Chapter 41: Reformists or Traditionalists?

“...No good, he’s already reflecting...”

Meeting Gotsuji’s pleading gaze, it was clear that Chitō’s body trembled slightly.

“This is all him faking—out—his act, ah!”

Hearing Jia Ji’s words, Chitō froze for an instant.

Faking? Pretending?

All the years spent with them—the laughter, the strictness, the care—was it all fake? Was it all meant to deceive them?

“...Acting? To survive, you can fake anything. Shouldn’t you know that better than anyone?”

“But he’s already lost all capacity to resist...”

Like a cruel vulture waiting for death, calling for death, Jia Ji’s black eyes swirled with bottomless malice; he grinned, revealing a full row of glistening white teeth, and “thoughtfully” reminded:

“Did Heitō resist?”

No one knew better than him: Heitō was Chitō’s weakness, her soft spot, her absolute taboo!

Boom!

Chitō felt a thunderclap explode beside her ear; her heart jolted. Her sister’s agonized screams, as if crossing vast distances of time and space, materialized before her, shattering something invisible.

In an instant, her hesitation vanished. Crimson blood-lust surged in her eyes, like raging flames; her face twisted into a monstrous snarl as she gripped Murasame tightly.

Gripped tightly. Very tightly.

Then—kill!

The sword technique she mastered best had been taught to her by the man standing before her, yet today, she had no choice but—could not avoid—killing him... She could no longer spare him!!

A cold arc, as the thread holding her sanity snapped, shot straight for Gotsuji’s skull!

Shhh—

A beautiful strike.

Warm blood spurted from the trachea, splattering across Chitō’s pale, smooth face, streaking it with crimson—but she paid no heed. Her eyes, filled with confusion, shock, and doubt, turned toward Jia Ji.

Murasame’s frost-edged blade pierced the man’s throat, cleanly severing his trachea, extinguishing the dying Oni’s life.

But this strike was not delivered by Chitō... at least, not entirely by her.

A bony hand, much larger than hers, gripped the hilt—and at the very moment before decapitating Gotsuji, snatched control of Murasame away from her with speed beyond reaction.

And the owner of that hand could only be Jia Ji.

He dragged his arm upward; the razor-sharp blade sliced from below upward, effortlessly cleaving the Oni’s skull cleanly down the center, as if the bone had never existed.

Then he sheathed the blade in one fluid motion.

Meeting Chitō’s bewildered gaze, Jia Ji kicked aside the corpse, now oozing red and yellow fluids, and grinned, showing eight teeth with cruel amusement:

“Just teasing you. Why’d you take it seriously?”

Though Chitō possessed innate assassin talent, she was an overly kind-hearted child; such a nature made survival in this chaotic world impossible. In truth, she would later suffer greatly, endure endless torment, and attract countless troubles because of it.

But that was far in the future. Since he could now sense her resolve, there was no need to force her, at this young age, to truly take a life and stain her hands with blood—it would be too cruel for her.

“A person may kill only one in their lifetime”—this is recorded in The Void’s Boundaries.

Kill two more, and you either become a hero or descend into an asura demon.

Either way, Jia Ji had long since given up being human; let him be the one to claim the final head.

If killing, taking another’s life, were a kind of deflowering, then he’d finally gained his first experience.

Having exposed Gotsuji’s true face and laid the bloody corpse and weapons before the children, Jia Ji believed that, unless they were irredeemably stupid, they’d know what to choose.

As everyone knew, adoptive father was expendable.

Aside from the two girls still unable to accept reality, the others began to think—not about revenge, but about where they would go now that Gotsuji was gone.

Even if the Oni had treated them as tools, he had never denied them food or clothing; now, with only their own skills, survival in this chaotic world was uncertain.

Their future path could only be...

Nakhshu, the de facto leader among them, lowered his gaze to Jia Ji and asked cautiously: “May I ask what you truly want from us?”

He didn’t believe this man had gone through such an exhausting, pointless act merely for amusement—he must have had a specific goal targeting them.

But these assassin trainees, with only half-baked skills, held no value to this man... not even collectively, they were worth less than Murasame.

So this man’s target could only be the youngest among them—Chitō.

Anyone could see he showed her unusual attention.

“Enough talk. Whoever wants to come with me, follow. Whoever doesn’t, still follows.”

Calling for Chelsy and Miaozi to untie the children, Jia Ji waved his hand, sheathed Murasame at his waist, and walked straight out of the room.

As long as he kept Murasame under control, these children couldn’t possibly overpower him—he wasn’t worried about betrayal.

“Um...” Chitō asked behind him, unable to suppress her curiosity, “Are you... from the Revolutionary Army?”

Jia Ji was speechless. “Where do I look like the Revolutionary Army?”

Chitō studied him closely. Though his features were hidden, what showed beneath the bandages was enough to confirm his cruelty.

Spiky hair, furrowed brows heavy with malice, deep and sinister eyes, ruthless and merciless strikes, accompanied by three black-robed killers, storming in to kill, torture, interrogate—all in one seamless motion. He looked nothing like a revolutionary; more like a bandit or outlaw.

But the “Revolutionary Army,” though it sounded noble, wasn’t any better.

After the old Emperor’s death, his young son ascended the throne. Naive and ignorant, he favored corrupt ministers, plunging the empire into disaster: officials ran rampant, bandits multiplied, the people suffered beyond endurance.

The signs of a dying dynasty had arrived. Provincial governors and nobles stirred, vying for dominion.

Though some clever souls raised the banner of “Revolutionary Army,” many behind it sacked cities, massacred populations, and worse—secretly colluded with foreign tribes, preparing to invade the empire’s borders and invite wolves into the house.

Compared to the utterly rotten feudal empire, the Revolutionary Army could barely be classified under “please, just try capitalism,” but barely.

The empire’s thousand-year rule had indeed run its course. Had it not been for the unscientific existence of Imperial Treasures, it would have collapsed long ago under the cycle of dynastic decline.

That it lasted this long made it the longest-surviving dynasty in history.

“Then... are you with the Empire?”

They arrived at an even more implausible conclusion.

Perhaps this man was a reformist of the Empire, and Gotsuji was a traditionalist—this was an internal power struggle.

Seeing their confusion, Jia Ji decided to cut the nonsense. “I’m Xiong Ba, leader of the Tianxia Association. My goal is to dominate all under heaven. You’ll serve under me from now on.”

Miaozi and Chelsy stared at Jia Ji’s back, baffled—how could anyone lie as naturally as breathing?

“Huh?” x7

They received an unexpected answer.

Jia Ji glared. “What’s wrong with that?!”

“It’s perfect. Everything fits,” little Chitō nodded, forcing herself to lie.

“Good. Don’t ignore the Empire’s future! Follow me now!”

The missing Xiong Ba in the chat group has arrived

“Don’t ignore the Empire’s future”—“Don’t ignore Earth’s future”





(End of Chapter)