Chapter Eighty: The Serpent of a Thousand Faces (Part One)

As soon as Master Shinobi and Princess Sakura stepped off the boat, two silent ninjas approached, presenting a pile of miscellaneous items—fish bones, beast bones—and a heap of more than a dozen corpses.

“The direction of the tides leads right here,” Master Shinobi’s gaze shifted. “The bones bear traces of roasting. There are indeed people here.”

“Excellent, I’ve longed to test my blade on someone,” Princess Sakura said, eager for action. The crescent-shaped longsword she held was ancient and dignified—a treasure of the slave nation from three centuries past, called Child-Cutter Fish-Kan. Legend had it the blade possessed the spirit of the River Puffer Child.

Master Shinobi eyed the famed sword, a flicker of envy crossing his eyes as he spoke slowly, “Though the island is large, the only place to hide is this dense forest. The enemy arrived before us and now holds the advantage. In such circumstances, the commander must not act rashly. Let the Shinobi Squad scout the terrain first, then we proceed.”

Just then, a sharp whistle sounded from the wild woods. Master Shinobi’s eyes moved; after a brief consideration, he gave another order: “Surround, but do not attack. That is the wise strategy!”

...

Kou Li closed his eyes slightly, but his ears were restless. Although the slave assassins excelled at concealment, in this thickly-leaved forest—where the ground was layered with decaying leaves and tangled vines—moving without a sound was nearly impossible.

Any hint of movement could not escape Kou Li’s enhanced hearing.

Mastery of the Child’s Pillar not only allowed him to control his vital energy but also enabled him to enter a state of ‘void.’ In this state, his blood surged in his ears like the flow of a river; every breath, every heartbeat echoed like the wooden fish in a silent temple—again and again. He seemed, in this state, to gradually ‘see’ the world outside.

Two hundred yards east, fifty yards west, one hundred fifty yards south—one, two, one ninja respectively. These assassins no longer wore simple black, but camouflage attire—like chameleons—advancing stealthily through the woods.

Suddenly, Kou Li’s eyes shot open, shining like stars, and in a flash he vanished from where he stood, leaving behind two half-foot-deep footprints. At the tips of the toes, ten holes were dug into the mud.

In this forest, he was the Tiger King with the Eyes of a Thousand Miles and Ears of the Wind!

The western assassin sensed something amiss, hand swiftly moving to his sword. Before he could act, a thunderous noise akin to a herd of beasts charging shook the ground; leaves fell as trees trembled, the sound echoing through the forest.

His mind faltered instantly. In the slave nation, if an assassin’s Qi Harmony technique reached the highest realm, even mountains collapsing or waterfalls crashing overhead would not stir him.

Clearly, this assassin’s mental state had not reached such heights; the unknown darkness inspired primal fear.

Before his blade could be drawn, everything went black. The sound of his chest bones shattering was terrifying—his body was struck with immense force, sent flying into a tree, blood blooming across his back.

It was the phenomenon of broken bone spurs piercing muscle and sinew.

Another assassin instinctively used his blade to shield his chest, but the same shattering sound resounded, and the sword snapped.

“Forest… Forest Demon!” the assassin uttered in terror before death.

...

There is a popular legend in the slave nation: in every shadowy, dim wild forest lives a Forest Demon. With every change of season, the demon emerges to devour humans, replenishing the nutrients needed by the forest spirits.

Kou Li’s explosive steps merged the tiger’s form with the mountainous terrain, driven by the dragon’s power, rolling and surging, his punches infused with the lay of the land—imbuing an aura of ‘divine power.’

This was exactly what the “Boxing Classic” described: through mastery, one gradually comprehends power, and from understanding power one ascends to the realm of the divine.

Yet Kou Li preferred to call this technique the Hundred-Step Divine Fist, for every hundred steps he took, someone died.

Slave nation assassins were sharp, ruthless, capable of explosive force—but if their momentum was suppressed, their sword and mind incomplete, their blade-drawing became no different from ordinary slashes.

Kou Li took a thousand steps, killing sixteen ninjas, each struck fatally with a single blow. The footprints traced a circle spanning miles across the ground.

After these thousand steps, Kou Li finally halted, slowly opening his mouth; a vaporous mist of steam drifted out. His strong lungs and tiger bones allowed him to channel his energy fluently, but after a thousand steps, his vital energy was at its peak—a point where he needed to shift from hardness to softness, guiding energy and blood with intention, reversing the flow for balance.

This already touched upon the internal martial arts’ transformation of overt and covert power: energy infused into bone seams and skin, then drawn back from the skin, recycled—hence the endurance of internal boxing.

Exhale, relax, inhale, a tremor through the body—this time, not so balanced and harmonious, more like a tiger spirit manifesting in deep mountains, a foul wind rising, ready to devour.

Meanwhile, on the island’s sandy shore, Master Shinobi sat cross-legged in the water, a sealed wooden longsword placed before his knees. The wood grain was fresh, as if just cut from a tree.

The first generation sword master of the slave nation, creator of Qi Harmony and the Shinobi Assassin Squad, Master Glacier, once said, “The heart must be as a bright mirror and calm water to practice the sword. If the mirror is clouded, it is concealed by delusions and evil thoughts, unable to see the truth. When the mirror hangs high, one can discern strength and weakness, reality and illusion, hardness and softness, presence and absence, hidden and revealed—without thoughts or desires, the secret sword attains its highest form.”

He spent ten years before the great waterfall of Kyushu, enduring its thunderous roar day and night, cutting against the torrent, finally achieving a heart as calm water, free of thoughts and distractions.

This is the essence of Shinobi: the heart beneath the blade, making one’s heart sharp and keen, like the sword’s edge.

Princess Sakura, however, lacked such tranquility. She paced through the water with a sword taller than herself, splashing waves everywhere.

“Detestable, utterly detestable! Five more of my assassins slain—unforgivable, unforgivable!”

Famed Shinobi groups like the Shinobi Assassin Squad held status equal to warriors in the slave nation, comparable to land-owning slave masters and lower nobility; thus, assassins were also called warrior-assassins.

The sound of wooden clogs on water echoed again. A notorious killer from the Koga Assassin Squad spoke with fear, “Your Highness, Master, another six Shinobi have fallen.”

“Three more bodies found.”

“Two in the north.”

...

“Two in the west.”

“Two more in the east.”

The casualties mounted at an unbearable speed: twenty bodies, thirty, thirty-five…

The sword on Master Shinobi’s knees quivered slightly; he finally opened his eyes, eyes imbued with the murderous intent of a demon.

Training each Shinobi assassin required enormous effort; even he, as Master Shinobi, would be questioned if such losses continued.

“Forty-three dead. Have you identified the enemy’s numbers or appearance?” he asked.

The assassin hung his head in silence; another spoke up, “I caught a glimpse—seemed to be a man and a woman. The woman’s attire was like that of the Phoenix Princess from the Central Plains.”

Master Shinobi eyed the accumulating bodies—either chests crushed or foreheads smashed—all killed with a single blow. His gaze flickered: “Power wielded like tempered steel, strong enough to shatter bone, killing as swiftly as a hawk snatching a rabbit, unstoppable. In the dark forest, ‘unseen by others, but seeing all,’ surely a grand boxing master from the Central Plains. Not to be trifled with.”

He looked up at the sky—clear and cloudless. “Today is ideal for Fire Escape technique.”

The slave nation’s Five Escape techniques were inspired by the Central Plains’ Five Elements theory; the Fire Escape did not kill with fire, but with smoke.

They had not used it at first, never imagining the enemy would kill so swiftly, with such mastery of boxing.

On the Sakura ship, secret fire oil was continually brought ashore, and in the vast wild forest, clouds of fire smoke billowed from all corners of the island.

Smoke, mixed with heat, rose from every direction, swept by the wind into gray clouds—an astonishing sight.

“Can the enemy’s strength truly be curbed by smoke and fire?” Princess Sakura asked.

“Not to wound, but to startle. Remember, they must protect their master—the greater the fire, the weaker the enemy,” Master Shinobi replied with a profound smile.

Once slave nation assassins decided not to confront directly, they became all the more troublesome, employing all manner of strange concealment techniques. The fire raged until midnight; only two more warrior-assassins were slain.

This time, they confirmed the enemy’s numbers: two indeed—the Central Plains Phoenix Princess and her grand boxing master escort.