Chapter 361: Be careful with flames when you wake up, let’s check even the extinguished ones again (4)

But right after, Yeon Pa let out an admiring grunt.

When the hell did she learn to use that?

A woman, of all things, skimming through a secret manual and instantly mastering it like some unrivaled genius of the world... Ah, well, she did pick up Rolling Waves Ghost Steps and use them right away, so what did you expect?

Seems she really is a genius of the world.

But the admiration was short-lived.

An Inspector charged up, shoulder to shoulder, aiming for the wagon wheels.

Yeon Pa’s eyes exploded with murderous intent.

How dare they! That’s the Royal Carriage His Highness entrusted with the Imperial Body!

A royal carriage referred to any vehicle carrying a royal personage.

Granted, this one was pathetically shabby, just a sturdy military freight cart—but once someone noble boards a thing, it becomes precious by nature.

Yeon Pa thrust out her Rapier.

It was paper-thin at the blade—barely the width of a finger—but long.

Looked like it might snap on impact, but once you combined it with the Wheel Demon Heretic, the blade, infused with Sword Aura, became a spinning saw of the world—a heavenly rotating saw of death.

The Inspector raised his sword, glowing with Sword Aura, but the spinning saw slipped under his armpit, tearing through his chest and heart—ending him instantly.

One might say it was pitiful for an elite martial artist to die so easily.

But who in the world had ever fought a runaway rickshaw mid-gallop?

In that sense, the Jinwi Guards were making martial arts history—but like most human innovations, the first attempts were always awkward.

Martial arts move in a straight line.

A technique follows the direction your body moves, that’s common sense—hardly needs explaining.

But a rickshaw?

Striking it from behind does nothing.

To break the wheels or attack the rickshaw runner, you first had to catch up, shoulder to shoulder, and strike from the side.

And the cart was careening down a steep slope.

Chasing half-assed wouldn’t cut it.

So even to land a strike, you had to sprint full-tilt, all-out Qinggong, before you could even swing a weapon.

“DIE!”

A guard shouted, attacking from Qing’s left.

Qing darted one step right, the sword aura slicing harmlessly through the ox harness instead.

Missed! If you miss, you get hit!

DENG! Her knee smashed into the man’s thigh with the force of a Buddha’s palm.

The guard’s leg bent unnaturally, and he landed headfirst, face scraping the dirt for three meters before his neck gave out and he crashed onto his back.

A second guard vaulted over him, charging at Qing again.

But Yeon Pa’s thin, spinning blade punctured the man’s shoulder, sending him sprawling in a wild, tumbling heap.

From the right came another shout.

A pigeon-helmeted guard clung to the wheel, sword glowing with Sword Aura.

He ignored the axe hammering his shoulder, raising his blade—

WHISH! The sword sliced empty air.

Trying to cut the left wheel from the right while running with Qinggong—the angle didn’t work.

What the hell? A peak-level fighter can’t even manage that?

Maybe the Jinwi Guards were all a little useless after all.

But the Free she was escorting was peak-level uselessness herself.

So no choice but to get her out safely.

Meanwhile, a few guards widened their distance, sprinting ahead of the wagon.

Far off, they suddenly stopped, turning to block the way.

Qing leapt onto the driver’s perch in one fluid motion.

The ox harness was a chest strap, and the ox's chest sits right behind its head, so naturally the strap was long enough.

The draft animal slipped its position, Qing standing squarely on the perch.

The wagon tipped forward.

THUNK! The cart’s undercarriage scraped the ground with a grating, cracking sound.

Qing gripped the Moonlight Sword, holding it vertical, one leg raised as she twisted her waist (ow), pulling back tightly, then explosively unwound her coiled body and swung with full force.

The attempt to block her path was admirable.

The result? A head flying clean over the bushes.

“DIEEE!”

Another one charged from the left.

Qing stomped hard.

The wagon's front lifted with the recoil, and the sharply severed left ox-harness rammed into the guard's belly.

“AAAAAAARGH!”

The impaled guard slammed into the driver’s perch, belly-first.

“Daring to hitch a ride without paying?! Death sentence!”

Qing passed judgment.

Harsh, maybe, for fare evasion.

But considering Her Highness the Imperial Princess Yeonsul was playing the role of a pack animal and someone had the gall to climb on—well, perfectly fair.

Qing grabbed the chest strap again, trying to tear it free, when her view suddenly opened wide.

The road below snaked down the hillside, the opposite mountainside visible.

A cliff—a real one, no less.

The straight downhill stretch so far had been weird; mountain roads were supposed to be winding.

And once the harness came off, there’d be no controlling the rickshaw.

“Shit, seriously...”

Qing leapt forward again to keep pulling.

“YOU BITCH!”

Apparently dissatisfied with the verdict, the rooster-crest man had caught up, roaring furiously.

Not just roaring.

THUD! THUD!! THUD!!!

Three booming stomps shaking the earth.

He launched through the air at terrifying speed, as if springing off invisible footholds, soaring straight forward.

His elbow cocked back to his waist, then shot forward, body like an arrow—a charging posture practically demanding an apology.

Flames burst into the shape of a burning dragon, curling around his arm and spiraling into his palm.

What the hell, that actually looks cool! That’s gotta be a Fire Dragon! It BETTER be a Fire Dragon!

But Qing carried the White Dragon sealed in her arm.

She gripped the Moonlight Sword left-handed, while from her right shoulder, shimmering ice crystals spiraled down, the Ice Demon Force forming a frost-eyed White Dragon coiled around her hand.

Qing didn’t back down, thrusting her palm forward.

Fire Dragon versus Frost Dragon.

A legendary, chest-swelling clash straight out of myth.

The rooster-crest man grit his teeth.

His eyes blazed with determination to end this in one blow.

Not that Qing could see, but still.

The moment they collided—

Qing kicked off the ground, whipping left, narrowly dodging.

Are you insane? You think I’m matching that head-on?

There were many enemies, but Qing had only one life.

Enemies were expendable background characters; Qing was not.

A truth she'd always kept in mind back home during her hobbies.

The rooster-crest man’s all-out strike cut nothing but air.

Qing had baited him, looking dramatic, only to slip away.

It could’ve been an epic, chest-swelling clash—but Qing’s chest was already epic enough, no need to swell further.

But having summoned the Frost Dragon anyway, Qing's palm slammed down.

She aimed for his back—but with his speed, it landed square on his ass—SMACK!!

A literal human fire arrow, no—a human engulfed in flame, no—a human fire-hander?

The rooster-crest man, properly walloped, crashed down, skidding along the ground, sliding straight under the wagon.

The twisting mountain road loomed ahead.

Qing flung her arms wide, feet slamming down as she dropped onto her back.

Thunk, her back hit the driver’s perch.

Grinding her teeth, Qing strained to slow the wagon.

The soles of her stolen fur boots burned red-hot.

Suddenly—WHAM—a wave of relief, and Qing screamed as blisters erupted.

MY FEET!

But pain that makes you scream isn’t true agony.

Real agony leaves you voiceless.

Human soles were tough, and Qing’s transcendent soles tougher still.

As the cart slowed, the guards rapidly closed the gap.

“THE WHEELS!”

Yeon Pa shouted.

Blades gleamed to either side of the axle.

Qing grit her teeth, bursting forward.

The wagon jolted, sparking as it bounced off the road—THUMP, THUMP, flames flaring up.

Another hairpin turn.

Qing's expression froze.

A terrifying, bow-shaped cliffside snaked down below—a deathtrap of winding hell.

Goddamn it, seriously...

Can’t lose it now, so just... turn.

Qing's face twisted as she gripped the intact left ox-harness.

They couldn’t handle more acceleration into a 180-degree spin.

Even Qing couldn’t brute-force that—the whole cart would be launched sky-high.

“GRAB THEM! KILL THEM!”

Angry shouts behind her.

Each pounding step slammed her shoeless feet down—the raw soles shredded, the tops of her feet slapped like whips with every stride.

Qing clenched her jaw, bracing for the first turn.

The wagon whipped around.

The chest strap yanked Qing forward, her body nearly prone as she grit her teeth.

CRACK, a rib cracked—agh.

Her vision rolled skyward.

The wagon barreled toward her, smashing her behind the knees, the sharp edge of the perch slamming into her spine.

“AAAGH!”

Her spine felt like it snapped in half.

Her eyes snapped back into focus.

Shit, I must’ve blacked out—hrrrgh—can’t breathe...

Screw the rickshaw, Qing slumped onto the driver’s perch, gasping for air.

GRRRRK, the wagon scraped along the ground, the front support groaning as it buckled under the weight.

It snapped clean off.

The wagon lurched.

Qing launched off the perch with the rebound.

Tears blurred her already unfocused eyes.

Ahead, she saw figures blocking the path—an ambush.

Rickshaws were meant to snake down gentle curves, but martial artists could leap the bends in a straight line.

Can I break through that?

If I can...

Could she survive another hairpin turn in this state?

Qing glanced left, down the cliff.

She roared:

“HOLD TIGHT! WE’RE FALLING!”

Qing veered off mid-slope.

You couldn’t descend bow-shaped curves forever.

So? Straight down, like a funeral offering.

The cart hit a near-vertical slope, more cliff than hill.

Qing yanked the chest strap free, vaulting atop the rickshaw.

Yeon Pa gawked in horror.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“It’s already too late! WHERE’S FREE?!”

“Here, HERE!”

Qing looped her arm through the rickshaw’s crossbar, yanking Yeon Pa and Free close, hugging them tight.

The cart rattled violently—the ride from hell.

Bone-rattling acceleration.

THUNK, slamming into the ground—and now—

Is this what zero-gravity feels like?

Qing’s body floated, caught on the crossbar.

Yeon Pa and Free too.

A hand fumbled back, grabbing a random soldier, dragging him between them as cushioning.

THUNK!!!

Ribs shattered like kindling under the impact.

“AAARGH!” “UGHK!” “KHHHK!”

Qing, Yeon Pa, and Free screamed.

No time to ask if they were okay—the cart lifted again, hurling into the air.

“AAAAAARGH...!”

One soldier was flung, his scream trailing behind.

BOOM, airborne again—BOOM, airborne again—BOOM.

Qing clung to the others, body crashing down each time, absorbing the double weight.

Thank the heavens for the human cushion—or they'd have all passed out by now.

Still, the pain skirted the edge of consciousness.

Qing grit her teeth—without transcendent teeth, they’d have shattered already.

And then—the cart soared one final time—

****

The guards gaped dumbfounded at the scene.

A bow-shaped cliff road meant terrain too steep for normal ascent.

And yet—this?

You didn’t run like that down a slope.

You crashed—plummeted—repeatedly crashed.

The guards froze, gawking at the once-in-a-lifetime flight of the runaway cart.

If the rooster-crest man were awake, he'd have barked orders instantly—but having smashed face-first into the ground at full speed, he was still seeing stars.

And soon enough, he'd discover his ass had swollen to lopsided proportions.

“That thing’s disgustingly sturdy...”

A guard muttered.

The others nodded.

Even the Jinwi Guards had to admit it—the Northern Army’s ironwood wagons were no joke.

The Supreme Commander, who always griped about wasting precious red sandalwood on wagons, should’ve seen this.

Turns out Ironwood, stronger than mediocre steel, made for excellent, long-lasting vehicles.

Down below, the disgustingly sturdy wagon finally disintegrated mid-flight.

Not shattered—cleanly separated into its parts.

Ironwood didn’t crack—it dismantled.

The pieces, along with the passengers, scattered into the air.

And then—splashing water plumes erupted.

A broad river swallowed the wreckage and its riders.

The Great Musu River.

Flowing north from the heart of the Southern Mountain Range.