Chapter 338: The Showdown Between Man and Ximen Qing (6)

After her first encounter, Qing realized one thing: these bastard bandits didn’t give a damn about those left behind.

Now that she thought about it, even that guy from Unit 37 of the Yeonam Stronghold, who donated the shirt she was wearing now, had shown up alone, hadn’t he?

Fall behind if you want. If you don’t want to get left behind, keep the fuck up.

Wasn’t it normal in group projects to at least accommodate the slowest one?

Qing thought back briefly to her college days and those group assignments and—hmm. Actually, yeah, leaving the straggler behind is probably the right call.

Better take that senior’s name off the roster too. Fuck loyalty.

So, it was incredibly easy for Qing to go around snapping the bandits’ necks.

Like playing “Red Light, Green Light” with a tagger who never turned around—just sneak up and wham!

A miraculous reunion of back and knuckles!

A rare, blessed experience only a tiny fraction of all humanity could claim—so deeply moving and profound that some of the corpses were overwhelmed to the point of letting go of their sanity on the spot.

And so, as one by one they took the road to the afterlife from behind, only two remained.

RUFF! RUFF RUFF!

That’s when a dog started barking ahead.

Through the rustling brush came the dog handler, who leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice.

“Shh. Sir, I think we’ve found something.”

“Oh yeah? First, the guy with the net.”

“......”

“What the hell? Net guy. You not gonna answer?”

Cheonam frowned and turned around.

And saw no one.

Cheonam was speechless.

Those bastards slipped away?

They hadn’t even been moving that fast—and yet everyone was missing?

And then it happened.

The rustle of leaves being stepped on came closer and closer, until a limping silhouette emerged faintly from the shadows.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. Even a cripple’s trailing us? Hey. You seen the others?”

“T-they... uh, they said... I-I didn’t... I didn’t see anyone, sir.”

As the guy stammered out his excuse, Cheonam had a thought.

Yeah, this dumbass is never lying his way out of anything.

“You wanna try again? What stronghold are you from? You want me to gather everyone from your boss down to your sorry ass? You little shit, think you can lie to a great elder of Yangsanband?”

“Aigoo, uh, cough, they said they were too tired and stopped to rest...”

“You fucking little shits. You think I’m standing here fucking around for fun? Where the hell are they?”

“They, uh—cough, kheuk, hack! O-over there...”

“What? Where?”

“Sir, I—I got my own problems here...”

“What the fuck did you say to me? I’m supposed to give a shit about your problems now? This dumbass thinks he’s got rights. Head down.”

“Sir, he’s a patient—”

“Patient my ass.”

Cheonam stormed forward, his face twisted in disgust, and raised his arm.

He was about to slap him around like he always did—only the bastard had the nerve to catch his wrist and stop him.

“Oh? You think you can block me?”

“Wouldn’t you? I’ll send you straight to hell too, so go get some rest. I’ll send all your little brothers and cousins along to keep you company.”

That voice—beautiful, melodic—made Cheonam freeze up for a second.

But freezing in front of the enemy never ended well.

Qing’s grip twisted his arm, and snap—his forearm folded the wrong way.

“Guh-!”

The breath in his lungs tried to convert into a scream, but with his windpipe blocked, it gave up and retreated back into his chest.

Qing smiled sweetly as she grabbed him by the throat.

“Sorry in advance, but yeah, the cripple’s the culprit, and the bald guy’s a ghost.”

With a soft grunt, Qing pushed Cheonam with one arm—straight onto a jutting tree branch that skewered him through the solar plexus.

Even after she let go, Cheonam dangled from the thick, low branch like a pinned insect.

She’d missed the heart by a little, but still—he was a shish kebab now. He wouldn’t be alive much longer.

“Sir? Are you there?”

“Oh. Right. One more left.”

Leaving Cheonam impaled in the tree, Qing turned around.

And Cheonam, dying, still couldn’t understand.

Okay, the cripple was the killer. Fine. But why the hell was the bald guy a ghost?

But Cheonam died before he could ever figure it out.

Qing sees evil deeds, and she delivers death—never an error in judgment.

Ximen Qing executed the dog handler for the same crime, and vanished into the forest.

And then—there was no one left.

****

Qing diligently hunted down the remaining bandits.

It was something she genuinely enjoyed doing—but even if she hadn’t, there was no helping it now.

Thus, Qing continued clearing out the trash from the original household line. These damn Nokrim bastards just dumped garbage all over the forest without a second thought.

Dressed in Nokrim’s outfit, Qing was untouchable.

After all, this counted as one of the dirtiest war crimes known to man.

In wartime, disguising yourself as a civilian or donning the enemy’s uniform is a violation of international law.

But this was the prehistoric era, with not even a single international organization in sight—so really, who gave a shit?

So how many had she killed by now?

At last, a slope appeared—something you could actually call a mountainside instead of a sheer cliff.

Finally! The goddamn jungle’s over!

Well—by Qing’s standards, it was a mountainside.

To a normal person, it was barely distinguishable from a cliff—just dirt and trees instead of bare rock.

She could climb the ridge and escape right now.

But she couldn’t.

She and Nokrim were enemies fated to never share the same sky. Just look at this force—two elite cultivators, and over five hundred assembled in a blink, even if most of them were third- and second-rate.

If she didn’t crush their momentum here and now, they’d be a recurring pain in her ass.

And not just her ass, either.

There was Goonyeong back then too.

Even if not him, she’d been staying in Naknyeong, getting along pretty well with Taecheong Trading Company—if these bastards needed someone to take it out on, that was an easy target. They’d never dare mess with the Sect of Divine Maidens, sure, but...

Still, dumb fucks always regretted it after they caused a scene.

If the bandit bastards went off half-cocked and someone she knew—or someone they knew—got caught in the crossfire, she’d never forgive herself.

So no, this couldn’t end here.

If I’d known it would turn out like this, I should’ve dragged back and killed all those bastards who ran when I offed that young master. But then again, there were too many of them—probably wouldn’t have worked from the start.

Yeah, I should’ve just yelled out, “I’m Eonyeon-yeong from Jinju, Hebei Province,” like I did at the Black Spot.

Qing regretted it belatedly.

Just a second ago, she hadn’t even considered that idea, so some might say this wasn’t the attitude of someone who literally just thought about how dumbasses always fuck up first and regret it later.

But Qing wasn’t searching for the mountain ridge because she was running away.

There were apparently eight strongholds nearby, so she figured she should crush at least half of them.

So Qing moved straight along the ridge.

It was slightly steeper than the sharp hills she’d descended from Yukrak Peak, but while going down hadn’t been easy, climbing up was actually pretty comfortable.

It was an earthen cliff—easy to sink her hands and feet into. The densely packed trees helped too, their roots anchoring the dirt. Qing grabbed tree after tree, kicked off {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} their trunks, and steadily climbed her way upward.

Then, around the seventh ridge, a thick fog rolled in, cutting visibility down to barely three jang.

Nothing unusual.

The Zhangjiajie region was known for highland fog—there was mist almost 250 days out of the year.

The mist revealed patches of rock, and as Qing circled around carefully, a hidden fortress appeared on the far side of the peak.

Hmm. Now where the hell am I?

Which mountain, which stronghold? I dunno. Do I need to know? It’s just gonna be bandits in there anyway.

Strongholds only have bandits.

Because even if you're a bandit, no one can live on a mountain this steep.

No matter how hard they rob and loot, gold and silver might come out—but not water, not grain, not piping hot meals with every bite.

So for bandits to live in big groups up in the mountains, someone’s gotta haul food and supplies up there every day or two.

It’s a massively inefficient pain in the ass.

So what do they do?

Bandits build villages at the base of the mountain.

They’ve got families too, so they need somewhere to live that’s not on a fucking cliffside.

So if there’s a village stuck somewhere off the beaten path with no proper roads, it’s either a fortified clan settlement or a bandit village.

Clan settlements rarely let outsiders in, and even if they do, they’ll glare daggers at you the whole time and never stop watching.

But if a village welcomes strangers and even sets out a meal?

Ten times out of ten, it’s a bandit den. Run.

So a Nokrim mountain stronghold isn’t a home—it’s a job site.

And only bandits work at the job site. Meaning: anyone she meets in there, Qing could chop them down without a second thought.

Qing approached the wall of the fortress, or what passed for one.

Because of the fog, she couldn’t see the top—but judging from the massive wooden trunks, it had to be at least ten jang tall.

Well well. Look at these little bastards, making sure their safety is top priority.

But what’s a wooden wall in front of a peak-class expert?

Qing drew her Sword Aura and sliced a clean, rectangular hole in it.

In less than a second, there was a man-sized gap.

In other words, Qing had just infiltrated a stronghold that had already lost its main force and was now nothing but a shell.

The technical term would be: robbing a vacant house. Or nuking the enemy base.

And thus, Qing was going absolutely berserk.

No one could stop her.

Qing was a Heavenly Calamity Killer.

The guys left in the stronghold weren’t fighters—they were maintenance workers.

Qing had mastered the stealth art Black Shadow Burrowing, and with her Silent Steps technique, she moved without a sound.

Even if someone saw her, the sight was so uncanny, they’d wonder if they were looking at a ghost or a human being.

With the fog so thick on top of it, no one even noticed her until seconds before they died.

So as Qing wandered through the stronghold, stacking up Virtuous Karma...

She spotted smoke rising from a small, separate building.

She crept closer, and from a head-sized window about two jang above her, white steam was steadily rising.

Oh. No way. Could it be...?

Qing jumped silently, hooked her fingers on the window, bent her arms, and peeked inside.

Warm steam blew in her face.

And the sound of water being scooped.

Someone was already inside, but from the back... it looked like a woman? A female bandit? Come to think of it, had she ever seen one? Well, whatever. A woman could be a bandit too.

And judging by the evil deeds radiating from her, she was a seasoned one.

But more importantly: a bath!

That’s a hot bath!

Qing’s eyes gleamed.

A scalding bath, soaking your whole body and roasting yourself in the steam—that was one of Qing’s favorite things in the world.

You could only enjoy something like that at a high-end inn in a major city—and even then, it cost a fortune between the firewood and labor.

But alongside cooking, it was the one luxury Qing allowed herself.

I’m already damp and sticky. A hot bath would be fucking perfect right now.

Just like a sparrow can’t pass a grain mill without stopping, Qing couldn’t pass a bathhouse.

With eyes shimmering with lustful yearning, Qing crept around the outer wall of the building.

There was a single guy standing guard at the entrance.

Well—“guarding” might be generous.

He was slumped against the wall, his axe stuck in the ground, hands resting over the handle, forehead leaning on top—deep in snoring slumber.

There was something pitiful about his posture—so damn exhausted he’d passed out right there—but hey, if a bad guy’s exhausted, it just means he’s been busy doing bad shit.

Sleeping like that outside? One wrong move and you’d end up with a dislocated jaw.

So Qing helped him—by dislocating it.

A valuable lesson on how you might die if you fall asleep with no precautions out in the open. Hopefully that kept him from dying with regrets.

Qing quietly opened the bathhouse door, checked for additional people, then peeked past the dressing room, further in.

How many guests? Just one.

The bathhouse was way too nice for a bandit stronghold.

She checked the corner side door, and sure enough, half-burned logs were glowing in the fire pit.

Qing grabbed a stack of nearby firewood and shoved it all in, cranking the heat way up.

There. Now I’m ready for a bath.