Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Alpha Ninja Assassins (Part One)

Not only Kou Li, but the group of boxers who had just rushed out of the gambling house also witnessed this scene. Zhong Quan shouted immediately, “It’s the Armored Ninja Assassins! Beware their assassination techniques—back when I followed Marshal Hong to pacify the Japanese across six provinces, many brave men in the army fell to their deadly arts.”

“Master, they can walk on water!” one of the disciples exclaimed in shock. In the martial world, such a feat is only possible after reaching the pinnacle of the Four Great Refinements—specifically, the mastery of skin refinement. Even then, it can only be sustained for a short time.

If the enemy truly had so many masters of skin refinement, there would be no point in fighting this battle at all.

“It’s their straw sandals—they train their assassins differently from us boxers!” Young Lady Huang’s eyes flashed; her wide knowledge allowed her to recognize the item immediately. These sandals were crafted from the thin boards of the cherrywood unique to the Japanese nation, measuring one foot two inches in length and eight and a half inches in width. They were lined with cotton and wrapped in oiled leather, making them not only waterproof but incredibly resilient when treading on water.

Moreover, the training required to master this skill was brutally harsh. The assassins’ weight could not exceed seventy pounds, and their height no more than five feet. For this purpose, they practiced a form of Qi harmonization that stimulated the dantian’s hidden energy—a method with only the technique, but no cultivation, so few assassins lived past forty.

Yet, in terms of explosive power, unless a boxer had reached a profound level where bone and marrow carried Qi and flesh drew inwards, few could match them.

During the pacification of the coastal disaster years ago, they proved the greatest trouble to the government troops, almost impossible to counter.

These assassins dressed much like the black-clad men Kou Li had seen at Wolf’s Head Hollow—conical hats, armor on hands and feet, only their waist knives differed, being shorter than usual, about two feet in length, with wide, coarse, non-slippery blades, ideal for scaling walls and rocks.

Just as before, while moving across the water, their grappling hooks were flung onto the ship’s railing; agile as monkeys, one hand on the knife, one on the rope, they scaled up in a few swift movements.

“Cut them down!” The elite members of the Water Dragon Gang, all seasoned brigands, responded with ruthless skill. Their machetes and bird guns hacked and fired, soon causing the water-walking Japanese assassins to drop into the sea like dumplings.

The boat’s striking poles, cut loose, snapped down rapidly. These poles, tipped with hundreds of rivets hammered into the wood, struck with deadly precision—a single blow could cleave a skull.

With the waves exploding, seawater turned crimson, but not a single scream escaped.

More assassins, however, tumbled nimbly onto the deck. Landing, they rolled to evade the long knives and spears, not attacking anyone directly, but scattering in every direction, each with a black whistle in their mouths.

Thick smoke billowed from the whistle tips, dense and lingering, quickly spreading to every corner of the ship.

“There’s narcotic smoke in the air! Cover your mouths with water, back to back—watch for assassinations!”

Before the warning finished, blades flashed through the mist, and several heads rolled to the deck.

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“Damn it!” Winged Wolf Luo Yi roared in fury, rolling his footwork—astonishingly even faster than the Japanese assassins—chasing after a shadow.

In just a few leaps, he caught up with one, about to kill the target when blades flashed from both sides, slashing toward his neck.

“Damn Japanese, their blades don’t even reflect light!” Luo Yi cursed inwardly, splaying his toes to slide backward as if his soles pressed iron rods beneath. This was power refined to the soles, doubling his speed in attack and retreat, as if greased—no slope or winding path could hinder him.

This footwork was nearly perfected.

Then came two heavy, hammer-like sounds—this Winged Wolf, waist as a crossbow, hips as a platform, feet as arrows, flipped his legs in a blur, instantly shattering the chest bones of two men; their chests caved in.

“Trying to run? Get back here!” Luo Yi grabbed a head, about to smash it down, when it twisted eerily, and the whistle in the assassin’s mouth turned from black to red.

At that moment, a huge ball of flame spewed from the whistle.

Moments later—

“Damn you! Damn Japanese!” Luo Yi looked at his half-charred hair, nearly in tears. Luckily, his footwork was masterful—had it been another boxer, no matter how skilled, faced with fire at such close range, their face would have been burned to a pulp.

His usual carefree expression grew grim. “The assassins are here—so the Adopted Sons and Ten Shark Commanders must be on the move as well!”

Everyone along the East Sea coast knew that Lord Zhu Baozai possessed three Thunder Cannons. The first cannon was the Japanese Armored Ninja Assassins—the force of Lady Sakura’s family, his second wife.

The second cannon was the Ten Shark Ships and Ten Shark Commanders. Although the court had cleared the seas for years, not a single Shark Ship had been destroyed. It was rumored that Zhu Baozai’s sorcerers had enchanted them, making them faster, stronger, and more resilient than any government ship.

The third cannon was the Adopted Sons. Some were exceptional talents, others infamous pirates vanquished by Zhu Baozai, or wanted criminals on the mainland.

So long as one possessed a heart to swallow the sea, all heroes could be gathered—Zhu Baozai’s own words.

Aboard the towering Evil Shark Ship—

“Father has been sighing often lately, saying he was born in the wrong era. If he lived in times of chaos, he’d be a contender for the throne, not a servant to the officials, risking beheading every day.”

The speaker was Zhu Baozai’s fourth adopted son, known as the strategist Zhu Sihai, refined in demeanor, eyes bright with intelligence, though his sea-darkened skin betrayed his identity.

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“Heh, if you ask me, we should rebel! The old man’s got men, money, and weapons—what’s there to fear?” Chief Jiang Jue, head of the Evil Shark Ship, let out a monstrous laugh, rubbing the scarred crown of his head. There, a brand like a seal marked his skin—a prisoner’s mark. Because of this, his bounty from the court was a thousand taels of gold.

Back when Jiang Jue was a mountain bandit, he buried the whole family of the elder official destined for office, earning his wanted status. According to him, who could have guessed that the old man, who looked like a village elder, was a high-ranking official in the capital?

He hadn’t read much, so the concept of traveling incognito was lost on him.

Zhu Sihai surveyed the situation and ordered, “The Ninth Son has nearly finished outside—send Bone Shark and Blood Shark to intercept. Eight, Twelve, Fifteen, Seventeen, and Nineteen, scatter now. Both ships are at military standard—don’t let them slip away. Father specifically ordered, capture them alive!”

“Lord Hai, Miss Sakura is missing!” An old pirate suddenly rushed over in terror.

“What!”

Though Kou Li had found a good spot, those Japanese assassins, elusive and unpredictable, eventually found him. Three blades struck silently from behind.

But as if he sensed it beforehand, Kou Li took a deep breath, bent his knees, and explosively launched backward with the Five-Flower Seated Mountain Hammer. The floor split with a crack—without even turning his head, he sprang back, shoulders flaring like wings, latissimus dorsi swelling, and two “Little Tiger Headlocks” struck out, elbows like thunder.

With two crisp sounds, Adam’s apples crushed flat, eyes bulged—two assassins died before their blades finished their arc.

Continuing his retreat, Kou Li spun, grasped, and as his form seemed to grow taller, a foul aura seeped from his fingertips. Tiger demon transformation—his claws became tiger teeth, and with a swipe along the knife’s length, he crushed the skull near the temple, brain matter spurting out.

This entire sequence took less than a breath. Kou Li finally understood what it meant to reach mastery—unique boxing power was only the surface. The true sensation was that the fist seemed alive, as if a tiger dwelled within him, ever ready to tear, pounce, claw, and lash—all at a single thought.

Moreover, the advantages of the ancient boxing style gradually emerged. With each breath, he could swallow rivers, Qi pressed to his back, drawn into bone and muscle, as if every punch and kick could forge steel.

Though it was but an illusion, it meant the Tiger Fist was steadily remaking his body. When the transformation finished, he would reach the pinnacle of the technique.

Able to bend and stretch at will, boxing skill perfected, embodying the natural way.

Suddenly, Kou Li’s brow furrowed; he heard hurried, frantic footsteps approaching.