Chapter 428: A Battle of Wits and Hearts (13)

Nandoi, one of the Killing Moon Sect’s juniors, had never been the type to enjoy fine dining.

What gourmet tastes could a man afford with the scraps they lived on?

If there was a bowl of plain rice—even just salted with a little seawater—he would think, Ah, I can eat today, and shovel it in gratefully. As long as he could kill the hunger, it was enough.

That was how he endured the miserable life of a junior—mocked and pushed around by the seniors—because at least there was still a meal on the table.

So he’d never thought of himself as gluttonous.

Even when meat dishes came out, he couldn’t stomach them well enough to know if they were good or not. He’d simply leave them for his brothers and load his bowl with unpopular vegetables instead.

Looking back now, he realized he had been an utter fool.

It wasn’t that he lacked an appetite.

He had simply never tasted anything truly delicious.

Human flesh.

It was so unbearably good that just the scent of it sent a shiver of pleasure down into his groin. The sort of food worth dying for mid-bite—so this was what they meant when they said to die for.

“Mmh. Not enough.”

Nandoi smacked his lips.

Even human flesh came in grades.

By instinct, he could tell that the higher the victim’s martial cultivation—the stronger their skill—the richer, deeper, and more intoxicating the flavor of their flesh and blood.

These commoners... he only ate them because he was hungry. Not that they weren’t tasty. They were tasty. They were definitely tasty.

Nandoi shoved his face into the gaping hole where the heart had been.

To anyone watching, it would look like he was trying to crawl inside the corpse and wear its skin.

He planted his jaw inside the empty chest cavity and sucked down the juices in greedy gulps—a flavor like rusted metal soaked by rain, so intoxicating it was almost holy.

Then his ears twitched.

He straightened suddenly, a thick artery dangling from his mouth, stretched taut as he bit down on it.

Chewing methodically, he sniffed the air.

That scent... the scent of a master.

A miraculous kind of meat—hundreds of times tastier than the finest commoner—already delicious, but somehow capable of being even more delicious.

He staggered to his feet.

What he’d been eating was good, but why settle for less when there was better to be had?

The same thought crossed the minds of his fellow juniors, who began to stir and rise.

They exchanged glances.

A master. A real master. Must taste incredible.

But too strong for any one of us.

Then the unspoken answer: Work together.

“I’m taking the heart.”

“Shut up. The heart’s mine.”

“First one to eat it gets it.”

“I want the brain. Softer.”

“Good. One less rival for the heart.”

And then—tatak!—they launched themselves all at once.

Screams rang out as the lesser prey scattered.

Picky eating was a luxury, but once the masters were eaten, the leftover commoners would be easy to catch—like worms that couldn’t fight back.

The five Blood Devils tore across the chaos-filled street toward their prize—

A young man radiating an irresistible aroma, and next to him a woman who smelled far less enticing but looked like a lewd courtesan.

And between them—

“Urk.”

They all froze.

What... what was that?

Hidden beneath the master’s scent was an overwhelming stench that punched straight into their lungs.

Like a heap of clams, oysters, and fish guts left to rot until they melted into slime—

The most intolerable stench a human could encounter: putrid decay.

Nandoi swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

What was this? That wasn’t the smell of the living.

It was flesh, blood, sinew, and muscle that should have rotted away long ago, still clinging to the frame in a mockery of life.

Through a Blood Devil’s senses, it was a vision that defied reason—a corpse rotted to the marrow, the very embodiment of death.

“Fuck this! The smell! I can’t—!”

Master’s meat or not, one more whiff and they’d vomit up every bite they’d eaten.

The Blood Devils turned as one and bolted.

****

They had charged in boldly—only to skid to a halt and flee.

Qing had drawn her Moonlight Sword No. 10 and taken her stance for the first time in a while.

If the people of Gwangju had been paying attention, they might have marveled that the Divine Lady could even wield a sword.

They thought she only fought with hammers or pork trotters.

But the monsters suddenly turned tail, scattering into side streets.

“What was that? Hwiyoung, take the right! Hui-mae, Rangrang, left!”

Qing dashed forward, calling out orders.

Hui-mae–Rangrang—had a nice ring to it. In any case, the less capable Hui-mae was best paired with self-proclaimed master Rangrang, while Yeom Hwiyoung was a Profound Realm master who could handle himself.

Pounding the ground, she soared after the fleeing flesh-eater—when a presence appeared at her side.

It was Rangrang, keeping pace with her using a strange, bouncing footwork.

“Eh? Rangrang, I said left. You should be helping poor weak Hui-mae.”

“Rangrang does not understand. The weakest among us is you, Heavenly Flower Sword.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Your delinquent foster son is a Profound Realm master, and your lewd sister is at least in the late Transcendent Realm. Thus, the delinquent is rank one, the courtesan is rank two, and you are only rank three. The weak should not waste time worrying about others, Heavenly Flower Sword.”

“What? Hui-mae’s late Transcendent Realm?”

“And approaching the wall of the Flower Realm, most likely.”

“...? No, you must be mistaken.”

Qing shook her head. Hui-mae stronger than her? Impossible. Ridiculous.

“Also, Heavenly Flower Sword, slow down. Why is someone so weak so fast? Rangrang is tiring. My plan was to save you from danger and earn a three-day feast in thanks, but at this rate it will fail.”

“Hmph. Keep up if you can.”

With a bang, black demonic energy burst beneath Qing’s feet, scattering spores into the air—the long-revered Heavenly Demon Conquest Step, in the flesh.

True lightness skill was not just raw speed but knowing the way—seeing the paths others couldn’t.

She sprang from tent poles to rooftops, kicked off walls, and leapt from building to building in full flight.

She flipped twice in the air, landing lightly on both feet, sword in one hand, and swung in a vertical slash that split the air—and her target—clean in two from shoulder to groin.

The Blood Devil collapsed in a heap, spilling its contents onto the street.

One survivor fell on its backside, scrambling backward.

“Stay back! Get away from me!”

If only telling them to leave made them leave, the world would be peaceful.

Qing smiled, considering how best to dismantle this one for maximum satisfaction.

Before she could act, something clamped onto her ankle—

“What the hell?!”

“...Brother... run...”

It was the half-body Blood Devil, clinging with its last arm and yanking itself up to bite her calf.

But Qing’s body was protected by her Guardian Qi—tempered through a certain very warm winter—making it impossible for mere teeth to pierce her flesh.

“What is this? A zombie? We have zombies in the Central Plains?”

The pressure on her leg felt almost like a massage—until—

“Blegh. Foot smell. Like rotten oysters...”

A vein throbbed in Qing’s forehead.

A master’s body didn’t stink—especially not one trained in Immortal Maiden Arts. It should carry a faint floral or fruity fragrance, never rot.

“You little half-dead bastard trying to slander me?”

“Uuugh, bleeegh—”

Too overcome to answer, the creature vomited up whatever guts it still had.

“Disgusting.” Qing yanked her foot free and drove her sword into the back of its neck.

It collapsed face-first into its own vomit... still twitching.

She decided she’d brine it in seawater later.

The last Blood Devil fled in panic—but kept looking back, perhaps grateful to the senior who had sacrificed himself, even if they’d never been close.

And then—

“Yap.”

With an almost dainty shout, Rangrang caught up, leapt, and double-kicked the creature square in the chest.

Qing, delighted by the bright, gallant form of her ally, readied her massive Moonlight Sword No. 10 like a club.

Four arcs of moonlight traced through the air—the Moon Maiden Sword Formula, Eighth Form: Moonlight Infinity. She used to manage only three; now she could reach six if she added killing intent.

The Blood Devil’s limbs flew cleanly away.

Qing grabbed it by the jaw, glanced around, and spotted a brazier in the winter market.

She seared both shoulder stumps on the coals, then dropped its legless rear into the fire—

The sort of brutal cauterization only the toughest men would ever attempt.

“Mmmph!”

“Quiet. This is medical treatment. Without stopping the bleeding, you won’t survive. Unfortunately, sir, you are now a eunuch. Your manhood is roasting nicely.”

“Mmmph!”

It thrashed desperately, but with no limbs, there wasn’t much it could do.

Once the bleeding was stopped, Qing began dragging it along the ground toward the rendezvous—only for Rangrang to step in front of her.

“Huh? What?”

“Is there a correlation between the gratuitously cruel neutralization methods you just used and certain signs of arousal you display, Heavenly Flower Sword?”

“...No. What? I saw it survive being cut in half, so I stopped the bleeding to take it alive. Binding each vessel individually would’ve been a waste of time and effort.”

“Why? Because it is a monster, not a human? So it’s fine to torment it for pleasure?”

Her words made Qing’s heart twinge—like she’d stepped down a stair without meaning to.

She glanced away, but Rangrang’s gaze was unyielding.

Qing tried to keep it simple.

“No. Not because it’s a monster. Even if it were human, I wouldn’t treat it much differently. It’s a bad guy.”

“Bad guy. Rangrang finds this [N O V E L I G H T] difficult. Humans are sometimes good, sometimes evil. Good and evil are not clearly separable. On what basis do you decide this monster is evil?”

“Well... if it’s eating innocent people, human or not, it’s bad. Do I really need to explain that?”

“This monster is a Blood Ghoul. It must eat human flesh to live. From its perspective, it is only acting to survive. Yet you still call it evil?”

“Attacking the innocent is a problem.”

“Then... a monster that only eats the guilty—would that be a good guy?”

Qing paused—

Then smiled faintly.

“If such a monster existed, I’d think it was admirable. If, in the end, it made the world a better place, then no matter what it was, it would deserve love. At least some points for effort.”