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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: The Real Murderer! (5)
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Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Fox of Bireung Mountain pounded on the prison gate.
The fight was over. He'd survived crossing the Life-Death Trial. So shouldn't they open the gate now? Shouldn't they pull him out of this hellhole? He'd done exactly what they wanted.
"Cut it out. You won't be heard like that."
The prison guard rubbed his swollen legs and spoke.
"You saw it when you came in. After the gate, there's about a hundred steps up, and that's a spiral staircase. It winds around so tight that no sound gets through from below."
"Can't do anything from in here?"
"Nope."
"Damn it! So what, we just wait until someone opens it from outside?"
"Urgh!"
The guard groaned as if his legs hurt like hell.
The Fox of Bireung Mountain slumped into a corner. If there was nothing to do inside, he might as well sit and wait. Couldn't he move around? Sure, he could. But he didn't want to take a single step toward the Thunder Prison side. Hell, he didn't even want to piss that way.
Leaning back against the wall, the Fox of Bireung Mountain quietly closed his eyes.
'Where is he?'
Truth be told, he'd been searching for Four Shadows since earlier.
Four Shadows had arrived at the gate ahead of them. He'd even pounded on it himself. But now that they were here, the guy was nowhere in sight. Not even a shadow of him.
Everything was dead silent.
There were still plenty of people alive in the Thunder Prison. Breathing on the other side of the gate. But it was quiet. No one opened their mouth. They just breathed out their dying gasps.
Some of them were probably relieved they hadn't been picked.
In the stillness, the Fox of Bireung Mountain strained to catch any human sound.
Of course, he found nothing. Four Shadows was ghost-like, never making a peep. The rustle of clothes, breathing—every human noise was blocked perfectly, flawlessly.
Still, he looked for him. Nothing else to do.
Tremble tremble tremble!
His hands shook.
He never wanted to kill again, but he'd done it.
He'd thought getting locked up here meant no more killing. That's what he liked about it. But he'd killed a bunch anyway.
He never wanted to leave this place.
Going outside meant killing again. No, he would kill. Humans were beings destined to die, and death was always visible in his eyes. He saw people who wanted to die.
He had no choice but to kill them.
What the martial artists outside wanted was murder. What else would they use killers like them for? Nothing but killing people. What else did martial artists do with their strength?
He didn't want to kill. Didn't want to kill. Didn't want to...
Repeating it thousands of times in his head did nothing. Open his eyes, and it all went to shit.
He stayed still, but people begged him to kill them.
Leave them be, and he wouldn't move either. But they came at him themselves.
If it was a fight that'd end with one hit, he'd take it.
If losing an arm would finish it, he'd offer it up gladly.
He truly hated fighting, hated killing. But it always ended that way. If he didn't kill, he'd be killed. People always stripped away his choices. Only one left: kill.
So he killed.
And when he did, he used the most ruthless technique he knew.
Ruthless? Ruthless was clean.
The most vicious way to kill was actually the quickest, most painless for the victim.
If he could hit a vital point, he did.
If not, he aimed for a spot that'd kill instantly.
The inmates and Life-Death Trial participants must've been shocked by the sound of necks snapping. Dying without a scream—they probably thought a demon had appeared.
But that was clean.
Strangling took at least five breaths. Five breaths of sheer terror and agony for the dying. Thrashing because they didn't want to go.
Breaking a neck happened in an instant.
The victim felt no pain. Didn't even know something was wrong. One moment, the thread of consciousness snapped, and they crossed from living to dead.
That was the best he could do.
He didn't want to kill people.
Tremble tremble tremble!
His hands shook.
After killing, guilt always flooded in. The feel of the dead wouldn't fade. The last thing they released, that slipping away of life, stained his whole body.
He hated these feelings.
"You watched them die while choking them. Felt their bodies shuddering."
That's what Four-One-Seven had said.
He enjoyed the sensation of the dying. Pure perverted murder lust.
Could a human be like that?
So before killing him, he'd asked. Repeated what he'd said to everyone in the Thunder Prison. Wanted to see his answer.
As expected, he denied it flat out.
Whether yes or no, the words didn't matter. The true intent hidden inside did.
The bastard had done it.
His words were sincere. He enjoyed the victim's pain while killing. Savored the death throes, the moment of death as pleasure. Damned human.
He didn't want to kill people. When he had no choice, he killed clean.
He sat in the empty Thunder Prison, its master gone.
The Fox of Bireung Mountain had no clue someone else was in his old Cell One Thunder Prison. Tucked in the deepest corner of the first floor, he wouldn't even think about it.
Sitting in Cell One, he wiped away the filthy feelings and emotions staining his body, one by one.
The Fox of Bireung Mountain seemed to have a pretty neat personality.
Other cells reeked of mold, but not Cell One. No smell at all.
In the dark, an image formed of him scrubbing mold.
No inmate here did that. Hell, none cared about mold stink.
That made the Fox of Bireung Mountain a unique type too.
The Fox of Bireung Mountain and the guard sat near the gate.
He'd concealed his breath so they wouldn't find him.
Concealed? No, he never had to hide. Never tried hiding from anyone.
He'd simply forgotten about them. So talk of concealing breath was nonsense. Hiding his presence was a long-ingrained instinct. His sole desire—not to be seen—manifested that way.
They wouldn't find him.
They wouldn't. Even seasoned martial artists couldn't sense his Immobility.
Immobility wasn't trained to kill. It grew from shrinking away unconsciously, not wanting to be seen, not wanting to kill.
Murderer? Maybe the word fit. But he didn't want to hear it.
None of those he'd killed had grudges or benefits tied to him. All unavoidable. No path but killing.
How was that murder?
Yet he'd sown so many seeds of resentment in the world.
Kill one person, and it spawned at least a hundred grudges.
Nearly three hundred kills out there.
At least thirty thousand new grudges, thirty thousand haters.
So when someone hated him for no reason, he habitually asked:
"Do you know me? How well do you know me?"
The Killing Ward inmates had swords.
No swords without guard approval. Guards were the only link to the outside.
A guard gave them the swords.
Guards couldn't act alone... Probably the Warden.
The Warden tried to kill him in the Life-Death Trial. Why?
Fatty the guard hated him without reason. Had his own motives, but wouldn't say. Fatty's answer to "Do you know me?" was surface-level, not the heart.
Two of those thirty thousand grudges here?
Didn't matter how many. His grudges were his to resolve. And they wouldn't vanish—they'd grow. Day by day.
Eventually, surrounded by a hundred thousand, two hundred thousand, a million grudges, pierced by hateful glares until death.
What a cursed life.
What a cursed path.
Tremble...
His hands shook. He clasped them to stop it, but they wouldn't.
"That killing technique earlier, Four Shadows taught you, right?"
"Not Four Shadows. Four Thousand Four."
"Four Thousand Four?"
"Means a prisoner specially classified, not your regular inmate."
Fatty spilled it readily.
Whatever the start, the three of them belonged to Vanguard now. They'd follow him on missions. Lives as collateral, mutual guarantees.
Dissension meant quick death.
Before selection, he'd opposed fiercely. Now selected, they had to sync up.
But he still hated it.
Like eating with a fresh turd plopped in the table center.
Forced to walk the same path as his most hated foe.
The Fox of Bireung Mountain instantly read Fatty's mood. He could detect truth from lies in faces, voices, every movement.
'This bastard's tangled deep with Four Thousand Four.'
But masking his thoughts, he played casual, like he knew nothing.
"What's different about specially classified inmates?"
"Totally different. Murderer of murderers. So dangerous they say he shouldn't ever see the outside."
"Then why drag him out?"
"That's the stupid thinking."
"I think different. Honestly, Four Shadows or Four Thousand Four, having a guy like that watching your back is reassuring. Bad for enemies, good for us."
"Heh heh heh! Don't trust that fucker too much. He'll snap your neck anytime."
"My neck? Why?"
"Bored? Snap. Murder impulse surges like anger? Snap."
"Whoa!"
The Fox of Bireung Mountain flinched, shoulders jerking.
Fatty looked at him and said,
"You were on my shitlist too."
"Oh? Was I?"
"Honestly wondered why they stuck a weakling like you here. Just a bandit, right? Heard you hung around gambling dens? Anyway, small fry. Ah, that thought passed quick, forgot it since no need to care."
"Guys like me, what about it..."
"But you're not."
Fatty gave the Fox of Bireung Mountain a meaningful look.
'This bear, what're you thinking... Huh, looks dumb but sharp.'
"Say Four Thousand Four's a natural-born killer, fine. You? Look at you now. Too pristine for someone who cleared the Life-Death Trial."
"That's 'cause you fought for me..."
"Exactly. Process aside, results are weird. Weakling like you—no scratches, no whip marks. I'm the mess."
"Now's the time to say thanks?"
Fatty glanced at the Fox of Bireung Mountain.
"Didn't get it before... but they classify people for reasons up top. You're a nasty piece too. Hiding a lot."
"Up top meaning that Heavenly Commander guy?"
"You know Heavenly Commander?"
"Not really... Overheard inmates talking."
"Heh heh heh! Can you say which inmate mentioned Heavenly Commander?"
"That was... long ago."
Fatty the guard said,
"First one here to mention Heavenly Commander is you. Means only you know. Can't be trusted. Remember: don't use me again. No backstabs. One more time..."
"Heh heh! Got it, got it. I'll remember."
The Fox of Bireung Mountain laughed brightly, impossible to hate.