Chapter 461: A Sad Legend, What Kind of Legend Is It? (11)

Qing’s judgment was that no matter how strong the First Elder was, even at Flower Realm, if he faced her Master together with her, he would not stand a chance.

Still, she had to make it certain.

What if he got cut or torn?

Healing would take ages.

And the whole time, it would hurt like hell.

This was not pseudo-West, but pseudo-China.

If it had been pseudo-West, she could’ve taken less care of her body.

One swig of healing water or a single sacred prayer would detox, disinfect, extract foreign objects, reset bones, reconnect nerves, suture and even regenerate naturally in one go.

But in this pseudo-China where people glittered and flew around—why was there no such thing?

So Western medicine really was better than Eastern medicine?

That was why she had to make it certain.

So Qing kneaded together grain powder mixed with Blood Sand Poison, thinking all the while.

But—how to make him swallow it?

Even holding the young master hostage, he wouldn’t just gulp it down.

If she called it Blood Poison, it might feel less repulsive than saying it was lethal poison—but he was the Evil Path bastard who treasured this young master most in the world.

The kind who would feel a thorn in his own finger hurt more than ten thousand lives lost.

Maybe smash him hard in the solar plexus, pop his mouth open, and shove it in.

Or rile him up till he shouted, then toss it in right then?

But—huh?

What a galling thing.

If he knew someone was precious to him, didn’t he think someone else could be precious to another?

Yet, at the same time, what joy.

Could it be that even Evil Path bastards had someone more precious than their lives?

Then if she killed that person—

Wouldn’t that hurt him more than death?

Was the child of a villain innocent?

No, not innocent.

If their father and mother had lived in comfort and nobility from the wealth and power gained through evil deeds, then of course they must pay the price.

To inherit wealth and power as their natural right, but refuse to inherit guilt?

If they were slowly dismembered right in front of him, would that make him reflect, even a little, on his evil?

Qing’s expression turned dire.

To the Tyrant Force Sect’s Il Cheonseung, the First Elder, it looked exactly like the evil grin a witch of the Blood Sect would wear.

And that dreadful witch lunged.

Clang—qi clashed against qi.

At that moment, the First Elder realized that the Blood Sect witch had not yet reached Flower Realm.

But realization didn’t swell his confidence as before.

This wasn’t one-on-one. It was two-on-one.

And he was already redirecting his internal energy just to seal and expel the poison.

A shadow rose behind Qing.

Cheon Yuhak’s dagger streaked in dazzling arcs—complex, roundabout, yet flowing curves.

The Elder’s eyes flared with fire!

The poison he had barely suppressed surged again.

But what did poison matter, if his body was cut apart?

The flow reversed.

Cheon Yuhak’s dagger pressed harder and harder, while the Elder could only parry the blade-qi in a rush, stumbling back step after step.

Cheon Yuhak, before he knew it, smiled.

“Walking backwards? Are you man or monster?”

Truthfully, Cheon Yuhak was also one of the sharpest tongues in the world.

The Elder’s face darkened.

“Well dodged. A warrior retreating backwards? Aren’t you ashamed? Did your age go backwards too?”

“Y-you... you dare...”

“I don’t follow. If it were me, I’d sooner bite my tongue and die than retreat so disgracefully. In my life, I have never once retreated backwards before an enemy.”

This, from the very man who had flailed, rolled, and sprawled all over the ground in unspeakable disgrace moments ago.

Cheon Yuhak himself—whose crawling couldn’t even be excused by calling it Naryeotagon.

The Elder’s blood pressure spiked.

Which only meant—the poison spread faster with his rage.

“You... you dare—!”

“What’s the joy of disciples? When old, you live just to see one. My disciple charged in to save her Master. Where’s yours? Did he abandon you and run for his own life?”

Not a single word failed to fan his temper.

“I’ll kill you!!!”

The Elder’s eyes roared with fire!!!

But Cheon Yuhak was calm.

He had mastered Awakening Divine Arts.

And his spatial perception—feeling the currents of air on his skin—had widened steadily through countless experiences.

So even without looking, he knew his disciple had his back.

But then—what now?

“Young master! Don’t! Betrayal, you say!?”

Qing’s voice rang out.

At the same time, a pillar of flesh swung down at the Elder.

The Elder reflexively raised his sabre—then recoiled in shock.

Because Qing was clutching both arms of the young master and swinging him.

The man’s foot smacked the Elder’s cheek.

“Aaaagh!!”

The young master shrieked his lungs out.

After all, kicking the Guardian Qi of a Flower Realm master—who hurt more needed no explanation.

Of course, with his pelvis fractured to pieces, the foot itself wasn’t really the problem.

“You, you, you...!”

The Elder was struck dumb.

Cheon Yuhak lowered his gaze.

No matter how much he doted on his disciple—come on, girl.

This was beyond disgrace. How could he ever show his face again?

“Young master! That steely will to strike down evil! I am truly moved!”

The young master’s foot spun in another arc, targeting the Elder.

The Elder hopped back in a panic.

“Stop! Stop it!”

“Young master! He says stop! What was that?”

“Uwaaaaah!!!”

“Oh? If that is the young master’s will—then pardon me!”

Qing swung the young master overhead.

Even holding up a grown man, she leapt high with ease, then hurled him straight down with overwhelming force.

Not aimed at anyone in particular.

No one was beneath him.

But that was the problem.

The Elder dashed frantically to the impact point.

He barely caught the young master with his own body.

A truly tear-jerking devotion!

Qing’s face twisted.

Devotion was all well and good—but their outfits...

A pantsless old man and a naked young master rolling around locked in each other’s arms?

And then, suddenly—

“Huh?”

If the young master and the Elder had been fully clothed—

This scene would have been a tearless tribute to loyal devotion.

But with too much bare flesh, it was no devotion but sheer indecency, unbearable to watch.

Why?

Just one thin layer of clothing missing—yet the difference was that great.

The act of saving one’s lord’s son, one’s sect successor, at the cost of one’s life was the same.

Yet because two half-naked men were entangled, it provoked disgust.

Because it depended on the heart of the one watching?

Because people judge with the eyes, and so their hearts change?

That was why people wore clothes.

Because seeing bare, indecent bodies made one recoil—and seeing beautiful, elegant ones stirred lust and clouded the heart.

Qing suddenly lost herself, staring dazed at the fiery devotion between master and disciple (after all, the Elder and his first disciple were master and disciple).

Cheon Yuhak thought, what’s with this girl now?

Maybe to a disciple ignorant of the context, that sight was too shocking. He was about to snap her back to her senses—

When—what? Suddenly? Here?

Qing blankly raised her sword.

Her eyes were those of someone beholding something strange and new.

Why was it that when she looked at people, they passed by her gaze without weight, yet when she looked at someone with a sword, she instinctively studied their eyes, checked if their expression was sinister, sought hidden malice?

A sword in its sheath, a sword in hand, a sword aimed at her—what was the difference?

The essence was the same blade.

Because the mind holding it was different.

Ah. That was it. The premise had been wrong.

Qing looked again at the Elder and the young master.

It wasn’t that the viewer’s heart had changed.

Rolling around without clothes?

Of course it was because the ones rolling were lewd at heart, to be stripping bare.

And the one watching could sense that heart, and thus their own heart tilted that way.

The hearts of others created phenomena, and by that people understood what they saw.

Then if her heart created the phenomenon, others would see and understand her heart.

The sword-bearer was human—but because the heart behind the sword was vicious, others recoiled.

The sword in a man’s hand was a sword—but not sheathed, it was gripped, meant to harm.

The man with a sword was human.

The sword in his hand was a sword.

Then the man with a sword could also become a sword.

In that instant—

Cheon Yuhak’s sight lost Qing.

What he saw was only one blade.

A human-shaped sword.

A chilling, ominous, sky-blue blade that looked to cut everything down with pure killing intent.

“Ah. So this is it.”

Qing, once more human, nodded.

Why had she nearly drowned when she recklessly tried Cheonbyeon Manhwa during her so-called transcendence toward Absolute Top-tier?

Now she understood.

Because the sight the Grandmaster of Wuchuan had shown was too beautiful.

The twig a child picked up looked like a peerless sword when it was in the child’s eyes, for with it in their hand, they felt they could do anything.

So when she imitated the most beautiful sight she had seen, the mimicry had been convincing enough.

Wow. Just how strong was that old Grandmaster of Wuchuan?

A sword was made to cut people.

Erase the person from the man with the sword, and what remained was only the vicious blade—pure killing intent itself.

And the higher she climbed, the more she felt, with aching bones, the Grandmaster’s realm.

Cheonbyeon Manhwa had been so beautiful.

Why?

Because that sword was not a tool to cut people.

How?

Because the Grandmaster was a genius who twisted even essence itself, profaning reality itself.

Anyway—well, wouldn’t she reach it herself one day?

But now there was something more important.

Not to bask in realization’s afterglow—but to brag!

I did it!

“Master! Look! Unity of Man and Sword!”

She lifted her sword with effort.

“Uh... why isn’t it working? It worked a moment ago.”

“Because I’m your Master, of course.”

Could she erase the person and leave only killing intent toward her own Master?

Impossible.

Besides, she was a disciple overflowing with affection.

Though frankly, Qing was rowdy, impudent, and her manners often ran away like a delinquent.

Yet Cheon Yuhak spoiled her, doted on her like a daughter.

Why? Because he knew her heart.

And because raising such a disciple was its own joy.

She could never bear killing intent at her Master—so no matter how she strained with the sword, it wouldn’t work.

“But it did work earlier. Hm.”

She writhed, pulling faces and swinging the sword.

Like a puppy needing to poop, fidgeting all over.

“Well... commendable, but...”

Cheon Yuhak’s expression was sour.

It was astonishing! Commendable even!

But what had she gained insight from?

All she had done was commit atrocities unworthy even of the greatest Demon Lords—swinging hostages around as weapons.

She hadn’t even swung her own sword!

Why suddenly Unity of Man and Sword?

If it had been Unity of Man and Man—no, that sounded obscene, like something a sex fiend would say.

At this point, Qing was practically a living formation of intelligence-degradation, an epidemic that dragged down the IQ of everyone around her.

Not even wielding her sword, just watching two men half-naked rolling around—that’s where she found enlightenment?

Then Cheon Yuhak jolted.

What was he doing, wasting time like this before the enemy!

Amazingly, he had shaken off the living IQ-plague by himself.

He turned his head—and there was the First Elder, sitting cross-legged, concentrating on expelling the poison.

He would die if he failed, so brazenly exposing an opening was actually a clever move.

Qing turned her head too—and veins bulged on her brow.