primary target initially, but after he shot and killed three, the leader of the assassins gestured for five men to go control him.

However, dividing attention while fighting Hu Sheng came at a steep cost. Even as the leader saw the cold glint of the blade before his eyes, he couldn’t dodge it. His movements were no match for his perception, let alone Hu Sheng’s ruthless strikes. The blade sliced through his head, cleaving off half of it.

Even though they had learned from hidden archives that Hu Sheng was the true behind-the-scenes commander of the Shang Family Army and had dispatched twenty elite shadow guards to kill him, they now realized they had still underestimated his strength.

With their leader dead, these shadow guards, trained as death soldiers, showed no signs of retreat. They even used their comrades to block blades to press closer to Hu Sheng.

As the saying goes, two fists are no match for four hands. Despite Hu Sheng’s exceptional skills, facing these well-trained, fearless assassins was still beginning to prove challenging.

Just as one assassin, using his comrades as cover, finally closed in to thrust a knife into Hu Sheng’s chest, he suddenly felt vines quickly crawling up his back. Soon, he realized it wasn’t an illusion—the thorns on the vines even pierced his skin.

He was dragged backward by an immense force. By the time his comrades reacted, Hu Sheng seized the opportunity to kill two more.

The bound assassin then saw that those sent to deal with Zhao An had all been throat-cut by Zhao An. These unfortunate souls were also entangled, to varying degrees, by thorny vines sprouting strange red flowers. Was this even human?

For the first time, a scream escaped the assassin’s lips: "Ghost! A ghost!"

The new leader, who had taken over after the previous one’s death and had been lurking in the back, now began to have second thoughts. He decided it was better to preserve his life and report back to his sovereign—otherwise, his sovereign would never know that a monster lurked here, one who could kill with a strange metal stick and control vines that seemed to absorb human flesh and blood.

If Zhao An’s creation of firearms was a groundbreaking advancement worthy of caution, the idea that he controlled vines that absorb flesh and blood was completely wronging an innocent person.

In truth, Zhao An wished he could find mutant plants with enhanced offensive capabilities, but this world had never experienced a spiritual energy explosion. All plants remained ordinary. The vines he controlled were nothing more than withered rose vines from the windowsill, and the red flowers were merely blooms he had forced to blossom. They didn’t feed on human flesh—the dead were bound by the vines before having their throats slit.

Zhao An wasn’t born in peaceful times either; he could be ruthless when needed, after all. He regretted that even after three years, he could only rapidly cultivate a maximum of twelve plants at once—the limit of his first-tier Supernatural Power. Given this world’s spiritual energy density, he might never break through to the second tier.

To control those five assassins, he had used eight applications of his power to kill them all. Seeing Hu Sheng in danger, he urgently forced two more vines to grow, pulling back the assassin about to stab Hu Sheng.

If the hidden leader had attacked Zhao An then, he might have seized a chance at survival, as Zhao An had no more tricks up his sleeve.

But the leader chose to flee, giving Zhao An the opportunity to load a bullet into the gun he had thrown away earlier.

Zhao An had only handled firearms in his previous life and had rarely touched them in this one. When he pulled the trigger, it was more of an experiment than a sure shot. Yet, just as by sheer coincidence, the bullet struck the fleeing man in the thigh just as he was about to leap from the second-floor window. Losing his balance, he fell from the second floor, actually breaking his neck.

The sight of the assassin falling was witnessed by Zhang Wei and others who had heard the gunshot and come running, along with the village militia.

The village had been getting more prosperous lately, so the villagers participated in training more actively. Some had even given up farming to work in the village’s brick kiln, devoting the rest of their time to training.

They had worried that envy might lead others to target them, but aside from an incident with bandits from Banpo Village three years ago, peace had prevailed since.

Everyone had begun to relax—until tonight, when they saw a black-clad figure fall from Zhao An’s window and break his neck.

None thought Zhao An was in the wrong. If anyone dared to break into their homes armed and dressed in black, they’d do the same if they could.

But they were worried about Zhao An. Although he had initially organized the villagers’ training, he had soon handed over the responsibility to Zhang Wei and focused on teaching children at the school. To them, he had become a weak scholar, and they feared for his safety.

No one was more concerned than Qintong, though he now went by Zhao Zhushan, having moved to live near Bamboo Mountain after returning to Zhao Village. He had changed his name because he had gotten married—or more accurately, after becoming a live-in son-in-law to a family with only one daughter.

Zhao Zhushan was just sixteen, and Zhao An had initially opposed the marriage. But the woman was already eighteen and couldn’t wait any longer without incurring government fines. Respecting local customs, Zhao An eventually consented.

After marriage, Zhao Zhushan moved out.

Uncle Hai had left for Nanyue Country earlier in the year, uneasy about leaving Feng Shaoping alone to manage the workshops there, fearing he might embezzle Zhao An’s share.

It was fortunate that only Zhao An and Hu Sheng lived in the house now. If Uncle Hai and Zhao Zhushan had been home, they might have been silenced beforehand.

After shooting the fleeing assassin, Hu Sheng quickly dispatched the remaining three killers. Even for him, taking down thirteen skilled assassins in one night on a late autumn night was exhausting.

Thankfully, Zhao An had helped share the burden. Hu Sheng walked over to the assassin bound by rose vines—still screaming—and dislocated his jaw joint, reducing his cries to hoarse, grating noises.

Surveying the carnage—the blood-soaked sheets, their once-cozy room now in ruins—Hu Sheng said gravely to Zhao An, "Perhaps it’s time we left this place."

He had hesitated about being with Zhao An precisely because he feared this day would come. Heaven had granted him three happy years, but bloodshed had tracked him down into this peaceful world, staining their cherished memories with blood.

Zhao An heard the commotion downstairs but also saw the loneliness in Hu Sheng’s eyes.

After a moment’s hesitation, he rushed to Hu Sheng and bit his unbloodied chin. "As long as we’re both safe, our home remains."

Hu Sheng finally smiled, his blue eyes locking onto Zhao An’s. "You always know how to make me happy."

Zhao An covered Hu Sheng’s eyes. "We’re an old married couple now—no need for cheesy lines." Then he turned and ran downstairs, calling out, "I’ll send the villagers away and have Zhang Wei clean up."

The gruesome scene was hardly suitable for villagers accustomed to peace.

Hu Sheng approached the only living captive, crouched down, and met his eyes. "Who sent you?"

Though filled with terror, the assassin’s reaction to the question was sharp, reminding him of the poison capsule hidden in his tooth. Training demanded suicide upon capture to protect their sovereign.

But with his jaw dislocated, he couldn’t swallow poison—or even his own saliva.

Hu Sheng had no intention of fixing his jaw. Noting a flicker of recognition beyond fear, Hu Sheng pressed, "Let me guess—the emperor?"

The assassin’s pupils contracted sharply—a telltale sign.

Hu Sheng shook his head, stood up, picked up a knife, and ended the assassin’s life.

Zhang Wei had already come upstairs with others when Hu Sheng mentioned the emperor. Having followed Hu Sheng back from the northern borders, they held little reverence for the emperor or the court.

But Zhang Wei was curious. "Why would an emperor resort to assassins?"

Now in better spirits after Zhao An’s reassurance, Hu Sheng explained, "He used underhanded tricks to claim the throne. He can’t abandon those methods now. He believes that eliminating opponents physically is the surest path to victory."