Chapter 427: A Battle of Wits and Hearts (12)

The Blood Sect has long passed down secret methods for creating all manner of monsters—

Blood Jiangshi, Blood Ghouls, Blood Venomfiends, Blood Demonic Humans, and so on.

In truth, if you look at the results, they’re all more or less similar, sharing comparable traits, but they’re technically different species, with entirely different principles behind their creation.

If you were to ask, “Why go through so many methods to make creatures that are basically alike? Why put so much effort into manufacturing monsters? Do you just sit around all day eating and researching monsters?”—the answer would be:

Yes.

Monsters are powerful, easy to make, and can deliver unparalleled grief to the original social circle of the victim they’re made from.

And security is thorough—they can be fitted with all sorts of restrictions, or even have their sanity completely erased.

For the degenerates of the Blood Sect who live for nothing but watching the world burn, there’s no tool more effective—or discreet—than these monsters.

Thus, the history of the Blood Sect is, in essence, the history of monsters.

Among them, the Blood Devil is short for Blood Ghoul—a monster of endless gluttony, craving human hearts, blood, entrails, flesh, and more.

Of course, a monster that’s only gluttonous is impossible to control.

So one must repeatedly apply the Great Law to utterly subjugate its mind until it becomes a loyal hound that lives for nothing but its master’s single command: “Eat.”

People tend to imagine the moment of such a monster’s completion as something grand and terrifying—

Blood and viscera overflowing in wet splashes, ominous blood mist billowing upward, eerie bells jingling in the background...

Within it all, a wicked sorcerer rolling his eyes back and screaming like a lunatic, before suddenly bursting into maniacal laughter—“Rise, my children!”

The monsters lying prone would all fling open their eyelids at once, revealing beast-like eyes gleaming with unspeakably ominous malice...

But in reality, the birth of evil isn’t usually so theatrical.

“Blech, what the hell is this? Isn’t this spoiled?”

One of the Killing Moon Sect’s youngest disciples hurriedly spits out what was in his mouth.

“Hey, gross. Don’t whine about food—ugh. Chew.”

“See? Told you it’s gone bad.”

“What’s wrong with this? It’s salty, bitter, and sour.”

“Which bastard drank all the broth?”

“I want booze.”

“Me too.”

“Anyone got liquor? Damn it, why’s there never any on our table?”

“This one’s spoiled too—oh, yeah, definitely spoiled. Ugh, really spoiled.”

“That bastard’s still eating it.”

“Whoa, what the—this is delicious. You son of a bitch, trying to keep this all to yourself?”

“What is it? Raw liver? Nah, I can’t handle that fishy taste. ...Why does it look tasty, though? Hey, give me a bite. Oh.”

The juniors were all somewhere between late teens and early twenties—young men still a bit boyish.

Still, for fresh disciples of a sect, they were relatively old.

Naturally, like anyone their age, they made the dining hall noisy and full of chatter.

“I’m hungry. I’m thirsty.”

“Same. Feels like I’m dying.”

“A drink would be great right now. ...Aren’t they giving us any?”

“Don’t be stupid. The whole sect’s full of elders right now.”

“Never thought the Big Brother would die. If I’d known, maybe I should’ve gone to the Jin Family Manor instead.”

“Yeah, who could’ve seen this coming?”

“Quit saying dumb crap. You think you’d ever become a master in the Jin Family? Ten years? Twenty? Taiji Fist? Ha, Taiji Fist—my mom’s a Taiji master.”

“Still, at least the Jin Family won’t go under in twenty years. Aren’t we about to go under?”

“Back then, we thought the Jin Family would go under.”

They say the mouth is the root of all evil—birds hear words spoken in daylight, rats hear words spoken at night, the Murong clan hears anything about them, and the Killing Moon Sect’s juniors get overheard by passing seniors.

“You little shits! Is there a feast going on!? You celebrating something!?”

“Ah... Kalchi-hyung.”

“Everyone, heads down! Josam, you little bastard, get over here.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“You—(smack)—you’re the so-called First Brother—(smack)—and instead of keeping these brats’ mouths shut—(smack)—huh? Unbelievable. What? (smack) ‘We’re doomed’!?”

Senior Kalchi swaggered over and repeatedly slapped Josam’s cheeks, sharp and loud.

Harsh? Maybe—but running your mouth about the sect’s downfall can easily earn that.

Besides, the Killing Moon Sect’s juniors tended to get beaten down hard anyway—supposedly to make sure that, since they grew strong fast on elixirs, they wouldn’t get cocky and one day devour their seniors.

Usually, of course, such beatings caused the later retaliation—but in the Demonic Factions, any excuse would do. Most just wanted to bully someone, to crush others under their superiority.

Even with his cheeks stinging, ears ringing, and body swaying, Lee Josam was seething.

And it wasn’t just from the slaps.

They’d gone hungry and thirsty all last night, unable to sleep.

Yet here was this so-called senior, surrounded by mouthwatering smells, eating his fill right in front of them, acting all high and mighty.

Their table was covered in spoiled food—while the seniors were feasting?

How the hell was that right?

You don’t mess with people’s meals.

Food preferences are tied to childhood memories—or traumas—and can be nearly impossible to overcome.

Mess with someone’s eating, and it cuts deep.

So when Josam threw his punch, it was really only a matter of time before some senior got it.

Kalchi, being the one, might feel wronged—other seniors had said worse.

But he had no right to feel wronged about Josam having chopsticks in his hand.

You don’t bother someone mid-meal; harass a junior while he’s eating, and getting stabbed with chopsticks is fair game.

“Hah—hyung! I’m sor—”

“Gaaah! You—you little...!”

“I didn’t mean—”

Kalchi clutched his shoulder and collapsed.

A pair of chopsticks might seem harmless, but buried deep in the shoulder, they dealt agony like a heated iron spike.

As Kalchi shook and gasped, barely catching his breath—

He suddenly felt something was... off.

What the hell? Why are they so quiet?

He slowly lifted his head—

And saw all the juniors staring at him in silence.

Then—gulp—the sound of a swallow rang out.

One swallow is quiet, but when everyone swallows at once, it’s loud.

“You—you lot... I told you to bow your heads—”

Blood had been spilled in front of starving Blood Devils.

The moment that iron-rich scent hit their nostrils, the juniors instinctively knew how to end this terrible thirst and hunger.

And in the Demonic Path, the greatest virtue is to kill and eat your seniors to climb higher.

Everything they’d seen and heard until now was finally blooming into reality.

“Hyung... sorry, but... could I just have one bite? Just one?”

“What? Aaaagh!”

Kalchi screamed—

Josam had suddenly lunged and sunk his teeth into his forearm.

Kalchi struck him desperately, again and again, hitting and shoving him away.

Josam rolled across the floor, but his mouth had already torn out a chunk of flesh—blood gushing in time with Kalchi’s heartbeat.

“You—you bastard! You’ve lost your—”

Kalchi’s words cut off—

The juniors had all leapt at him at once.

****

Flitting here and there, calling her “Mother” without restraint despite having no right to the name “Hong,” Yeom Hwiyoung appeared once again, like a ghost.

“Hm? And what’s this? Where’d you pick this one up? You keep dripping that warm, sloppy motherly affection everywhere, and these half-baked strays just start following you. And since you’re too soft-hearted to throw them away, they pile up. But really—can’t you at least get rid of the filthy ones?”

“And who exactly is this soft-hearted person dripping motherly affection? Pretty sure it’s not me.”

Hwiyoung just looked at Qing.

Beside him, Gyeon Pohee nodded vigorously in agreement.

Qing frowned.

What? Who could possibly be colder, more ruthless, and more detached a hero of the martial world than me?

“Heavenly Flower Sword, what is this rude human?”

Having just been labeled “this thing,” Rangrang protested in her usual flat tone.

Qing paused, considering how to introduce her.

“Oh, she’s... uh. My foster son.”

“My. Astonishing. Rangrang is aghast. The Heavenly Flower Sword has such a grown, delinquent, and rakish son.”

“But he’s a good son too, isn’t he, Mother?”

“Hm. Opinions may vary, but by common emotional standards—given the current state—perhaps so.”

Hwiyoung’s nose tilted skyward with pride.

Hui-mae clapped enthusiastically—what she was congratulating was anyone’s guess.

And there it was—another Merit gain.

What the hell is he doing out there to keep racking up Merit?

And what’s he sneaking around doing at night?

Surely that shameless hussy isn’t calling me “Mother” while toting around a grandchild.

Well... if they’re happy, I guess it’s fine.

Actually, maybe that’d be ideal. I could marry him off for good.

“The Heavenly Flower Sword’s family history is fascinating, but setting that aside—this is a profoundly disrespectful human who does not respect Rangrang.”

“The only value you have to me is staying by my Mother’s side. If you want to play cute, I won’t stop you. But if not—”

Hwiyoung’s gaze turned icy.

Rangrang clenched her fists, taking a martial stance—

“Is that a challenge, arrogant human? Do you wish to taste Rangrang’s stone fists—hm. As a civilized person, Rangrang hopes to resolve this through dialogue.”

Then, seeing the clearly formed blade-shaped manifestation of internal energy, she instantly backed down.

“Dialogue? About what?”

“If one is a Profound Realm master, one has every right to be arrogant. Rangrang will gladly accept the Heavenly Flower Sword’s foster son’s arrogance. That is all.”

“That’s better.”

Hwiyoung smiled savagely.

Qing nodded in approval.

Yep—realm is everything.

I want to hit Profound Realm too, make my qi form a glittering little sword.

“Well, I’m a bit uneasy about keeping it near you, Mother, but it doesn’t seem dangerous. Anyway—Mother, I saw something interesting.”

“Interesting? A cooking contest? Grand opening? Some kind of coupon giveaway? Where? Food’s always best right after a place opens.”

“Not food-related.”

“What? In Gwangju, what’s interesting besides food?”

“Rangrang agrees. Life’s pleasures are eating, and lying down doing nothing. The greatest pleasure is eating while lying down doing nothing.”

Indeed, the Guangdong region is famous for having little to offer besides gourmet food.

“Hm. I’m starting to see why you keep this one around. Anyway—there were some strange guys. Probably Blood Devils or Blood Demonic Humans? Jiangshi? No... not Jiangshi. Either way, bad news.”

“Blood Devils? Blood Demonic Humans?”

Seeing Qing’s expression, Hwiyoung elaborated.

“Ah, Mother, your heart’s soft and so’s your head. Basically—monsters from the Blood Sect that live by eating people.”

“Eh? The Blood Sect?”

“If the Golden Pavilion had them, other places might too. You already wiped out Gwangju Zen Hall, so they’re gone there. The Killing Moon Sect might be hiding some too.”

“Hm. Blood Sect.”

The Blood Sect—the one everyone, orthodox and unorthodox alike, despises. The ultimate public enemies of the martial world.

Qing had crossed paths with them once in Kaifeng, and they weren’t just scum—they were scum with perverse fetishes.

Oh right, that wine jar—I’d almost forgotten. Been a while since I had some fun work.

The heat and bite of the poison spread warmly through Qing’s body, and she suppressed a satisfied sigh before quickly making up her mind.

“Do you have proof? I should tell the Jin Family Head.”

“This is supposedly the elixir they were eating. Some Demonic Faction bastards sent it over, but I’m certain the Blood Sect’s involved.”

Hwiyoung placed a single pill in Qing’s palm.

It was blood-red and reeked of iron—definitely not normal.

“Hm. Then I’ll tell the Jin Family Head and—”

At that moment—

—All personnel, battle stations! This is not a drill! Report your positions within one gak!

—Battle stations! This is not a drill!

—Battle stations! This is not a drill!

Urgent voices rang out from outside, shouting the alarm.