Chapter 72: The Alpha Ninja Assassins, Part Four (Monday Request for Votes)

Compared to the official ships, the Bone Shark and Blood Shark flagships were almost twice as large, their battered hulls festooned with human and beast skulls—some freshly severed, eyes bulging, blood still gushing—entwined in masses of gray grasses and vines, so that the vessels seemed to sprout a macabre forest of heads.

A horde of pirates, clad in filthy, tattered garb, brandished broadswords and spears as they roared furiously at the gambling ship not far off, while the elite Water Dragon Gang responded with equally ferocious shouts.

Both sides were ruthless brutes, impossible to negotiate with. The churning sea teemed with floating corpses and splintered planks, and a large vessel belching black smoke slowly sank beneath the waves, its hull waterlogged and spent.

For ten miles around, the air was thick with a scorched, foul stench. The Bone Shark and Blood Shark advanced in a V-formation, slicing through the waves like two rows of shark teeth ready to bite down hard.

“Kill!”

“Treasure Dragon King! Treasure Dragon King!”

Amid wild cries and shouts, the four giant ships pressed together like layers of a mille-feuille. Rockets, floating ladders, battering rods, grappling ropes, fishing nets, and unique weapons reserved for imperial troops—sky-fall cannons, giant beehives, flying spray tubes, military-grade ballistae—were unleashed without restraint.

Although the court had strictly cracked down on smuggling since the maritime calamities were quelled, one side was the largest coastal gang, the other the most fearsome pirate band, their reserves abundant. Rumor had it Zhu Baozi even established a firearms workshop in Macau, capable of replicating most forbidden imperial weapons.

Take the sky-fall cannon: “as large as a bucket, fired to the heights, dropped into the enemy nest, thunderous upon impact, containing dozens of incendiary blocks to burn their lairs.”

Or the “Fire Demon”—thin as paper, fist-sized, filled with pine resin and poisoned flame, coated outside with boiled resin, tar, and yellow wax. When ignited and thrown, its flames and smoke-studded spikes were ideal for naval combat.

The result of such gunpowder weapons flying everywhere was inevitable: whether on the Shark ships or the gambling ship, prow and stern alike were ablaze. The chaos of firelocks and fire barrels struck and spewed without restraint; this was no routine robbery of merchant convoys. Both sides had ample firepower, and as the barrage continued, the only possible outcome was mutual annihilation—both ships reduced to ashes.

Hence, the necessity for close-quarters boarding—not only to capture enemies but to end the battle swiftly.

The moment the ships collided brought a violent jolt, the hulls becoming a patchwork battleground. The fiercest pirates slid down ropes, while Water Dragon Gang’s death squads scrambled up grappling ladders, desperate to gain the upper deck.

On the battlefield, chaos reigned supreme; no one could guarantee he wouldn’t be felled by a sudden, unseen bullet.

“They’re wearing two layers of armor! These Water Dragon Gang cubs are rolling in riches,” Zhu Sihai squinted from the deck, surveying the four-ship melee. “Tell the brothers to be careful. That young wolf Lü Lang must be captured alive—he’ll fetch a fine price.”

“Uncle Sihai, that old official surnamed Shen just kicked the bucket, and we’re making such a commotion. Won’t this upset the authorities and ruin Old Uncle’s grand plan?” a close nephew whispered.

“Hah, what would you know, brat?” Zhu Sihai scoffed, rapping him on the head. “If the officials are angry, and our brothers are dead, then there’s no anger left. The angrier they get, the better—it proves we weren’t the ones behind it. Besides, the Water Dragon Gang and Godfather are at each other’s throats; the officials couldn’t be happier.”

“But—” the nephew protested, only to be silenced by Zhu Sihai.

“The Water Dragon Gang has already made waves in Lingnan, and now they’ve recruited Godfather. Even the court’s advocates for peace must worry the gang will become uncontrollable. If Godfather really wants to come ashore and become an official, are the brothers supposed to dig in the dirt for a living? First suppress, then placate; fight, then negotiate. In the end, only one of us—Water Dragon Gang or us—can survive!”

A cunning, cold gleam flashed in Zhu Sihai’s eyes.

He whistled softly, and a faint mist began to coil around the deck. The Shinobi Assassins reappeared amid the fog, and under its cover, several “Japanese slave assassins” began their special operations.

---

Though the Japanese slave assassins had undergone specialized training, the martial artists skilled in vaulting and wall-running were equally formidable.

Taking advantage of the chaos and swirling smoke, a half-man-sized “window” at the stern of the gambling ship slowly opened—meant originally for disposing refuse. The “assassins” leaped through, landing on the hull of the opposite vessel; some moved like flying apes, others like ghosts, still others like feline spirits, scampering nimbly up to the first deck of the Blood Shark ship.

One figure stumbled slightly on landing, nearly falling.

“Are you all right?” the lead assassin turned to ask.

Ke Li gasped for breath, shaking his head slightly.

“If your skills aren’t up to par, stay on the ship. Don’t be a burden,” a grating voice sounded nearby—Guo Feng.

Ke Li glanced at him sidelong; for some reason, he always felt Guo Feng disliked him.

“Silence, move quickly,” urged Winged Wolf nearby. This was no time for squabbling—Guo Feng’s martial arts were decent, but his arrogance was overbearing, the temperament of a young lord.

Apart from the leader Mo Yi at the front, their party included a practitioner of Whitebrow Boxing, two disciples of Zhong Quan, and Winged Wolf. The others operated covertly on the Bone Shark ship; Wolf Prince was among them.

Both Luo Yanzong and Zhong Quan distrusted the ever-crafty Wolf Prince.

The Shinobi Assassins, even among Zhu Baozi’s pirates, were little known. Strictly speaking, they belonged to allied forces, not Zhu Baozi’s direct command, so their mysterious actions rarely drew comment from the hardened pirates.

The keel was the ship’s most vital component, connecting the prow and stern posts, bearing the main load—the vessel’s backbone. If the keel snapped, the ship might not sink immediately, but would lose all ability to sail.

During past naval battles, Japanese assassins had often used such tactics to decapitate official ships, so it wasn’t Wolf Prince’s original invention.

Ke Li knew the objective this time was not to kill—ideally, not even to engage—so he kept his hearing keen, hoping to avoid all sentries, especially the true Japanese assassins. Who knew what secret signals they might use?

“Kill! Move the ballista over, block these wolf cubs!”

The sound of heads being severed.

“Push forward, push forward! They can’t hold out!”

Cannons and explosions.

“Careful, they’re going to blow the keel! Seal them in!”

Ke Li’s eyes narrowed sharply—he blurted out, “We’ve been discovered.”

At his words, everyone tensed, scanning the surroundings, but found no enemy presence.

---

Mo Yi at the front turned and met their gaze, puzzled.

“What are you babbling about? This isn’t something to joke about,” Guo Feng snapped.

Ke Li gave him a cold look, as if regarding a fool—would he risk his own life for a jest?

“Are you certain?” Mo Yi asked seriously.

“I am.”

Mo Yi deliberated for only a couple of heartbeats before deciding, “Increase speed—fight our way in!”

Their pace quickened dramatically, and within the time it takes for a cup of tea, these martial artists, their senses sharp as knives, detected hurried, continuous footsteps approaching from all sides.

Four Shinobi Assassins swung down from the upper deck on ropes. Mo Yi’s eyes flashed cold; his right foot stamped and vaulted, slicing through the air with a crackling sound, landing two yards away. His upper body twisted left, right arm bent and drew back, then swept along his ribs—a blade maneuver known in swordplay as “phantom step hides blade.”

Landing, he shifted and pivoted, moving like a swordsman drawing his blade. The knife glinted fiercely—two flashes, and before the assassins even touched the floor, their heads had been severed, spraying blood across the deck.

Then, using the ball of his right foot as pivot, he bent his knee inward, twisted his waist, contracted his elbow, and, hands circling his head, unleashed the blade again. One assassin’s chest was split open, another stabbed in the belly. Two strokes, his form whirling like a crescent moon, he raced forward without a backward glance.

Only then came the sound of the four assassins hitting the deck.

From start to finish, none of the others had seen his blade—or his hands.

“Hiding the blade’s edge with a bow step—one move, two draws. Remarkable!”

Remarkable not only for the sword technique, but for the brilliance of creating such a killing strike in an instant—a genius’s touch.

“Blade Force!” One of Zhong Quan’s disciples, a master of the blade, brightened as if glimpsing a peerless beauty.

Bone grows ridges, bone forms angles, bone joints sharpen—the palm strikes like a blade of iron or stone. This was the external skill of internal martial arts, the ultimate in swordplay: man is the blade!

Mo Yi, the swordsman of the Burning Body Hall.