Chapter 388: Let’s Have Some Real Fun (4)

Qing’s Moonlight Sword (No. 10)—a vicious thing, monstrous enough that anyone would classify it as a weapon of war.

As she picked up speed, stomping across the earth with a gait rough enough to crush the ground, the tip of her sword led the charge like a steel chariot drawn by eight warhorses.

“Guh-!”

The Moonlight Sword plunged easily into his gut.

Three feet and three inches of blade pierced the unorthodox bastard’s abdomen and burrowed deep in an instant.

The sword stopped only when it hit the guard, halting the unorthodox martial artist mid-motion.

Crack! His forehead slammed into Qing’s own—smooth and luminous as a full moon.

“S-spare—!”

But Qing’s charge didn’t stop.

Shlck. Shlck.

After impaling three burly men in a row, even her reckless sprint began to noticeably slow.

Still, no—not yet—one more. I can do one more.

“HYAAAH!”

Qing let out a yell, both hands shooting forward.

Three men, six legs, rose straight into the air—and thwack!

“Kill her! Kill that bitch!”

“My Lady!”

A sword isn’t meant to exit the same way it entered.

But even for Qing, it was no easy feat to pull out a blade that had skewered four unorthodox fighters in a straight line—up, down, left, or right.

Because people, when stabbed in the gut, instinctively clamp down with their hands, desperately refusing to let go.

One of them raised his broadsword high with a shout.

Qing immediately released the hilt and dropped into a crouch.

Whack! Like splitting firewood, the fourth bastard’s head cleaved in half atop the skewer.

Collateral damage!

“Uhh, h-heugh!”

The attacker, having just slaughtered one of his own in confusion, let out a strangled groan as a sudden impact hit his solar plexus.

Qing’s head had slammed right into it.

Still pushing forward like a charging bull, Qing threw her arms up in a triumphant cheer.

The unorthodox martial artist {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} was launched into the air, crashing into his allies in a tangle of limbs.

Then—tap, tap, tap—three swift steps.

Left foot slammed the earth, right foot kicked high.

Her ankle, knee, and hip rotated in unison, multiplying force with every joint, culminating in a strike three times the strength of her arms.

A clean, vicious kick.

The top of Qing’s foot smashed into the fallen man’s nape.

His head detached from his spine and blasted forward like a cannonball, striking another bastard square in the face.

“This house’s defense is top-tier!”

Qing barked a laugh, lifting her knee and driving it down vertically.

She stomped just above the unorthodox martial artist’s elbow.

His forearm rebounded from the force, tendons pulling tight—his fingers snapped open, and the straight sword he held flipped up into the air.

Qing twisted her waist and snatched it midair.

A straight sword—like an oversized kitchen knife stretched in all directions.

It could stab with its pointed tip, but its weight was centered near the hilt, limiting its destructive power.

Of course, if you were strong enough, destructive power was never the issue.

“You’re back, huh? Hell-Slicing Demon Goat Blade!”

If the sword had a soul, it might’ve answered, Huh? Me?—but sadly, weapons have no will.

The cheap sword, now reborn as the Hell-Slicing Demon Goat Blade, bit into the enemy’s shoulder and tore through to the opposite flank.

The brutality of her swing made even the unorthodox bastards flinch.

You’re backing off? Then I’ll come to you.

Qing shoved off the ground with all her strength.

Her blue martial robe flared, trailing a long afterimage—and from the tail of that streak, her toes rose sharply and smashed into a man’s chin.

A flawless imitation of Nayangyeol’s signature kicking form.

She had seen it once and already mimicked it beautifully.

The man was lifted five feet into the air.

His neck folded beneath the vertical kick, skull nearly touching his back.

Instant death.

Her left leg and right leg aligned, her upper foot soared higher than her head—and with a pivot step, Bang!, Qing’s figure vanished on the spot.

The ground cratered beneath her—she launched skyward.

A full ten feet into the air, her left arm pulled down.

Qing twisted midair like a dolphin breaching the surface, and in that moment, her left palm pushed forward gently.

Doooonnnnggg...!

A deep, resonating bell toll vibrated through her body.

Massive inner energy surged outward.

A group of unorthodox martial artists vanished without a trace.

Three men’s worth of shattered bone and flesh filled the print of a divine palm left behind on the ground.

As if a giant hand had slapped a fly.

A booming gong echoed across the battlefield, drawing all eyes to the sky.

“It’s the Heavenly Flower Sword! The Heavenly Flower Sword is here!”

Soaring through the air with the rebound of the Tathāgata Palm, Qing descended with the elegant form of Moon Maiden’s Floating Step.

Straight into the heart of the enemy ranks.

Gate Master Kang Suyang snapped out of his stupor.

She’d said she would lead some unknown warriors from the Royal Household to strike from the rear—she never said she’d leap headlong into enemy lines.

So why...?

Because the louder the chaos in the rear, the more disarray in the front.

Even though there was no need to draw attention with the Tathāgata Palm, she had openly exposed herself.

She had willingly placed her life on the scales.

A wave of heat surged in Kang Suyang’s chest.

“The Heavenly Flower Sword is there! The greatest of the orthodox late-generation elites is surrounded by the enemy! Are our seniors just going to watch?!”

At his cry, the disciples of Rooster Forest and Jangsan roared and charged in response.

It also meant the front-line Flame Defense fighters and Black Bear Battalion had begun to falter and retreat.

Qing herself was simply having the time of her life.

Which is why she suddenly realized—Ah, shit.

The air currents told her she was surrounded on all sides.

No matter how ultra-absolute-peerless-divine she was, even top-tier fighters couldn’t always solo their way through peak-level bloodbaths.

But—

The enemies were still disoriented by the sight of her dropping from the sky.

Qing drew on the chill of her Ice Technique.

A dragon’s head burst from her shoulder, curling around her left arm toward her hand with a sharp, crystalline rattle.

The moment the translucent ice dragon reached its target, so did Qing’s palm.

Her hand slammed into a bastard’s chest—

All his ribs broke with a crack, his heart burst, and the skin of his chest met the skin of his back in an impossible collision.

Such was the ferocious might of the Ice Demon God Palm.

Who knew where “ice arts” came into such violent destruction?

Frost bloomed across the corpse in an instant—maybe Ice Demon Force was just a technique for rapidly chilling corpses.

Opening!

Excuse me. I’ll just be going.

The unorthodox bastards had no wits left to throw their pink hidden weapons.

Qing seized the opening and kicked off the ground.

First step: onto an enemy’s shoulder.

Second: onto his head.

Third: BOOM!—the most vicious movement of Demonic Sovereign Stepping Technique.

The unorthodox man’s skull exploded in every direction.

Qing shot through the air like a loosed arrow.

****

Meanwhile, Gyeon No cried out in anguish.

“My Lady! You mustn’t—!”

Before he could stop her, Qing had already pierced through the enemy ranks and vanished into the sky, soaring deep into enemy territory.

“Damn it! Changye! Gakdak!”

“On it!”

The two dropped into perfect sync, each kneeling on one leg.

Gyeon No spun like a swallow, landing atop their outstretched palms with an agility ill-suited to his age.

The two peak-level masters hurled the old man forward with all their strength.

A human catapult—a manapult, if you will.

Gyeon No shot through the air at a vicious angle.

“My Laaaaady!”

A desperate cry, like a grandfather searching for his lost granddaughter, trailed behind him.

And in that moment—he found her.

Midair, Qing, having launched herself for a quick exit after her assault, locked eyes with him.

In that suspended instant, time slowed.

Their eyes conversed silently.

‘My lady? What are you doing here? Where are you going?’

‘Huh? Gyeon No? What are you doing? That’s enemy territory, you know?’

“My Laaaaady!”

Same words—completely different emotions—faded quickly behind her.

Tap. Qing landed back in the rear, only to see Changye and Gakdak staring at her in disbelief.

Wait... so when Gyeon No flies off, Qing comes back?

What kind of sorcery is this?

She snorted.

“Seriously, Grandpa Gyeon, even if you’re a Huajing-level master, you can’t just go flying off like that. How excited were you, just soaring off like that? What’re you all doing? Go get him!”

****

Once you’ve mounted a galloping horse, you can’t just get off whenever you like.

Prince Su Si had already handed over his son—and a large army—so there was no turning back.

He had to ride this all the way.

So he’d decided to take his younger brother’s advice: use the martial artists.

Even without advice, the shock of seeing Prince Deokhyeon charging in with a mob of elite warriors had taught him something.

Faraway troops can’t stop nearby martial artists.

But orthodox sects...?

They're all just sword-wielding thugs anyway. Why bother distinguishing orthodox from unorthodox?

Thus, Prince Su Si summoned his officials and asked them everything they knew about Guangxi Province’s martial factions.

You might think a prince should already know what even some porter on the street does about the martial world.

But in truth, high-ranking officials, martial artists, and commoners all know very little about one another.

For example, non-martial folks believe that disciples of orthodox Daoist sects sit under waterfalls in lotus position, performing some profound spiritual cultivation every day.

In reality, those same disciples travel in rowdy packs, pull dumb pranks, and perk up at the slightest hint of a dirty story.

People born into martial clans or noble scholar families have no clue how commoners live.

Why do they walk around in stinking oil-stained rags? Don’t they own clothes? Why don’t they wash?

Why do they eat weird clumped-up grain off the street and call that a meal? No grain? Then eat meat, right?

They don’t even understand how commoners make money, so they assume they just eat dirt like wild animals.

And non-officials think government workers do absolutely nothing.

That they just sit in chairs collecting bribes and occasionally fondle courtesans at some brothel.

Which—granted—isn’t entirely wrong.

So the evaluations went as follows:

“The orthodox sects are stiff-necked beasts too arrogant to bow. They won’t even lower their heads before state officials.”

“They even obstruct government affairs.”

“They have the gall to execute people, judging the law in place of the state—utterly lawless.”

“They dare to steal state tax revenue—what villains.”

Public opinion on the orthodox sects? Not great.

And the unorthodox ones?

“They may be unorthodox, but at least they understand loyalty.”

“They greet officials respectfully, even barefoot, and cooperate with government matters.”

“Some even collect taxes on behalf of the local offices—makes our jobs easier. Fine folks, really.”

Surprisingly, unorthodox sects got glowing reviews.

So Prince Su Si thought:

Then shouldn’t we just use the unorthodox ones?

They’re obedient, loyal, and if they’ve helped run government affairs before, they’re basically junior bureaucrats already.

Ironically, the one who saved him from that trap was the puppet governor of Guangxi Province.

“Use orthodox martial artists, Your Highness.”

“Why?”

“Unorthodox sects bribe officials, of course they get favorable evaluations. But nothing comes without a price. Those bribes hide filth. You needn’t soil your hands with tainted swords.”

The puppet governor’s rare burst of sincerity—after offloading his responsibilities onto the prince and coasting on his title for so long.

Of course, that easy life came with a cost—he was branded a traitor in the end.

So his words now carried the weight of bitter truth.

“You’re right. As the sages say, good medicine tastes bitter and loyal ministers speak sharp truths. I'm lucky to have at least one such man by my side.”

“I am forever grateful for Your Grace’s favor.”

The governor bowed low.

Of course, this wasn’t loyalty—it was a perfect moment to secure his name as a loyal subject of the Royal Household even if he got purged as a traitor.

“Come to think of it, isn’t Namnyeong all stirred up these days? Some turf war between martial artists, I heard. I wasn’t paying attention—but if we offer them a favor now, might they return it later as loyalty?”

“I shall summon the Inspector-General and the Vice Commander of the Guards.”