Chương 2: Chapter 1: An Opportunity (1)
In Junglang County, a bustling market street was teeming with people. From a lady preparing snacks at a stall, a man precariously carrying a shoulder pole, children playing with their friends, to passersby, all eyes were drawn to a procession making its way through the center of the village.
Creak, creak!
The sound of thick wooden cage wheels rolling could be heard. Between the ranks of escorting officers, prisoners shackled in hands and feet were visible inside the cages.
"Look at that."
"Ah, they're covered in blood."
Their faces bore the toll of harsh sufferings, marked by injuries and exhaustion. The white prison uniforms were stained red with blood, casting a grim mood over the onlookers.
As the procession continued, someone from the crowd threw a stone at the cage.
"You filthy animals!"
Thump!
Unable to dodge, a shackled prisoner was hit squarely by the stone.
Witnessing the prisoner's pain, some onlookers began hurling whatever they could find at the prisoners within the cage.
Pelt, pelt!
The prisoners had no choice but to endure the barrage.
"You wretches!"
"Damn you all!"
"Die from this!"
None of the escorting officers attempted to stop the crowd. Instead, they watched with sneers, as if entertained by the scene. The public display of prisoners served to proclaim their crimes to the world.
"Hmm."
Observing the scene from a second-floor window of an inn, a middle-aged man sipped tea, causing the official across him to inquire curiously.
"What is it?"
The prisoners were indeed criminals, and the man before him was not one to easily feel pity for such people.
The middle-aged man focused on a particular prisoner who was segregated from the others, his chest and abdomen soaked in red.
"He's young."
The prisoner, with disheveled hair, sat upright. Though half his face was obscured, it was clear he was a boy, likely sixteen or seventeen years old.
'Around the same age as the young master I serve.'
The sight of the young prisoner brought to mind the man's own charge, prompting him to shake his head in dismissal. After all, age bears no relevance to crime.
The official, now serious, spoke, "It's hard to say before the execution, but among them, he has committed the gravest sin."
Puzzled, the middle-aged man asked, "What do you mean?"
"That young one you pointed out is the most vicious of the prisoners brought here."
"The most vicious?"
The idea that this young prisoner could be considered the most vicious was baffling.
"Did he commit murder?"
In the eyes of the law, the worst crime is treason, but those guilty of such are publicly labeled and escorted, making it unlikely in this case. Thus, the most grievous crime left was murder.
"Yes."
The official's confirmation led the middle-aged man to sigh lightly. To civilians, murder was a heinous crime, but in the world of martial arts, life and death were common occurrences.
The official tsked, "It seems even martial artists like you aren't shocked by such things."
"Death is not uncommon in our world."
"Indeed. But if you knew his identity, you might..."
Thump!
Before the official could finish, a stone hit the young prisoner's head squarely.
Blood streamed down his face, yet unlike the others, he showed no sign of pain or movement.
"He's a tough one."
"Doesn't it hurt? Even with his head like that, how can he..."
The middle-aged man was intrigued by the boy's resilience.
'That boy...'
Trained or not, the ability to withstand pain indicated discipline. Yet, this boy, apparently a civilian, showed no reaction even to a blow that could crack a skull.
As the blood dripped down his face, the boy tilted his head back, revealing his features. The onlookers gasped at the sight.
"Ah."
Despite the blood, his striking appearance was undeniable. His features, elegant yet charismatic, bore an innate charm, and surprisingly, his demeanor seemed almost gentle.
"How could someone with such a face do those things?"
The official was perplexed.
The middle-aged man stared intently at the young prisoner, seemingly shocked.
"What is it?"
Startled, the middle-aged man shook his head.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
Though he tried to appear nonchalant, his expression had clearly shown shock moments before. As the official pressed for answers, the middle-aged man stood up.
"I've enjoyed the tea. Urgent matters require my attention."
"Ah, but we've just reunited..."
"I'm busy. Next time, I'll treat you to a drink at Moon Fragrance Tower."
"Moon Fragrance Tower? Ahem."
The official's smile widened at the mention of the town's most luxurious establishment.
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County's government office, the Golden Prison's basement, most prisoners had fallen asleep, and even the guards were dozing off, propped against the walls.
Amidst them, one remained wide awake—the disheveled young prisoner. Four days had passed since he miraculously awoke, presumed dead. Although surviving was fortunate, he found himself incarcerated as a criminal, with his public execution date set. His sentence was to be quartering, a brutal punishment tearing limbs apart with carts.
'Is this the expected end?'
Known as the Sickle Reaper for his merciless killings, any punishment seemed justified. Yet, despite the gravity of his fate, no sign of regret or anxiety could be seen in his eyes. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with other matters.
"What? Martial arts? Kid, did you encounter a martial artist or something?" A fellow prisoner's words had sparked a realization.
'Martial artists...'
He remembered hearing about them during visits to the village with his grandfather. They could run as fast as horses and wield a power called "qi," surpassing ordinary human strength. The tales were true; he had experienced such overwhelming power firsthand.
'Even if we meet again, the outcome will remain unchanged.'
No matter how much he pondered, finding a way to defeat that man seemed impossible. Would a surprise attack or a trap work against such a monster?
'Are all martial artists this strong?'
If so, avenging his grandfather might be an unattainable goal.
As he brooded over these thoughts, an idea struck him.
'Martial arts.'
The difference between him and that man was clear: the knowledge of martial arts. If conditions were equal, perhaps the outcome could change.
'I need martial arts.'
But there were two immediate problems. First, he needed to escape. Staying put meant facing a gruesome death by quartering. Second, how would he learn martial arts?
'From whom?'
Finding a teacher was daunting enough, and even if he managed to escape, his status as a fugitive would complicate matters further.
'Surrounded by difficulties...'
Regretting his actions seemed pointless now; the consequences were irreversible. Fortunately, it appeared that man was still unaware of his survival. Or perhaps, he simply didn't care about a condemned man.
Lost in these thoughts, he noticed a faint sound.
'Something's happening.'
He held his breath, focusing on the subtle noises around him.
'What's this?'
A mist seemed to seep from beneath the prison's right side, spreading throughout the cell. Recognizing the herbs mixed in the smoke, he identified it as a sleeping incense.
'Sleeping incense... Amateurish.'
Thanks to his grandfather's teachings, he had built up a resistance to such concoctions. This realization meant only one thing: someone was taking advantage of the guards' induced sleep to infiltrate the prison.
Careful steps approached his cell. Pretending to be asleep, he waited.
The lock clicked open.
'It's me they're after.'
Whoever it was, their intent was clear. The young prisoner tensed, feigning slumber as the intruder checked on him. Seizing the moment of distraction, he attacked, using the wooden restraint to strike. However, the intruder reacted swiftly, neutralizing him with a precise strike to his chest, immobilizing him.
"How are you not asleep-?!"
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