Chapter Seventy: Just How Many Waves of Assassins Have Arrived? (Part Two)

After driving away the sniper assassin, the Thousand-Step Flying Dagger turned around, looked up at the steps, and sneered coldly.

"Qin Tian, isn't it? Come out. I have no interest in playing childish games of hide and seek with you." With a swift motion of his right hand, four throwing knives appeared between his fingers.

Though the age of cold weapons had long passed, Thousand-Step Flying Dagger had just forced the sniper to retreat with nothing but his blades—his strength was self-evident.

Qin Tian could hardly claim not to be afraid. Who isn't afraid of death?

"If you won't come out, then I'll simply come to you," the old man threatened.

The sound of his footsteps echoed, growing closer and closer to where Qin Tian was hiding. Qin Tian took a deep breath. This was it. He had to risk everything—now or never.

Judging by the rhythm of the approaching footsteps, Qin Tian pinpointed his enemy's location. Abruptly, he sprang up and hurled a bag of white powder toward Thousand-Step Flying Dagger.

Bang!

The bag burst just before the assassin's eyes, releasing a cloud of white dust that billowed through the air.

It was lime.

Before Qin Tian had left, Nangong Xiao'e had slipped him a homemade lime bomb that could temporarily blind an enemy.

As the lime exploded, Qin Tian lunged like a panther, chopping fiercely at the old man's neck with the edge of his hand.

Encircled by the dissipating lime, Thousand-Step Flying Dagger curled his lips in disdain. Sightless, perhaps, but he still had his ears.

"There you are!"

With a twitch, he located Qin Tian by sound alone and flung all four knives at once.

Whizz! Whizz! Whizz! Whizz!

Four blades hissed through the air. Halfway into his charge, Qin Tian saw flashes of cold steel piercing the lime cloud, streaking toward him. Shocked, he twisted his body desperately to evade them.

The knives grazed his knee, elbow, right ear, and scalp, then embedded themselves deep in the concrete wall behind him.

Qin Tian stared at the daggers, his expression grim. How much strength would it take to drive blades into solid concrete? These were clearly no ordinary weapons.

As the lime settled and cleared, Thousand-Step Flying Dagger gazed at the cunning young man before him with an icy indifference.

Meeting those chilling eyes, Qin Tian instinctively took a step back.

That feeling again! An oppressive aura—one that only those at the very top possessed. Qin Tian was certain now: this man was a true master, on par with the likes of Wang Shoucheng.

His own chances today looked grim.

"The one who wants me dead offered you twenty million, didn't he? Well, I'll give you fifty million!"

"If that's not enough, I'll give you two hundred million! Kill him for me!"

It was the only solution Qin Tian could think of. Aren't assassins just in it for the money? He'd simply offer more—enough to buy his own survival.

"Money?" Thousand-Step Flying Dagger gave a small laugh.

Ranked eleventh on the international assassin's list, could he possibly care about a mere twenty million? He might not claim to possess a hundred billion, but his assets certainly totaled at least ten.

This time, he hadn't come for money. He was here for his apprentice—Hundred-Step Flying Dagger.

His apprentice had taken a job and then vanished without a trace, presumed dead. Despite mobilizing all his resources, Thousand-Step Flying Dagger had found nothing—not even a corpse.

Later, he discovered through underground channels that the target of his apprentice's mission had been Qin Tian.

And by coincidence, the new bounty he'd received had the exact same target.

So he accepted, hoping to use Qin Tian to learn his apprentice's fate.

"Tell me, where is my apprentice?" he demanded, getting straight to the point.

"Your apprentice?" Qin Tian was taken aback.

"Yes. Where is he?" Thousand-Step Flying Dagger pressed forward.

"How the hell should I know? I don't even know who your apprentice is!" There was no point in feigning fear now. Better to stand his ground.

"My apprentice, Hundred-Step Flying Dagger—the one who tried to assassinate you before!" the old man reminded him.

At that, Qin Tian remembered: the first killer sent after him had used throwing knives, which he'd blocked with a metal milk box nailed to the wall.

"So that was your apprentice? Ha! When the young one fails, the elder steps in?" Qin Tian mocked.

If the apprentice couldn't do the job, the master would. How amusing.

"Enough nonsense! Where is he?" Thousand-Step Flying Dagger pressed, frowning.

"How should I know? I never even saw his face!" Qin Tian protested.

"Impossible! He was sent to kill you. How could you not have seen him?" the old killer insisted.

"He took a shot at me from the bushes, then bolted. Never saw him again." Qin Tian spread his hands.

"So he failed? And you didn't catch him? Then where is he?" The frown deepened.

"You should be asking yourself. He’s your apprentice," Qin Tian replied, spreading his hands once more.

"Boy, are you lying to me?" The old man's eyes narrowed.

"These days, the most dangerous thing is telling the truth—no one believes you," Qin Tian said with a shrug.

Some people are strange: tell them the truth and they refuse to believe it; tell them a lie and they still won’t buy it. What would satisfy them? Only hearing the answer they already had in mind, even if it’s wrong.

"If you don’t come clean, I’ll cut off your fingers, one by one!" The old man brandished his knives.

"Old dog! I told you, I never even met your damned apprentice!" Qin Tian stared at the glint of steel, his heart pounding.

"So you won’t be satisfied until I do it myself?" The old man advanced, step by step.

But when he was only three meters away, a gunshot cracked in the distance. A bullet struck the ground between them.

"Who’s there?" Thousand-Step Flying Dagger immediately turned, wary, toward the source of the shot.

Qin Tian was stunned—another twist? Could it be Nangong Xiao’e coming to his rescue?

But the shooter was not Nangong Xiao’e.

"Spade Captain? What are you doing here?"

A tall, foreign man in denim stepped from the shadows, gun in one hand, an old bottle of liquor in the other. His face was flushed—he looked drunk.

"He’s mine," Spade Captain said, pointing at Qin Tian.

Qin Tian’s eyes widened—was this never going to end? Yet another assassin? How many waves of killers were there going to be?