Chapter 73: The Most Cherished Disciple

In a secluded corner, three figures conversed in hushed tones.

“Even the silver-ranked assassin failed? This man is truly bizarre.”

Assassins within the League were divided into ranks—the lowest was bronze, followed by silver, and then gold. It was rumored that above gold, there existed a King of Assassins, though none had ever laid eyes on such a figure.

“That fellow’s cultivation is only at the Martial Master realm, yet according to our informant, he instantly killed a silver-ranked assassin.”

They all understood well that to become a silver-ranked assassin, one had to possess the strength of a Grand Martial Master. For a Martial Master to slay a Grand Martial Master, and in a reactive exchange at that, the implications were clear.

“In my opinion, the bounty on this man should be raised!”

A long silence ensued before one finally spoke. His suggestion, however, was immediately rebuffed.

“Are we to throw away the Assassin League’s reputation?”

“We’ve already raised the price once. To do so again would be unreasonable,” another chimed in.

Word had already reached them that the client was growing dissatisfied. If the price were raised again, the client might withdraw the contract entirely and spread word that the Assassin League could not even kill a Martial Master and kept hiking the price. Their reputation would be ruined.

“Let’s vote.”

“Disapprove.”

“Disapprove.”

Two to one—the proposal failed, and Xiao Yang’s bounty remained unchanged.

“Find someone to do the job. Even if we lose money on this, that man must die.”

They recalled Zhang Long’s final requirement: to see the target’s head within the day. The assassination had to proceed quickly, or the League’s reputation would suffer irreparable harm.

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

This time, the proposal passed unanimously.

The entire Assassin League sprang into action. Ten silver-ranked assassins were assembled, led by a gold-ranked assassin. To an outsider, it might have seemed as if they were preparing to hunt a Martial Marquis.

At that moment, a shadowy figure appeared, stepping before the eleven assassins. Without any unnecessary movements, he spoke coolly:

“This mission must succeed. The reward has been changed—you may now exchange it for a low-grade Profound-level martial art or cultivation method, free of charge.”

At these words, disbelief flashed across the assassins’ faces. The League operated on a strict points system. To exchange for any item, one needed sufficient points—and points were not easy to earn. A typical assassination earned less than a hundred points. The cheapest Profound-level martial art or cultivation method required over ten thousand points. For a silver-ranked assassin, it would take nearly a decade of work to earn enough for one such technique. Even for a gold-ranked assassin, it would take two to three years. Such a reward, while thrilling, was also daunting. The target must be a Martial Marquis.

The League’s superior, as if reading their thoughts, addressed them directly.

“According to the latest information, the target is a Martial Master, or at most a Grand Martial Master.”

At this, the assassins were visibly stunned, doubting their own ears. A target worth a Profound-level technique was only a Martial Master? They found it hard to believe.

“This mission is voluntary.”

Glancing at the hesitant faces, the superior waited. For a long time, silence reigned. Finally, a voice broke through.

“I, Specter, would like to see just what abilities a man worth a Profound-level technique possesses.”

The speaker was the sole gold-ranked assassin. With his declaration, the silver-ranked assassins quickly followed suit. With a gold-ranked assassin—someone who had slain even half-step Martial Marquises—leading the way, they felt the mission was possible. If the target proved too mighty, they could always retreat.

“Excellent. Upon completion, each participant will receive an additional twenty thousand in compensation.”

The superior nodded with satisfaction and signaled for the target’s portrait to be distributed.

Soon, each assassin held an image in their hands.

“He looks so young. I wonder if he’s really as formidable as they say.”

“One more thing: this must be done before nightfall.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. The eleven assassins set off toward the Fortune Pavilion, now thoroughly disguised—even their closest acquaintances would not recognize them.

“Uncle Jin, have some tea,” Zhang Long said eagerly, pouring tea for Jin Bulang.

The entire day had been spent attending to the two elders. Jin Bulang, meanwhile, was in contact with the royal family, intending to secure Zhang Long’s direct entry quota before departing.

“Very good, very good!” Jin Bulang beamed, growing increasingly fond of Zhang Long. Were he not already the disciple of his old friend, Jin would have taken him on himself.

Just then, the Beidou royal insignia at Jin Bulang’s waist suddenly lit up.

He offered a kindly smile. “The royal reply has come.”

At his words, everyone’s attention sharpened. Both Gongsun Miao and Zhang Long looked on expectantly.

“Hahaha, don’t be nervous. With Long’er’s talent, he’s fully qualified for a direct admission spot.”

Jin Bulang spoke with confidence, infusing spiritual energy into the insignia. A line of words appeared before his eyes:

“Qualification does not meet requirements; admission denied.”

Jin Bulang’s smile froze. Gongsun Miao and Zhang Long noticed something was amiss.

“What’s wrong, Old Jin?”

“The qualification was rejected,” Jin Bulang replied, his face darkening.

In previous years, the direct admission quota nearly always went to those at the seventh or eighth level of Grand Martial Master. This year, he’d found someone on the verge of breaking through to Martial Marquis—yet still, the qualification was insufficient?

“Wait a moment. I’ll inquire further.”

He sensed something fishy and immediately sent another message, determined to get to the bottom of it. If someone was abusing their power to seize the quota, Jin Bulang would stop at nothing to expose them.

Soon, the insignia lit up again. Another line of words appeared:

“A Martial Marquis has already been granted direct admission.”

Jin Bulang was stunned. Where could such a young Martial Marquis have come from? The Beidou Kingdom hadn’t produced a qualified Martial Marquis in decades—the last being the current King.

“I’m sorry, my dear boy. This time, even your Uncle Jin cannot help.”

At these words, Gongsun Miao and Zhang Long were both taken aback. Over the course of the day, they had come to understand that Jin Bulang wielded considerable influence within the royal family. For him to admit defeat meant the situation was truly intractable.

“What exactly happened, Old Jin?” Gongsun Miao asked anxiously.

Zhang Long was his most prized disciple—he’d even tacitly agreed to his daughter’s hand in marriage. If Zhang Long could secure a spot in the Ten Nations Tournament, with a bit more effort, he could easily become the head of the Giant Spirit Sect.

“The quota has already been reserved.”