A flying dagger whizzed through the air past Yinyue's silver metal mask, almost scratching it.
The dagger plunged into the wooden door frame of the busy inn's entrance.
Yinyue, in her disguise as a masked young man, didn't flinch from the dagger. She threw a cursory glance at the dagger and studied the layout of the two-storey inn's old wooden interior.
The long tiring horseback ride against the freezing wind made her irritable and ready to vent her frustration on someone. Her mood worsened by the smells of leftover gamey meat mixed with the frying grease and sweaty men drifting around the dining hall.
She rotated her wrists to warm up while surveying the customers in the inn. The sounds came from wooden chopsticks clattering against the clay plates as the men shovelled food in their mouths, or slurped their soup noodles.
Seated around the simple wooden tables were all men.
No other women present.
Pairs of eyes trained on her every move, all waiting for her next reaction.
In the furthest corner of the inn, five men wore mask, like hers. The five wore similar masks which had a pair of eye and mouth openings to hide their identities. Their clothing under their fur coats looked new compared to the patched gowns and pants of the others.
She spotted the hilt of swords tethered to their waist beneath their fur cloaks, but none of them moved their hands towards the hilt. They continued sipping their tea or eating their food.
No one paid masked men any notice because they were a common sight in the Black Mountains. Most belonged to a martial arts sect or an underworld syndicate.
In the valley of the Black Mountains, one unspoken rule was never to interfere in a fight issued by challenge.
The dagger sticking out of the door frame presented her with a challenge.
A second unspoken rule was never to bring more than a certain number of bodyguards and guards to avoid starting a fight. Or worse, unrest. The number of guards varied based on the place.
Yinyue preferred to venture into busy inns alone. The more people around in a Black Mountain inn, the less risk of assassins. No one challenged her in the Black Mountains until today.
Her bodyguards stayed outside under her orders. They hid near the shuttered windows, ready to jump in at her signal.
For the challenge, she didn't need them. She only needed to kill the challenger.
She grabbed the hilt of the dagger, pulling it out with ease from the wooden pillar with no effort. Military training and assassin training gave her more than enough strength to pluck it out like a knife from a soft bean curd.
She studied the dagger's design — a commoner's dagger with its jagged blade, blunt from overuse.
Her eyes fell on the culprit in his patched clothing. Nothing special about him.
He sized her up and down, chin up with defiance. Just a common punk trying to show off for some misguided glory. Too stupid to survive in the world.
If he apologised, she may let him off with a stab to maim one of his shoulders as a lesson.
Nope, he flashed his rotten teeth at her. The yellowish stains mixed with flecks of black on his teeth disgusted her.
She took a deep breath, gripping the hilt of the dagger in her hand. Her eyes fixed on the culprit.
Someone coughed.
She sprung.
A dark flash of a shadow across the hall. One loud crash. A table overturned while food flew around and bowls crashed to the ground.
The men seated next to the thrower jumped out from benches, distancing themselves from whatever or whoever went past.
A quick kick to the back of the thrower's knees sent him kneeling on the harden earthen ground. She reappeared behind him, holding the same dagger to the thrower's throat. He whimpered in execution position.
Gasps escaped from the gaping mouths of a few experienced men.
"Ghost Step…"
"Let's get out."
The hushed but worried voices came from experienced martial artists who recognised the skill she used.
Ghost Steps, a special martial arts technique, allowed a person to glide fast behind their target. The target and those around cannot hear the footsteps of the user.
The best martial artists of a top underworld syndicate, Qisha, in the Black Mountains, executed this exclusive skill with fluid grace and lightning speed.
Men near to the culprit staggered back in shock, creating a distance. The five masked men snuck out of the inn, followed by a larger group in single file.
They won't interfere in the fight, especially if it was with a Qisha syndicate member.
"H-hey, kid…i-it's j-just a j-joke," the dagger thrower stammered as his body went weak.
Kid? The thrower mistook her as someone easy to bully. Yinyue dug the dagger into the skin of his throat. A thin line of blood formed on the blade. If he continued moving, the blade will dig deeper into his skin.
She smelled a sour odour and looked down. A noticeable dark patch formed on his pants with yellow liquid pooling below his knees.
"S-spare-ACKkk—"
She didn't even give him a chance to finish pleading for his life. One quick slash and a fountain of blood spurted from his throat, splattering on everyone and the wooden surroundings within the inn.
She kicked his body, sending it flying towards the entrance of the inn. Men leaped aside. Blood sprayed everywhere and on those near the entrance.
A loud thud followed. The body crashed against the door frame.
"COME ON!" a man cried out in frustration. The rest moved away from him, their attention focused on the dagger in her hand.
Her fingers twirled the dagger. Without warning, it flew towards the dead body slumped on the wall. The dagger pierced through its throat, pinning the lifeless body to the door frame for display.
Men near the crowded doorway jostled to escape, pushing and shoving each other.
"Any more challengers?" She asked, her tone steady.
No one answered.
A round of claps came from the second floor, breaking the silence.
"A Killing God always impresses with ten steps one death," said a familiar voice.
The nickname 'Killing God' was a compliment in the Black Mountains, reserved for those with exceptional martial arts skills and a body count surpassing a hundred.
No one addressed each other by their real names in public, another unspoken rule.
She rolled her eyes at the speaker on the second floor.
The remaining customers on the ground floor didn't wait around to watch. They pushed through the crowded doorway and stampeded their way out.
Their rushed exodus suited her. At least, the result created a peaceful environment when the border princes have to discuss matters. She could fill the place with her bodyguards.
The innkeeper and wait staff hid themselves behind the counter. They resisted the urge to chase those who hadn't paid for their meals. Their lives mattered more than a few measly copper coins. Copper coins can be earned again. Lost lives cannot be replaced.
None of them wanted the attention of a 'Killing God' on them, and they knew how to keep their mouths shut.
"Old fart," she spoke to the one standing on the second floor. "Any wrinkles yet?"