Chapter 222: Capture

Chapter 222: Capture

He didn't even give his opponent a chance to draw his weapon; a knife-hand strike whistled through the air and landed precisely on the side of his neck.

The lookout didn't even have time to let out a groan. His eyes bulged, and his body went limp, collapsing to the floor, completely unconscious.

In the room, only the black-clad assassin, pinned firmly against the wall by Cheng Ge, was left convulsing violently, along with the sound of blood dripping from his wrist to the floor.

Cheng Ge's face was half in shadow, half in the flickering candlelight as he stared at his prey, now barely clinging to life. A cold, humorless smile curled at the corner of his lips.

"Speak," he said, his voice low and calm, yet carrying a chilling pressure. "Who sent you?"

The man was trembling violently from the pain, sweat and blood mingling, soaking his black face cloth.

Barefoot, Cheng Ge quickly searched the man's chest and retrieved the leather pouch containing silver needles, pinching it between his fingers to examine it.

The pouch was crudely made, and the needles inside, though poisoned, weren't the refined style used by the military or the imperial palace.

Cheng Ge's eyebrow rose ever so slowly. His eyes narrowed slightly, the corners tinged red.

"Tell me," he said, his voice soft, but carrying a bone-scraping chill. "Who wants my life?"

He let out a mocking laugh as he stepped forward, wearing only a thin white inner robe, a few strands of hair sticking to his sweat-dampened cheeks and neck.

The candlelight flickered, casting his face as fair as a peach blossom in shifting light and shadow.

The black-clad man's gaze suddenly hardened. A fierce glint flashed in his eyes.

Cheng Ge had been watching him closely. Seeing this, alarm bells rang in his heart.

His hand, which was gripping the man's throat, suddenly moved downward with force, hooking and yanking, while his other hand seized the man's cheeks and twisted them sharply.

With a grating "crack," the assassin's jaw was instantly dislocated.

His mouth hung open weakly, emitting a muffled, pained whimper.

Almost at the same time, a small, wax-sealed black pill the size of a mung bean

rolled out from his parted lips, landing on the floor with a soft "tap."

Cheng Ge stared at the fatal poison pill on the ground, the cold smile on his lips deepening.

"Want to die?" His voice was as soft as a whisper, yet carried a hellish chill. "It's not that simple."

As the words left his mouth, his wrist flipped sharply.

"Squelch—" The short blade, still dripping blood, flashed coldly, driving mercilessly into his shoulder.

"Mmph—!!!" With his jaw dislocated, even his scream turned into an agonized, muffled howl.

The assassin's body convulsed violently, like a fish out of water. His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, instantly bloodshot.

Cheng Ge drove the dagger deep into the man's joint gap, even maliciously twisting the handle slightly, feeling the subtle vibration of the blade scraping against bone.

Sticky, warm blood gushed out along the blood channel, staining Cheng Ge's fingers.

It dripped to the floor, spreading and staining the soles of Cheng Ge's feet.

"One last chance," Cheng Ge leaned in closer, nearly able to see the assassin's pupils, shrunk to pinpricks from the extreme pain.

"Who sent you? Don't force me..." His voice dropped lower, and his eyes were still tinged with a hint of feigned innocence. "To scrape your flesh off... piece... by... piece."

The impulse to die is often just a momentary courage. Once that moment passes, the resolve to seek death is quickly eroded and consumed by fear.

The assassin's face was already deathly pale, his breathing rapid and erratic.

The look he gave Cheng Ge was filled with undisguised terror, as if he were looking at Yama himself, the king of hell.

This was no helpless son of an official! This was clearly a ruthless hellish rakshasa.

His will began to crumble under the immense pain and the enormous psychological pressure Cheng Ge exerted.

Cheng Ge pulled out the dagger, slowly scraping it upward across the man's flesh. The icy, sharp touch felt like a venomous snake slithering over him.

The assassin made a series of guttural, meaningless sounds from his throat, his dislocated jaw opening and closing weakly, as if trying to say something.

Cheng Ge's eyes flickered. He didn't immediately reset the jaw but instead maintained a very close distance, watching every subtle change in the man's expression.

After a moment of struggle in the assassin's eyes, they were finally overwhelmed by sheer terror.

He nodded ever so slightly, then immediately twitched in pain from the movement, looking at Cheng Ge with pleading eyes.

Cheng Ge pinched his chin and made another "crack" sound as he reset the joint.

As soon as his jaw was back in place, the assassin coughed violently, mixed with painful gasps.

He greedily gasped for air, enduring the excruciating pain, and began to speak in a hoarse, broken voice.

"It... it is..." Every word seemed to drain his strength, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. "It... is... the capital..."

Just as he was about to reveal the crucial information—"Whiz!" A faint but extremely sharp sound of something piercing the air came suddenly from outside the window.

A black streak, fast as lightning, pierced through the window paper, shooting straight for the assassin's throat.

Cheng Ge's pupils contracted sharply. Without a second thought, he yanked the assassin backward by the throat while dodging to the side.

But the black streak came too fast and too craftily!

Though he avoided the fatal blow, he couldn't completely shield the hostage in his hands—"Thunk!" A small, jet-black crossbow bolt buried itself into the assassin's side neck.

The assassin's body stiffened instantly. The last light in his eyes faded completely, and his head drooped limply.

Almost at the same moment the bolt broke the window, several dark figures shot out from the shadows outside the corridor like phantoms.

Ling Feng and Jiyue were the fastest to react. Bursting through the door on either side, they charged toward where the bolt had come from.

Cheng Ge's eyes sharpened. Without a moment's hesitation, he stepped through the spreading puddle of blood and rushed out the door after them.

But the moment he burst out the door, before his toes had even touched the corridor floor—"Whiz! Whiz! Whiz!"

Several even sharper whistling sounds came simultaneously from the corner of the staircase and the other end of the corridor.

At least three bolts, with greater velocity, in a triangle formation, flying with deadly, cold gleam straight for his face and chest!

Too fast! The enemy had even laid a second wave of assassins in ambush outside the door.

Cheng Ge's pupils shrank. Driven by instinct, his body arched backward at an impossible angle, and he pushed off the floor, leaping backward as if he had lost all weight.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!" The three bolts, nearly grazing his nose and clothes, thudded into the doorframe and wall where he had just been standing, their fletching quivering violently.