CHAPTER 9 – Fxxking Flaming Fxxker
Back a few months ago, a giant faction in merchant circle of Tiramikal Continent received huge demands of supply from warring empires of another continent.
The said faction, Tiramikal Merchant Guild, actually was a web connection of merchants which almost anybody were banded together by the universal greed. However, nowadays, nobody from higher-ups to even foot-servants could escape the busiest moment of the guild to enjoy their hard-earning wealth. The demands this time were so much that Tiramikal Merchant Guild themselves didn’t even have any confidence to complete it with their own men and resources.
It was precisely seven months ago that the merchant guild decided to hire a lot of extra hands to deal with the overwhelming tasks. A lot of mercenaries even groups of bandit made their fortune overnight by completing missions of Tiramikal Merchant Guild. The most profitable missions were the one that high-risk and long period of completion, usually the groups of mission takers had to explore an unknown place, or hidden ruins, even stranded for weeks in a desert of nowhere.
There’s a huge dessert located on the east border of Tiramikal Continent; a home of the rare, high-priced, yet deadly venomous flame scorpions. Its bladder and shell were so expensive that thousands of adventurers and warriors died for nothing in order to hunt them.
Naturally, of course, Tiramikal Merchant Guild had long set their eyes upon them.
In a small-sized camp, people were laughing and singing and gambling, cast away their worries plus anxiety in order to calm their blazing nerves. They are packs of brave, insane beast-like men. Traded their lives for swift and fruitful wealth. Everybody believed they would be a rich man when they come back home from this expedition. Although, they must survive first to receive their earnings.
Two hidden shadows crawl through the curtain of darkness, nimbly eluded the dim orange-light of torchlight. Only when moonlight was covered by thick cloud they moved soundlessly.
They finally stopped at an unremarkable tent. Waited patiently there. With their body embraced cold dry yellowish sands, the clouds uncovered the moon once again, forced the shadows to retreat into more hidden places. Not long after that, a lazily yawning figure entered the tent. Two assassins began to load their crossbows.
“Jhuro Yashura, where did you hide my sandals?” yelled an angry voice toward the man in the tent.
“Fuck off. Fuck your dirty sandals. I’m going to sleep,” the man inside answered back with reluctant but higher voice.
“You stole my sandals, you fucker. I can’t sleep without my fuckin’ sandals.”
“Who the fuck sleeping while wearing their fuckin’ sandals? Fuckin’ shut up, fucker!”
“You fuckin’ shut up! You’re the fucker one, you friggin’ fuck!”
A new angry yell joined the fray. “You two fucker better shut the fuck up or I will fuckin’ kill the two of you fucker for fuckin’ good!”
“Then fuckin’ try, little fucker! You fucker-shitty-bastard will fuckin’ die before you can fuckin’ say a single fuckin’ word of ‘fuck’!” roared Jhuro Yashura.
Rounds and rounds “fuck” latter, the furious roars died down. Everybody decided to fuckin’ sleep.
As dimly lit lamp showed the calm sleeping silhouette inside the tent, the assassins began to act.
Before, they were waiting until the howl of the wind was loud enough to cover their not-so-perfect silent crossbows. Now when the time comes, they aimed cautiously at the silhouette of Jhuro Yashura, calculating and predicting if their potent poisons were effective enough against the poison master swordsman of Yashura Family.
The weeping wind of cold night carried away the assassins’ deadly poisonous bolt….
Tsk tsk tsk tsk.
Yet the silhouette didn’t move when the flurry of bolts struck at him.
One of the black-clad assassins gestured his partner to check the body. The other one slowly nodded. Then he went crawling.
This assassinate mission was so important that their higher-ups would set death penalty if they come home failed. So there must be no mistake. Or they had to pay failure with their own lives.
Slowly, one assassin peeked into the tent, hope their target would die a silent death inside his own tent.
But that was only the assassin’s fleeting hope.
Unfortunately, the one that they were shooting before was a pair of pillows, especially stacked just to look like a sleeping shadow.
His partner, the one who ordered him to check the tent, was calmly observed him from their original position. Pity, he wasn’t quite ready when all of a sudden, a gripping hand of death burst from the yellowish sand beneath him… letting only his muffled scream before his neck was slashed with a poisonous and sharp short katana.
After killing one of the assassins in a decisive ambush, the then burrowed Jhuro Yashura swiftly showing himself and continued with a wave of his hand, sent three small silver needles toward the remaining enemy.
The assassin wanted to dodge, but he was a second slower. One of the three needles pierced his shoulder.
He didn’t die. And the wound was a superficial one. But poison which invaded his blood was so strong that his nerves stopped working as he wished.
“I just wanna fuckin’ sleep, you fucker!” muttered Jhuro Yashura. He slowly moves toward the paralyzed assassin while irritatingly brushed off dry sands from his hair.
The defeated assassin was ready to commit suicide at that moment. But a fast nimble hand slipped into his mouth, picked a hidden fast-reacting poison pill inside.
“I was trained full ten-years to shut my mouth. Torture and pain-inflicting poisons are useless! I will not utter a word of information for you!” the assassin gritted his teeth.
“Tsk, Blackwood’s dog! Who the fuck wants any information from dumb fuck like you? So fuckin’ annoying!”
Jhuro Yashura picked up the immobilized assassin, poured bottles of booze upon him, then set the pitiful professional killer under fire.
Then, with a light kick, Jhuro Yashura nonchalantly shoved the high-pitched screaming burned man toward one of his neighbor tents.
“Fuckin’ fuck fuck! There’s fuckin’ fire in my fuckin’ tent! Ahh! Fuck! Who the fuck is this screamin’ fuckin’ flamin’ fucker?”
The figure who frustratingly yelled jumped out of his burning tent in an instant, only to realize that fucker Jhuro Yashura was nowhere to be seen.
Grammar revised – 20/02/2018