Volume One: Carefree Wanderings Amid Untraceable Leaves Chapter Twenty-Four: The Silent Patience of the Flying Cicada

The blade flashed like the moon, the moon hung in the sky, while wind and rain battered the world below.

Yang Ning, almost instinctively, took a step back. Yet the man before him changed the arc of his blade with astonishing speed, turning a downward slash into a diagonal chop, the glint of the blade fierce and sharp as ever. With his first retreating step, Yang Ning naturally set his foot for a second, and in his desperation, once again executed the art of the Carefree Steps.

The man in black found his second strike slicing through empty air. Beneath the mask, a cold gaze grew sharper. Gripping the blade with both hands, he swung horizontally once more. But once Yang Ning began his Carefree Steps, his movement became elusive and unpredictable, mysterious and unfathomable. The man in black slashed seven or eight times in succession, each blow seemingly about to land, yet each time Yang Ning slipped away with that uncanny footwork.

By now, the elder in the brown robe had already felled two of the black-clad assailants. Holding the bundle in one hand and grasping the young man by the arm with the other, he was making his way toward the tavern’s entrance, clearly attempting to break out amidst the chaos.

The guards and the black-clad attackers clashed fiercely. At first, they were evenly matched; some of the guards even had the upper hand. But these black-clad men were vicious and treacherous, concealing poisoned darts in their sleeves. The moment an opening appeared, the darts shot out, claiming lives in an instant. In the briefest time, two guards fell to these insidious sneak attacks.

Some of the black-clad men, in the midst of battle, would suddenly rip open their robes, unleashing a blinding glare from their chests. While their foes were momentarily blinded, the black-clad men struck mercilessly, slaughtering their opponents.

The escort team had originally numbered around twenty. Four or five had gone outside early to guard the wagons, leaving over ten inside the tavern. But the Blood Bat’s poison had already claimed four or five, and several more had been slain by the black-clad attackers. Now, only five or six of the escort remained inside.

These survivors were all seasoned veterans, narrowly evading the assassins’ treacherous attacks. The black-clad men’s martial skills were not particularly superior, but their tactics were bizarre, ruthless, and deadly.

Though old, Master Lu was holding his own against two adversaries, but only barely. In the thick of combat, he shouted, “We’re from the Four Seas Security Agency! Who are you people?”

But the black-clad men were bent on complete extermination; not a single one replied.

Yang Ning’s Carefree Steps were mysterious and profound. Whereas previously, when fleeing the Forest Lord, his movements were stiff and tense, now he was much more adept, his mind calmer. No longer did he simply bow his head and dodge blindly; his form floated, allowing him to read his opponent’s moves with clarity.

The black-clad man’s dozen or so strikes all hit nothing but air. Certain now that he had encountered a formidable opponent, a look of surprise flickered in his eyes. In that moment, Yang Ning slipped behind him, saw his back exposed, and, without hesitation, plunged the icy blade deep into the man’s spine.

The blade was peerlessly sharp—flesh or iron, all were the same. It sank straight into his back.

Knowing that in such a situation it was kill or be killed, Yang Ning showed no mercy. As the man convulsed in agony, Yang Ning stabbed him several more times, then kicked him hard in the waist. The man fell forward, twitched a few times on the ground, and lay still.

“I didn’t want trouble, but you brought this on yourself,” Yang Ning muttered. He saw another black-clad man nearby notice what had happened and lunge toward him. Without hesitation, Yang Ning dashed out toward the tavern’s exit.

A glance told him all he needed to know—the attackers numbered over a dozen, and the guards were falling one after another. Once the escort was wiped out, these black-clad men would not spare him.

Though he had killed one, it was only by luck and the Carefree Steps. Against them head-on, he knew he was no match—not even enough to slow them down.

Of the thirty-six stratagems, retreat was the wisest now.

Bursting out the door, he saw chaos outside as well; corpses already littered the ground, and several black-clad men were battling two guards from the agency.

The horses that had drawn the wagons were already dead, victims of the assailants. In the driving rain, Yang Ning ran to a wagon, slashed the oilcloth with his blade, and lifted it. Inside were two chests, both locked. With fighting raging all around, no one noticed him. With a swipe of his blade, he broke the iron locks and opened the chests. One was filled with porcelain wares—exquisite and surely valuable, given the heavy escort. But the goods didn’t interest him; opening the second chest, he found it empty. Clearly, this was not the human-trafficking group he was seeking.

Turning, he saw several fine horses still tethered at the post beside the tavern. Some had already been killed; perhaps the guards had left too quickly, and the attackers had not finished their work. Two or three steeds remained, neighing anxiously in the rain, hooves pawing the ground.

Delighted, Yang Ning realized he could seize a horse in the confusion. Without hesitation, he sprinted over.

But as he drew near, a shadow flashed beside him. Turning, he saw the brown-robed elder, swift as the wind, pulling the young man behind him as they raced for the horses.

Reaching the post, the elder struck it hard with his bundle. With a crack, the post broke cleanly—quick and brutal.

The elder hefted the youth with one hand, vaulted onto a horse. Just then, a shrill, piercing laugh cut through the wind and rain—eerily distinct. Following the sound, Yang Ning saw a black figure swoop down from above, like a great predatory eagle.

The figure descended in a flash, arms spread, sleeves like bat wings, lunging straight at the elder on horseback. A horse shrieked, reared up on its hind legs, and crashed to the ground. In that instant, the elder, carrying the young man, leapt lightly aside, landing safely.

Yang Ning was startled; though he suspected the assailants were after the wagons, their methods were monstrously cruel. It seemed their aim was not only to seize the goods, but to slaughter every man and beast.

He, the elder, and the youth were not with the escort agency, yet the attackers showed no restraint. Their ruthlessness was chilling.

Now Yang Ning could finally see the one who had swooped from the sky. In midair, the figure resembled a great bird, but now he realized it was due to the man’s unusual clothing. The man was clad entirely in black, but the cloth beneath his arms spread like bat wings. Like the others, he wore a black mask. Yet this man was noticeably shorter than the brown-robed elder.

The elder shielded the youth behind him, staring coldly at the bat-like figure. “The Leaf Shadow conceals itself in the earth, the Flying Cicada sings to the heavens. Koga conjures myriad illusions, Iga nurtures water and flame... Of all the secret ninja clans of the East Sea, the Leaf Shadow, Flying Cicada, Koga, and Iga are the most renowned.”

The bat-like man let out a raspy, mocking laugh. “You know quite a lot.”

Yang Ning was shocked. Could these black-clad men be ninja from the Eastern Isles?

He knew the Eastern Isles referred to the islands known in later ages as Japan. Though this era differed from any he knew, it seemed the land of the East Sea still existed. But why would ninja from across the sea come to this remote wilderness?

He knew of the pirate raids of history, with many Japanese ronin plundering the coasts, but this place was far from the sea. Why would ninja travel so far to attack a security agency here?

“Yet decades ago, the Flying Cicada clan was already supplanted by the Mist Shadows,” the elder said. “The Flying Cicada were once mighty, counted among the four great ninja clans—not in name only. But over time, they declined, and after feuding with the Leaf Shadows and Koga, the two allied with the Mist Shadows and annihilated the Flying Cicada. The survivors could only skulk in darkness like bats, hiding from the world.”

Yang Ning was amazed at the elder’s knowledge of the East Sea’s secrets. Who was this man?

“As I understand, the Flying Cicada could no longer survive in their homeland and scattered among the eastern islands like lost dogs,” the elder went on. “Today’s Flying Cicada are but a minor branch. Perhaps in the islands, under another’s shelter, they might persist. But now, having involved themselves here, I fear the name of Flying Cicada will vanish from this world forever.”

His words dripped with scorn, clearly meant to provoke.

The more Yang Ning heard, the more confused he became. At first, he thought these men attacked under cover of rain to seize the wagons and strike at the Four Seas Security Agency. But now it was clear: things were not so simple.

One thing was certain—the bat-masked figure was the leader of the black-clad men, and his target was the elder in brown.

Could it be that the real aim tonight was not the escort, but this elder and youth? If so, he and the guards were merely collateral damage in a much larger vendetta.

For the Flying Cicada to dispatch so many men for these two, who could they be, that such lengths were taken to kill them?

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