Chapter 102: Waiting for the Right Moment

The terrifying thought that surfaced in Takahashi’s mind grew wildly like a poisonous weed; he could no longer contain his agitation. Yet, he did not strike out immediately, for he was a Shaolin monk—only in moments of utmost necessity would he initiate harm.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and began to walk toward the living forest. Naturally, the six men clad in black could not allow him to move freely. Takahashi’s move was cunning; by provoking the six attackers to strike first, he established the grounds for legitimate self-defense.

Suddenly, six long swords thrust forward in unison, their gleaming blades cutting through the air with a brilliance rivaling sunlight. The sword formation was perilous, but if a Shaolin master were to be wounded so easily, he would not deserve the title.

Takahashi’s monk’s robe fluttered as he swiftly retreated three or four steps. With a sharp push from his toes against the grass, he leaped backward, soaring three to four meters into the air. Mid-flight, he extended his right palm and struck the ground before him without touching it.

A surge of unyielding, radiant inner energy burst from his palm with a thunderous roar. The stone-paved path cracked apart, and the grass was torn asunder by the force, swirling wildly in the air. Upon landing, Takahashi pushed off with his heel and sprang forward—not a mere jump, but a display of Shaolin’s lightness skill, “Water Surface Glide.”

In the realm of “Dynasty,” Shaolin’s “Water Surface Glide” differs from other schools; it allows a practitioner to alter their trajectory mid-air without needing to touch the ground. Thus, unless one’s lightness skill is supreme, it is unwise to perform aerial attacks before fellow Shaolin disciples, as a missed strike would leave one vulnerable upon landing, unable to escape punishment with grace.

As Takahashi soared, the six swords all missed their marks. Suspended in mid-air like an eagle slicing through the sky, the tide of battle turned, and he launched his aerial counterattack. His left and right palms struck consecutively, releasing fierce gusts of palm wind. The previously airborne broken grass and twigs transformed into deadly projectiles, resembling a torrential storm engulfing a three-meter radius.

Who among men can evade raindrops in a downpour? The six men in black were not merely drenched—they were shredded, their bodies riddled with countless wounds from the flying foliage.

This was the Shaolin Scatter Flower Palm, a technique that uses palm wind to drive petals and leaves into a lethal assault—a mid-to-close-range area attack as well as a devastating single-target skill. Without exceptional agility and defense, survival was nearly impossible.

A flood of red damage numbers erupted:

“-134!”
“-188!”
“-201!”
“-155!”
“-172!”
…

These men had relatively high defenses, yet Shaolin disciples naturally enjoyed a +5% bonus to melee strength.

Though five of the six men in black collapsed instantly, the last one staggered forward, struggling to flee, his will to resist broken.

But it was futile. With a fierce shout, Takahashi released a final palm strike mid-air, sending the last man flying and smashing another section of the stone path beneath with a deafening crack.

Though only a fourth-tier ascetic monk, Takahashi’s mastery of his power and martial arts was not yet as refined as those from the Discipline Hall or the Wisdom Hall. Within a moment, all six men in black lay dead. He had avenged his friends and should have felt relief.

Instead, an icy chill spread throughout his body, as though he had plunged into a frozen cellar. Only now did he realize he had fallen into a carefully laid trap.

His last palm strike had shattered the stone path, revealing beneath it—not damp earth as expected—but a dark, gaping hole.

Upon closer inspection, it was a tunnel, though its destination was unknown—and he had no time to find out.

Just moments ago, when Nangong You was killed, the hole’s entrance had been hidden beneath the carriage.

The axle box of the carriage was low, making it impossible to see beneath without crawling on the ground. This design was meant to reduce vibrations for the bride’s comfort, but no one anticipated it would become a vulnerability exploited by the enemy.

This matter was far weightier than it seemed; this wedding procession might well be a funeral march.

Takahashi had no time to ponder further. From his bundle, he drew a homing pigeon and sent a swift message to Jin Mailang: “Carriage compromised. Stop immediately!”

After releasing the pigeon, he once more employed “Water Surface Glide,” sprinting with all his might toward the living forest, hoping he might still arrive in time.

But it was already too late—Zhang He had just slipped inside the carriage.

No one expected him to infiltrate unnoticed beneath the watchful eyes of hundreds from the Famous Sword Manor.

According to the instructions on the parchment, the wedding procession would halt for at least three minutes along the route, with the carriage positioned exactly above a stone slab.

Zhang He concealed himself beneath that slab. When the carriage stopped, he could shift the slab aside and activate a spring mechanism on the axle, silently sliding open a wooden panel on the carriage’s underside. He could enter the carriage undetected, then replace the slab and reset the panel.

If Zhang He held his breath and remained silent, no one would suspect the presence of a spy inside the carriage—not even Jin Mailang, who, despite commanding everyone to switch to sect combat mode, could not see through the carriage.

If Jin Mailang truly possessed clairvoyant sight, Zhang He would not be needed at all; the mission would be unnecessary, and Qi Shiqi could have simply surrendered.

Even the bride, the third Miss of the Famous Sword Manor, was unaware of Zhang He’s presence.

Inside, Zhang He discovered that the mastermind behind this assassination was a prodigious genius.

The carriage had been specially modified into two levels: the front level was the bride’s chamber, a cozy yet splendid room adorned with red wedding wallpaper, phoenix tail curtains, gauze canopies, soft couches, and dragon-phoenix pillows for her rest.

The entire space was warm and luxurious, reflecting the manor’s great care for this wedding.

The rear level was a hidden compartment, just large enough for Zhang He alone. The two levels were separated by a wooden partition; from the front chamber, only a large golden “Double Happiness” character was visible on the red wall.

Within the character were two tiny, imperceptible pinholes through which Zhang He could observe everything inside the carriage.

How the mysterious mastermind accomplished this was beyond Zhang He’s understanding—but it had been done.

He once thought this was merely a complex assassination plot; now he realized he was mistaken.

The success of the plan required meticulous calculation, immense sacrifices, and brilliant intellect. But most baffling was why this “mysterious person” chose him to carry it out.

That remained an enigma.

All the elaborate arrangements served only as a prelude to Zhang He’s final strike.

If successful, it would be earth-shattering, shaking Yuezhou to its core.

If he failed—truthfully, Zhang He dared not imagine the consequences.

Who was this mysterious figure? Was it Young Master Qi? All clues pointed to Qi Shiqi’s orchestration.

Perhaps none of it mattered, for Zhang He admired most how this plan’s mastermind had never revealed themselves—not even once had Zhang He met or spoken with “him.” He was like an omnipresent ghost—unseen yet constantly felt. Whatever “he” commanded, Zhang He had to obey.

That was the most terrifying aspect.

Yet an even graver problem now confronted Zhang He: if he was to act, he must kill the bride in a single, decisive blow.

With his current skills and martial arts, he could achieve instant death.

The Wind-Thunder Staff was ill-suited for assassination in such a confined space, so his weapon of choice was the compact, razor-sharp Flowing Cloud Saber.

Combining his dual-level strength and inner power with the “Attack & Kill Sword Technique,” “Flying Rock Sword Technique,” and “Vast Qi Four Seal” martial arts, Zhang He had calculated that even if the bride’s defense exceeded 200 points, a single strike could deliver 1000 points of damage.

This was theoretical maximum output; in reality, the odds were slim.

First, he would have to break through the wooden panel himself, generating noise and diminishing his killing intent and power.

A weakened aura meant not every strike would be delivered with maximum force.

Second, the strike must be a “critical hit.” The combined martial arts and saber attributes offered up to a 40% critical hit chance.

But everyone knew that chance was illusory when relying on a one-hit kill.

Even if all conditions were met, timing was crucial.

For instance, though the bride wore a red veil and reclined on the couch, her eyes were hidden but her ears remained keen, her innate attributes intact.

She was no helpless lamb awaiting slaughter.

If she reacted the instant he struck?

The bride was ranked third among the first disciples of the Famous Sword Manor, undoubtedly a fourth or fifth-tier expert.

In a fair duel, she could crush Zhang He as easily as crushing a chicken.

This was why Zhang He had repeatedly triumphed over stronger opponents—because he never misjudged the situation, neither overestimating himself nor underestimating his foes.

Contemplating these possibilities, cold sweat began to seep from Zhang He’s palms.

Though he had faced many battles throughout “Dynasty,” none compared to the peril of this mission.

The danger was suffocating, maddening—but he was resolved to carry out the assassination, not for Qi Shiqi’s goodwill nor for the generous gift of Heavenly Garment Ice Heart Pill.

He did it for himself, to avenge the humiliation and neglect he had suffered within the Famous Sword Manor.

He must succeed to prove once more to the world the truth: “Kings and nobles, are they born or made?”

So Zhang He held his breath again, focusing intently on the bride within the carriage.

At this moment, he must cast aside all selfish distractions to seek the perfect opportunity.

If none presented itself, he would wait for the right moment.

And one thing he could be certain of—even if the chance did not come, the “mysterious person” would create one for him.