Chapter 434: Journey to Taewon (5)

The higher a martial artist’s realm, the heavier their backside should become.

It means their seat should be so weighted that they don’t go wandering around all the time.

Menial work is for the second-rate.

Errands can be handled by the first-rate.

By the time one reaches the Absolute Realm, they should wait until at least one out of ten underlings has died before finally appearing to “set the weight” of their presence.

It’s not as if top-tier masters show up late to every crisis just because they’re lazy—

But when it comes to the Profound Realm?

If a Profound Realm master moves carelessly, disaster follows.

Because once one Profound Realm expert takes action, others of the same level have to respond.

And then, as is the way of the martial world’s old grudges, the Profound Realm masters get tangled together, one after another, all pouring out into the open.

The ways of the martial world are much like those of children—

They put on airs and pretend to be refined, but in the end, it always comes down to a brawl.

The problem is, when Profound Realm masters brawl, it doesn’t end like a bunch of seven-year-old snot-noses getting black eyes until their mothers show up, making them kneel with hands raised.

When the Profound Realm fights, it’s an act of nature’s destruction—

the place ends up like it’s been bombarded with firebombs, everything laid to waste.

If it’s an empty field, the owner might just shed blood-tears over their ruined harvest.

But if it happens in the middle of a city?

In Qing’s homeland, they call it mutual assured destruction—

when the Profound Realm gathers, the afterparty is held in the underworld.

A grand farewell from the living world attended by tens of thousands—no, exaggerating only slightly, hundreds of thousands.

That’s why someone like Bu Anpyeong, the Heaven-Suppressing Army and current Supreme Lord of the Demonic Path, even if his nature is so light that he practically floats in defiance of gravity, still has to act as if he’s dignified.

A man with a heavy backside who never seems to leave his seat.

And because of that, the weight of a single move from him was incomparable.

Even so, Bu Anpyeong had personally set out to protest the Blood Sect massacre in Gwangju.

It was a declaration that the Demonic Union would by no means sit by and watch.

For Bu Anpyeong himself, it was also an opportunity to grab hold of any pretext to seize Gwangju once and for all.

He couldn’t erase the Jin Family, but at the very least, he intended to seal their gates for five years or drive them out to some other city.

And so Bu Anpyeong thought—

Damn it. Shouldn’t have come.

Even as a Profound Realm master, life wasn’t turning out so easy.

“Blood Sect my ass, this is... this is complete bullshit.”

“That’s why I told you we should wait for the investigation results first.”

“How was I supposed to know it’d be the Blood Sect? I figured the Gwangju lot had just teamed up with some snake-oil peddlers for a bit of showboating.”

Once he actually arrived, there was no need to investigate—

the word on the street was so loud and clear that the truth didn’t even need confirming.

Still, since he was there, the strategists did make some inquiries.

The Killing Moon Sect had created one of the Blood Sect’s cursed monsters, using the evil elixirs supplied by the Demonic Union.

Gwangju Zen Hall and the Golden Pavilion had already fallen before that, but they too had publicly boasted all over town about receiving elixirs from the Demonic Union.

Lucky for them they were destroyed early—otherwise, there could have been Blood Devils running rampant in three places.

“Uh... Lord of the Union?”

The Sect Master of the Tyrant Force Sect was trembling.

Even at its most generous evaluation, Tyrant Force was a third-rate sect—

and yet here he was hosting the Supreme Lord of the Demonic Union in person.

Naturally, his voice shook all the more because this wasn’t good news.

“What is it? Why?”

“The... the Jin Family Head has sent word again, asking when he might be able to see you...”

Bu Anpyeong’s expression soured instantly.

This wasn’t the picture he’d envisioned.

He’d planned to array the Demonic Union’s masters like a grand folding screen, then have the Jin Family Head kneel while demanding justice for the Blood Sect massacre.

Instead, the righteous sect bastards were all eager to see him, urging, “Don’t you have something to say?”

“Tell him the Lord of the Union has gone home.”

“...Sir?”

“Tell him I went home.”

Bu Anpyeong spat on the ground.

“Chief Strategist, pack up. We’re going home.”

In the end—what else could he do?

He’d marched out in high spirits, only to waste his time holed up in some petty Gwangju heretic sect, and now he was slinking back with nothing done.

No loss of face was more galling than this.

But what could he accomplish by staying?

Once the Supreme Lord of the Demonic Union took personal action, it became the Union’s official stance.

If he apologized, it would be an admission of fault by the Demonic Union.

Between organizations, acknowledging fault meant ceding a share of power and profit—

something he could not allow.

If he lashed out in indignation—accusing them of harming an innocent Demonic Union master—

the whole world would whisper that the Demonic Union and the Blood Sect were in league.

So the only option was to return quietly and issue an official statement.

Our Demonic Union has no connection whatsoever to the Gwangju Blood Sect incident.

This is nothing but a vile Blood Sect ploy to sow division between righteous and demonic forces under the stolen name of the Demonic Union.

You’re not the only victims—we are victims too.

But since we’ll be withdrawing from Gwangju, why don’t we leave it at that?

“Those Blood Sect bastards—just when I thought they might be of some use, picking off only the righteous sects, they turn out to be useless after all. Need to tear them all apart.”

“Let’s see the bright side, my Lord. Thanks to you, the righteous sects no longer suspect the Demonic Union. That’s entirely due to your leadership.”

“Bah.”

After all, the Supreme Lord of the Demonic Union had personally gone to protest the Blood Sect massacre in Gwangju—

and then left without even showing a hair on his head.

That alone was proof he hadn’t known the Blood Sect was involved.

It had battered his prestige, but it had proved his innocence perfectly.

Still, Bu Anpyeong was seething inside.

Prove innocence, my ass.

The ones thrilled by the Blood Sect’s involvement were the righteous sects—

but the ones who’d actually suffered damage were the Demonic Union.

And there was another infuriating woman.

“Hah. Chief Strategist—are we just going to leave that Heavenly Flower Sword brat alone?”

“At this point, there’s no real justification. If only you hadn’t gone to Gwangju...”

“Why not! Do you know how little that girl thinks of the Demonic Union? Ever since Namnyeong she’s been playing some justice-upholding hero. As if she’s anything but a killer with a sword! Without the Blood Sect, she’d be just another butcher.”

“But isn’t the Blood Sect exactly the problem here? What would you say? That she mercilessly attacked innocent, upstanding Demonic Union members, deceived into creating a monster?”

“What about Namnyeong?”

“And what would you claim there? That she annihilated an innocent Demonic Union battle unit that was merely attempting to wipe out the Rooster Forest Sword Sect? Besides, Namnyeong was the royal household’s business, not hers.”

“I know that! Do you think I don’t? Can’t you just sit here and agree with me for once? It’s infuriating! Everything that brat does reeks of arrogance just because she’s strong!”

Young masters acting on impulse and killing villains is common enough—

but the harm they cause is usually limited.

Young masters are fundamentally weak.

There are exceptions, like those in the Absolute Realm, but such youths are from prestigious families, raised from birth with the knowledge that they represent their sect and clan.

Those heirs may be considered masters among the young, but they don’t just start hacking people apart in some fit of moral fervor.

So the only ones wildly swinging swords at “bad guys” are the true fledglings.

And the dangerous fledglings are precisely the ones who don’t swing thoughtlessly.

But this?

The Heavenly Flower Sword was a top-tier master.

She wielded Guardian Qi.

And she swung her sword freely, declaring that all villains must die?

Gwangju Zen Hall was just such a case.

Angered that they had killed a few commoners, the Heavenly Flower Sword stormed in and slaughtered them all.

Honestly, where in the heretical factions are there no commoner killings?

Commoners are like beasts—you have to kill a few as an example before they listen.

So if they left the Heavenly Flower Sword alone, just how far would she go in her killing spree?

Should they really allow a woman who burns every heretical sect she visits to keep going—

especially when she gains the people’s favor through this so-called righteous slaughter?

It was time for the Union to act.

But then the Blood Sect had gotten smeared all over the matter.

“Just give it time. Do you think someone who’s been rampaging around like that will suddenly calm down? Even if she’s been lucky so far, eventually she’s bound to cause a major incident.”

“I’m just impatient, damn it! She needs to cause trouble before the Martial World Tournament so we can declare her an enemy of the Demonic Path! If we wait until after, it’ll look pathetic!”

“Mm.”

Even Chief Strategist {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} Sunung had no particular solution.

Still, as they say, the answer is often closer than you think.

“My Lord! That Heavenly Flower Sword, she—she...!”

During afternoon audience, a young man threw himself to the ground, wailing.

His name: Wang Daeyang, third son of Wang Cheolgun, Chief of the Green Forest.

Bu Anpyeong and Sunung exchanged glances.

“She’s already caused trouble, hasn’t she?”

“Looks like it.”

****

Seo Mun Surin was troubled.

Eradicating the Green Forest is no small feat.

Of course, storming in alone, beheading the Chief, and burning their main stronghold is no ordinary task—

whether done through genuine might or by some trickery, it was enough to shock the entire world.

But what Seo Mun Surin considered “no small feat” had nothing to do with whether her disciple’s target was formidable or if the feat was possible.

Looked at simply, wasn’t it just the defeat of a bandit gang?

If it had been some shabby little mountain den in the hills, it would’ve been praised as a straightforward act of chivalry.

But because the “hills” were Mount Tianzi, and the “shabby den” was their primary fortress, was she to scold her for recklessness?

Was there some rule that small thieves could be cut down but great thieves must be spared?

“Mm.”

Seo Mun Surin slid the paper she’d been writing aside.

This was not a matter of righteousness—it was a matter of vendetta.

Beheading the Chief and burning the main stronghold?

Now, if anyone wanted to unite the remaining bandit forces and claim the Green Forest name, or if they already had, their first act would be to take revenge on her disciple.

If they couldn’t, they would simply wait until Qing died of old age.

Conversely, anyone who killed Qing could easily absorb the Green Forest.

And the Green Forest was a tempting prize to many.

On top of that, what Qing had done while lingering in Yangguang was also problematic.

She had crushed a heretical faction’s combat unit?

Stormed into another sect’s domain and swung her blade around?

Even so, Seo Mun Surin didn’t want to scold her disciple for being too rash.

What was she supposed to say?

“Do good deeds, but pick your targets”?

“No matter how evil they are, spare some thought for the Demonic Union’s face”?

Otherwise, you’ll be in danger?

Protect your own life before you act chivalrous?

Seo Mun Surin had no wish to utter such cowardly words.

She had never once lived her own life according to that kind of craven logic.

Do you know why a mad dog is called a mad dog?

Because it bites indiscriminately.

And so Seo Mun Surin’s worries deepened.

If she let her disciple wander the martial world, Qing’s straight, unbending sense of righteousness—righteousness—would cause more incidents.

With only her top-tier skill, how could she possibly bear the weight of all the grudges she was creating in this treacherous world?

Now that things had reached this point, her disciple’s current realm felt frustratingly lacking.

She had been satisfied when Qing became the youngest to reach the top tier, but human greed is a strange thing.

Yet the Flower Realm was not something that could be attained in a day or two.

And she didn’t want to bar her disciple, who had only just begun to grapple with the meaning of righteousness, from walking the martial world.

So what to do?

For now, she’d have to steer her somewhere safe.

And as it happened, their next destination fit perfectly.

Moreover, someone like Scholar Sigang, a towering figure in the Confucian world, might be able to offer her disciple valuable guidance on her current struggles.