Chapter 1047: That Creature Is a Harmful Creature (2)

When Qing returned to the group, she announced it in a grand, swaggering tone, like she was reporting a glorious victory.

“I interrogated him. There are only a hundred Japanese pirates. Thirty each, everyone. I’ll take forty, and that wraps it up.”

“...Didn’t you say a hundred? Then that makes a hundred and thirty. It’s simple arithmetic.”

After all, if Peng Daesan, Seol Iri, and Gongsun Yoye cut down thirty each, and Qing cut down forty, that came to a hundred and thirty.

But Qing looked at him as if he were the one talking nonsense.

“What are you talking about? One of us has to protect Jayeo. What, you want to leave her all alone while everyone goes out?”

At that, the group exchanged glances.

Which was only natural, because the whole thing was absurd.

What Qing was saying was the sort of thing one might say if a few extra bugs had shown up on the back hill, not if a hundred pirates were coming.

Pirates were infamous for being vicious. Of course, a master at Harmonization could take on twenty enemies, but that did not make it an easy, casual thing, like pulling candy out of your pocket and popping it into your mouth.

So the three of them traded looks, silently united in the sentiment of, Somebody please stop this bullshit—

“Everyone seems full of zeal! But in this campaign to exterminate evil villains, please allow me the honor of earning merit. At last—is this not the chance, after my long years of training, to spread the glorious name of the Gongsun Gong Clan far and wide?!”

Exchanging looks did not mean they had actually understood each other.

And when someone had no sense at all, their lack of sense was usually far worse than anyone imagined. Far worse.

Gongsun Yoye had no sense.

Absolutely none.

If she had possessed even the bare minimum, she would never have barked at the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly on her very first appearance, “Bah! Instead of loafing around, you bastards should be training!” and ended up a loner.

To begin with, Gongsun Yoye had already been on the side of killing all the pirates from the start.

At that, Seol Iri turned her head away, and Peng Daesan pressed a hand to his handsome forehead and rubbed at his temple.

“Haah. Qing. Japanese pirates aren’t like the riffraff drifting around the rivers-and-lakes. They learn things that are, in their own way, close to martial arts. Their training may focus on the external, but they’re ferocious by nature, and their killing intent is no joke. If there are a hundred of them—”

“What? San. Scared? Hm, I guess Japanese pirates can be scary.”

At Qing’s needling, Peng Daesan paused.

“...I’m saying it’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous, my ass. We’re the ones defending here. In other words, this is a defensive battle. Defense is about five times more favorable than offense, didn’t you know?”

“That only applies when you actually have walls and equipment suited to defense—”

“Ah, enough. Then San can watch Jayeo, and hm, right, Iri can, hm, yes, do her best and kill twenty. You’re at Harmonization, so you can manage twenty somehow, can’t you? I’ll handle ten more myself.”

“In that case, Miss Seol only needs to kill ten! I shall help as well!”

A fine crease appeared between Seol Iri’s brows.

By Qing’s standards—as a recognized expert on Seol Iri’s facial expressions—that meant she was frowning quite violently.

“No. No. No. No. No.”

It was a subtle distinction, but Seol Iri pronounced it one way when answering Qing, and another way when answering everyone else.

Qing had no idea why she insisted on doing that.

In any case, Qing grinned and pushed further.

“No, Iri. You don’t have to overdo it. Just freeze ten, break ten, whatever—do your best. You use ice arts, sure, but your face is pretty, right? That’s enough. Okay, then. Iri gets ten, Yoye gets forty, and I’ll take fifty. Hm. I’ll probably have to go wild, so Yoye, can you keep a close eye on our Iri for me?”

“Of course—no, of course I can. Miss Seol, you may rely on me entirely! You must not leave my side!”

A vein twitched on Seol Iri’s forehead.

For someone whose expressions were usually so rare, this was a remarkably open display of emotion.

And no wonder. It had already been quite some time since Seol Iri had entered Harmonization, and though her internal power had once been lacking, she had painstakingly filled in that weakness through desperate accumulation over the years.

True, ice arts were significantly less efficient than most other martial arts, but even so—Harmonization was Harmonization. No matter where she went, she was still the kind of master people called a supreme expert.

“I’ll cut down thirty. Don’t touch them.”

Having stoked Seol Iri’s fighting spirit that easily, Qing looked at Peng Daesan as if to say, Well?

“Good, then. Iri gets thirty. Yoye, you take five more. I’ll graciously cede those five to you. Yoye gets thirty-five, I get forty-five. San, teach Jayeo five characters. Good. Perfect.”

And then it came—that deep, subsonic, gravel-low voice Peng Daesan only used when he was in a bad mood.

“Do you really think this is the kind of thing to joke your way through?”

“Why? I want that pork.”

“Stop trying to brush it aside like this and be serious for once—”

“I am serious.”

The smile vanished from Qing’s face.

Right. I’m getting that pork.

She was going to cut down every last Japanese pirate, then eat the pork that would be set before her by villagers crawling with half gratitude, half fear.

Could kindness given in expectation of payment truly be called kindness?

Well, yes. Kindness was still kindness.

Bad law was still law, and hypocrisy was still virtue.

Even a good deed forced out of someone by public pressure, or done just to manage appearances, was still a good deed to the people who received it.

Even if the villagers’ kindness had really been a scheme to keep them there until the Japanese pirates came, the banquet last night had still been enjoyable. Learning the truth now did not erase the pleasure they had felt then.

And besides—pork. They were going to slaughter a pig for them.

It was ridiculous, really.

Qing had fought Japanese pirates before. Her impression had been that they ranged somewhere between second-rate and first-rate.

They did not seem to have learned proper internal disciplines—proper study in the sense of cultivating internal power—but in this sham-Middle-Plain world, mysterious energy worked that way. Even simple repetition of martial techniques could naturally stir True Qi through the body and multiply one’s power.

That principle was called dynamic practice.

So there were a hundred warriors like that coming.

And the villagers’ grand strategy for keeping some Murim masters here to save them was... one pig?

They had even rented the best carriage from the livery. Anyone could see it was an expensive carriage. What kind of attraction did they think roast pork would hold for martial artists riding around in something like that?

Especially when it was not even being prepared by a professional cook, but by villagers in some backwater mountain—no, seaside—settlement.

Someone might accuse Qing of looking down on the villagers’ cooking, but the pig itself was the problem.

The pork served in actual restaurants came from pigs raised specifically for meat, fattened to taste good.

But pigs in places like this were just animals raised on scraps until the village had something worth celebrating. That meant strong smell, rank flesh, tough meat.

But still.

For these villagers, that really had been the last thing they could offer to keep Murim masters here.

And to them, that pig had to be precious.

“So yeah. I have to eat that pork. When a village offers up the most precious thing it has, isn’t that more than enough reason for a hero to draw a sword?”

She had even considered sending one of the villagers to deliver her censorial tally and mobilize the local officials and troops.

But no. That was not right.

Officials and soldiers should not be getting wounded for villagers who paid no taxes and had no registration—people who contributed nothing to the state.

Officials and soldiers bled for the people, and to be honest, these villagers lived in the Central Plains but could not really be called the people.

But did that mean they deserved to die to pirates?

No, that was not right either.

If the villagers had carried heavy bad karma, then Qing could have let it pass as evil people killing evil people.

But they were just ordinary people.

Ordinary people who happened not to pay taxes.

And when people like that clung to life and begged to be saved, she did not want to shake them off.

It was not as if she lacked the strength, or fell short.

She already had more than enough.

If she was not going to use martial arts at a time like this, then what exactly had she trained for?

“Exactly! Precisely so! Miss Seomun is a gallant hero of the age, a hero of all under heaven! A hero indeed! Hm? She is a hero! No, well—regardless, I agree! Is this not the very duty of a hero, to rise up in times like these?!”

“A hero, my ass. Killing bad people so they stop existing is good for the world. No, forget the world. No need to make it that grand. I just can’t stand the sight of bad people prospering. It twists my guts up. I want to kill those pirate bastards for my own sake. That’s all.”

“Indeed! Truly the very image of heroism!”

Gongsun Yoye, utterly ignorant of how the world worked, raised her voice in pure admiration. The attitude pouring off her was unmistakable: I’m moved.

“I told you not to do that...”

“Ahem. But this must be said. Is that not exactly what heroism is—no, what a hero does?”

“I’m just doing what I want. So, San, that’s what I think. Are you still against it?”

San kept his mouth tightly shut for a moment, then let out a long sigh.

“...Could Miss Seol watch over Jayeo for me? Since that one is so utterly unreliable, I’ll have to stay beside her and keep an eye on her.”

So Peng Daesan was the one stepping forward to cut down Japanese pirates after all, and asking that Jayeo be entrusted elsewhere.

Qing snorted.

He should have just done this from the beginning.

And then Seol Iri frowned—well, no, made a subtle face—and answered.

“No.”

One crisp word.

Then came the follow-up.

“I’ll protect Qing.”

It was such a ridiculous thing to say—who was protecting whom here?—but still, it was admirable.

Our Gunyeong had grown up so much before Qing even noticed. To think she was already volunteering to protect her father. Makes all the years of raising her worthwhile. This dad could just cry...

In any case, the Half-Sword Twin-Blade Society reached a unanimous decision to cut down evil pirates for the sake of the weak.

And yes, that kind of unanimous decision—not that finger.

Now then.

Time for rapid battle preparations.

So, while torrential rain hammered down, Qing’s party and the villagers moved busily about.

After all, they could hardly just lie around resting until the enemy arrived, then go, “Oh, you’re here?” and draw their swords.

At the same time, Qing and her friends could not exactly stroll out by themselves and say, “Come on, then, let’s settle this.”

Fortified village folk in the Central Plains were armed to some extent by default.

Otherwise, how would they ever have managed the great feat of capturing the prince of Ippen in the first place?

So first they circled the village and carefully surveyed the surrounding terrain, partly to memorize the positions of the traps, partly to make sure the rain had not ruined them.

They went over the terrain once more, and listened to how the villagers had originally planned to repel enemies.

When they had captured the prince of Ippen, they had waited until the men got close, then let fly all at once with arrows and stones.

Startled, the pirates had tried to flee and fallen into a trap pit. That at least kept the prince from ending up skewered on stakes beneath the piled bodies of his men.

The villagers bragged about this great victory with voices raised proudly to one another.

But after listening to it, Qing figured it had not been a great victory at all.

They had simply been obscenely lucky.

Maybe the prince had been on reconnaissance because he had some sense, or maybe, being pirates, scouting a place to plunder was just the pirate chief’s job.

Either way, those guards had been escorting someone important. The instant they were attacked, they would have grabbed the prince and retreated at once.

The prince himself did not look remotely built for physical hardship, so in an emergency they had probably just slung him over a shoulder and run.

And then, in that state, they had fallen into a pit lined with sharpened stakes.

Which meant one loyal retainer had likely taken the prince’s weight on top of his own, been impaled twice as deep as everyone else, and left behind a perfectly healthy prince.

Still, once they all put their heads together, a plan emerged—vague in places, but a plan nonetheless.

When the pirates came, Qing’s group and the villagers would throw stones together.

Stones alone might sound underwhelming, but stones thrown by true masters were no longer just stones. They were properly murderous stones.

If the pirates panicked and fell back, then the masters would deploy—leaping over the stockade and butchering the fleeing pirates outside.

If the pirates tried somehow to break through or climb over the stockade, then the villagers would first retreat and wait while holding the hostage, while the masters kept hurling stones. And if it started looking untenable, they would simply open the gate.

And beyond that open gate?

Why, a master at Transformation and her underlings waiting in ambush.

And behind them, villagers pressing blades to the prince’s throat and staging a hostage crisis all at once.

Good.

A perfect plan.

Though Qing did find herself wishing Seolga-nom were here—or, failing that, loudmouth Zhuge, or super-colossal-mom Sima Chunbong.

If either of them had been present, they probably would have come up with something much cooler. Some real strategy. Some proper scheme.

And so, a day passed.

The next day, it rained again.

The villagers took turns standing watch, but the Japanese pirates did not come. Maybe pirates had trouble moving in this kind of foul weather too.

Then the next day, the rain stopped.

Tension hung over the village all day. Surely today would be the day they attacked.

But they still did not come.

Then the day after that, rain again. A decent steady fall.

They still did not come.

The next day, rain again. Light drizzle.

Still no sign of them.

The day after that. Rain. Heavier than yesterday.

...And still they did not come.

Today, rain. Well, it was monsoon season. Of course it rained.

And today too—they still didn’t come!

What the hell was wrong with these bastards?

Were they abandoning the prince?

They weren’t even going to come get him?