Chapter 462: A Sad Legend, What Kind of Legend Is It? (12)

Elder Il’s gamble was nothing less than Geongon Ilcheok.

Geongon Ilcheok means staking Heaven and Earth (geongon) on a single throw of the dice (ilcheok), a life-or-death gamble on one match.

That Blood Sect bitch, lost in enlightenment right before his eyes, was infuriating.

How could Heaven allow such a thing to a vicious witch of the Blood Sect? It made one sigh in lament.

But at the same time—wasn’t this a chance given by Heaven?

If Qing had known, she would have laughed in disbelief.

Did he think Heaven looked down and favored one side over another, whether her or the Blood Sect?

If anything, the heretics should be grateful to the Blood Sect.

If the Blood Sect weren’t such absolute bastards, then the Evil Path wouldn’t be judged as the “lesser evil,” seen as “at least a little better by comparison.”

Like the mustached man of the Western Regions, who walked away carrying all the sins of his people—handing a free indulgence to genocidal butchers.

Of course, the Westerners had their rebuttal.

How could you equate the massacre of fair-skinned “humans” with the hunting of animals whose very skin color proved them beasts?

Anyway.

Elder Il didn’t intend to purge the poison completely.

He only meant to treat himself enough to endure, then escape with his Young Master in tow.

But the venom was monstrously virulent. If he looked away even for a moment, the malignant toxin spread like a snake coiling around his entire body.

So he had to suppress the poison to one side, and first carry the Young Master to safety.

Only, Qing’s “enlightenment” didn’t last long.

What the hell is this?

Are you mocking me?

In the middle of a fight, you sit down like that—what are you playing at?

Qing flowed in silently—yet already, she was a budding new martial artist. She seeped in soundlessly like running water.

And so she dropped the core warhead of fury—a majestic knuckle-rap—onto Elder Il’s crown.

Crack!

“Keuhhck!”

Elder Il spewed blood.

While he was carefully controlling his energy, a colossal shock surged in, splitting pain through his skull as if it were cracking open!

Had Elder Il been a proper Flower Realm master, he might have endured.

But a demonic human was, by nature, one swayed by their own internal energy.

In that instant his qi and blood reversed flow, shredding his master’s blood vessels from within.

“Kuuhhh... guhuk...”

The Geongon Ilcheok gamble was a total failure.

The dice had rolled a “one”—absolute loss.

Blood spurted from his mouth, from his nose, even from his eyes in scarlet tears.

It was Qing who was taken aback.

All I did was hit him once?

At this rate, his meridians will all rupture and he’ll just die.

So Qing hurriedly kicked him.

She had properly learned the method of sealing a dantian without destroying the body.

If you can learn the hard way, the easy way comes for free.

He was already helpless, trapped in deviation.

Shattering a dantian so the body wouldn’t rupture from rampaging energy—that much she could now do even with her foot.

Qing’s toes sank deep into Elder Il’s lower abdomen.

Her foot was buried up to the ball.

A hole blew open in Elder Il’s dantian.

The rampaging energy that had been ripping apart its master’s body began to vent through the wound.

A rough method, yes. The aftermath meant he’d never be a martial artist again.

But it was a way to save someone dying from deviation, here and now.

As the energy bled away, Elder Il’s aura rapidly waned.

Then the Blood Venom, blocked until now, writhed free—“Finally! Freedom! Time to destroy humans!”—and surged through his body.

“Keuhhh, kuhhhk—”

Blood vessels burst all across Elder Il’s body.

On aged skin, pitch-black veins bulged grotesquely.

His skin blackened, dying before the eye, then instantly welled with coagulated blood.

Sasaui’s masterpiece revealed its true nature.

It destroyed the entire vascular system!

Blood poured from every orifice, down to the pores themselves!

Only then did Qing smile in satisfaction.

Phew, the old bastard almost got to die easy.

If deviation reached the head, he’d just roll his eyes back and go painlessly.

But just then—

“Unni! Unni!”

Jin Jangmyeong came running, panicked, calling for Qing.

****

“Die!”

“Ghhhuuk—kuhhuhhhk!”

“Heh... heheheh...!”

When Qing returned, dragging the Young Master by the hair, a feast of blood was already underway.

Strange women were hacking apart the Tyrant Force Sect warriors.

Qing tossed the Young Master aside and hurriedly covered Jangmyeong’s eyes.

“Tsk. Rated adults-only, little one.”

“I’m twenty.”

Jangmyeong struggled, gripping Qing’s hand, but how could she, with her slight frame, overcome the brute strength of the strongest muscle-bound freak in the world?

“Jangmyeong should only see good things.”

That made Jangmyeong falter.

She stood in silence for a while, then asked:

“You’re not stopping them?”

“Eh? Me? Why?”

Why stop women whose lives had just been trampled, now taking their revenge?

“But still...”

“Revenge is for the living. Doing that is the only way those women can go on living. Right? But... where’s Lady Nyeonyong?”

At that, Jangmyeong pointed with a snap.

In the midst of the women, blades flashing, was Murong Juhee.

Her clothes were ragged, her movements blending in naturally.

“She said it. If anyone wanted revenge, they could take it. So that’s why they’re like this.”

“Lady Nyeonyong did? Oho.”

“Ah! My Lady!”

Murong Juhee spotted Qing, kicked aside a Tyrant Force Sect thug, and came trotting over.

“Uh, um, My Lady?”

Her eyes fidgeted nervously, gauging Qing’s reaction.

Qing glanced at the Tyrant Force Sect warriors—what was left of them were slabs of meat rather than men.

As expected. They didn’t know the expert’s touch: keep them alive longer, so they can suffer more.

“Ah. I heard. Since we’re at it, let’s add him too. He’s their leader.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The Young Master deserved more suffering.

But the living came first.

To untie the hearts of the living had to take precedence; inflicting more pain would just be her own indulgence.

Murong Juhee visibly sighed in relief.

She had thought Qing might have said to leave them alive instead of killing them, and it had weighed on her.

Murong Juhee took the Young Master by the hair, received from Qing, and dragged him into the blood-soaked theater of revenge.

She didn’t need to say anything.

At the sight of his face, one woman shrieked—half sob, half scream—spitting curses like “enemy,” “bastard,” “kill him!” as she lunged.

****

By dusk, the Tyrant Force Sect warriors returned from another fruitless day.

They dragged their weary bodies back to their den.

All day they had combed the mountain—stomachs hungry, bodies sweaty and sticky.

So they only thought of hurrying back to eat, splash water from the well, and drag the women from the storeroom to loosen themselves.

A thankless day deserved at least that much reward.

The first squad usually returned earliest, led by Oh Cheonseung.

Their captain was a Heavenly Venerate, no less than an Elder.

If they came back early, there was no one to scold them for shirking.

But Elder Oh’s face was far from pleasant as he descended the mountain.

“What’s this? Why isn’t there any smoke rising? Those bastards—don’t tell me they forgot to cook again? Tch.”

The ones who clung to the Young Master and Elder Il, not even climbing the mountain—if they at least cooked on time, that would be something.

But parasites like them rarely stayed content with their lot. Usually, they sprawled around, not even doing the little tasks left to them.

Dinner had already been delayed more than once for that reason.

Elder Oh gnashed his teeth, deciding to put the bastards under brutal discipline today.

Of course, those destined for that harsh drill were already dead.

In a way, they’d escaped the foul temper and ruthless hands of Elder Oh.

So, in a twisted sense, those dead Tyrant Force Sect warriors should thank Qing. Except—

How could Elder Oh have known?

He stormed down ready to break heads.

But what did he find?

“Open the gate!”

No response. Only silence.

Elder Oh’s face twisted.

“Those bastards—what, now they don’t even stand watch? Just because the Young Master spoils you—”

He vaulted the wall and stomped into the village in a rage.

The rest of the squad still lingered outside.

Ah. So Heavenly Venerate himself had to open the gate.

“What are you doing? Open it!”

The First-Rank warrior glared.

The Second-Rank warrior passed the glare on down.

“Y-yes, sir.”

The Third-Rank warrior, half resentful, half miserable, clambered up the wall.

A First-Rank could have hopped it in a step, but of course they made their juniors do it.

It wasn’t about efficiency—it was about authority.

Why should a big brother disgrace himself by opening the gate for little brothers?

Qing would have clicked her tongue: How the hell is it “disgraceful” to open the door for your juniors? If you won’t even do that, what makes you a big brother at all?

Two Third-Ranks hoisted one up, and the poor bastard wheezed his way over the wall.

He undid the bolt from inside, finally creaking the gate open—only to be greeted with:

“Took you all night just to open one damn door? Pathetic fools. Tsk.”

Well, if they hated it, they should have become First-Ranks themselves.

The squad filed into the base late. But... it was strangely quiet.

By now, Elder Oh’s booming roar—“What are you maggots doing!”—should have shaken the compound.

Instead, they saw bloodstains, pooling across the ground.

A chill ran up their spines.

Elder Oh was brutal, yes, but he didn’t spill blood until the earth drank its fill.

And then—

There he was, standing frozen.

Why just stand there like an idiot? But then they too saw what he saw.

Bodies hung from the trees.

Not one corpse had all its limbs intact.

If a body was only missing arms and legs, that was merciful.

Not a scrap of intact skin remained.

The weaker-stomached Tyrant Force Sect warriors doubled over, vomiting.

Who could have done such horror?

There was no mystery.

On the wall, painted in blood, were the great characters:

“Blood Sect Reigns Under Heaven.”

The damp air seemed heavy with iron, the stench of blood choking them.

And the Tyrant Force Sect warriors could only stand in hollow shock, staring.

****

And what to do with the women rescued?

It wasn’t enough to simply dump them in Jimo, saying, “It will be hard, but please endure.”

If the Tyrant Force Sect scum started searching for the missing women, then what?

Already furious from losing their successor, what cruelties would they not unleash?

Yet Qing couldn’t just abandon the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art and stay to tend to them.

Her answer: give them to someone else.

If she sent them even just as far as Henan, there was the Taecheong Trading Company.

Best to leave them with the old man.

So Qing wrote several letters.

But—could the horse-cart men of the trade guilds be trusted?

Qing didn’t trust their morality.

But she trusted the power of gold.

She promised: if they arrived without harm, they would be rewarded with dozens of gold bars.

She couldn’t silence all the women’s mouths anyway, so best to see them delivered well.

Safe arrival at Taecheong Trading would mean far greater profit for the coachmen too.