Chapter 551: Hanga Yoran (11)

Truly heaven-shaking and earth-rending—at that roar, a cry so terrible it seemed the wrath of the heavens itself, any human hearing it would lose their soul and fall to their knees.

But before Qing could even grasp the situation, a crushing weight pressed down upon her arms and legs.

“Arms!” “Legs!” “Hold her down!”

With oddly cheerful shouts, the Blood Fiends clamped onto Qing where she lay.

Would creatures who blocked blades with the thickest part of their forearms fear a mere roar? Of course not.

No, even here, the reason they pinned down her limbs was simply because the order commanded it.

Just as Qing struggled to shake them off and rise—

“Not yet! Stay where you are!”

At that command, Qing released the strength from her limbs again.

---!!!!

The air ripped apart in three successive shrieking detonations.

That sound... she’d heard it before. Cannons?

No, cannons weren’t that loud.

Earlier than that—far, far earlier.

Grenades? No, too modern. Ah—back then.

When she first met Jang Myeong. That...

What was it again, some kind of martial-arts bomb.

Her recollection faltered, sloppy at the end.

The answer: Jincheonroe.

The ancient thunder-bomb whose name meant “Heaven-Shaking Thunder.”

In the martial world, they called it Lightning Bomb, since being caught using Jincheonroe was high treason. “Jincheonroe? Oh no, this is just a Lightning Bomb.”

“Geomwu! Are you safe!?”

“Lady Seo Mun!”

The thunder still howled in her ears, leaving only piercing tinnitus—but the voices breaking through, those she recognized, welcomed.

Truth be told, the instant she heard the name Geomwu, all the other memories and voices flooded back at once.

First San, now Geomwu and Ye.

“Ah—you guys—”

Qing tried to leap up, but the Blood Fiends were already piled on her limbs again, pinning her flat and thrashing helpless.

“Hey—wait, let go, okay? Just a moment!”

“No!” “We can’t let go!”

“Come on, just—ah, damn it.”

Flat on her stomach with multiple fiends weighing her limbs, she couldn’t even leverage her joints. She wriggled, straining, but it was futile.

Then—her awakened art’s full-body perception caught several figures approaching.

The weight pressing her down slackened, losing its malice.

This was her chance—Qing bolted upright. Reinforcements pressed shoulder to shoulder at her sides and back, cutting down the Blood Fiends together.

“Geomwu, mm. You look like hell.”

“Lady Seo Mun, are you all right? That blood—blood everywhere! These wretches, these bastards, I’ll cut them to pieces—!”

“Ye, I’m fine. Calm down. It’s not my blood!”

“Seeing you jump up like that, guess it isn’t. Tch.”

Though glad for them, Qing couldn’t help but warn:

“Everyone—be careful. These are the Blood Cult’s monsters! They throw their lives away—no, with you here, it’s even more dangerous—”

“Sister! Catch!”

“Qing!” “My lady!”

Turning her head, she saw two muscular men, a short woman, and one tall woman.

All at once—whoosh! Something heavy spun through the air.

Ah! Qing reached out, beaming, and the massive weight slapped into her grasp mid-flight, halting in her hand.

That cold shaft, that overwhelming heft—

It had returned. Her Iron-Mace Crescent Sabre!

The weapon could well protest.

You abandoned me, bitch—what do you mean, returned?

Already the deep hum of its blade sang, sweeping clean through two Blood Fiends, and when she caught the lower haft and spun, the iron mace at its butt crushed another’s skull in one bite.

“Yes, this! Finally! At last! No—that’s not it, you all shouldn’t be here—”

“Who the hell are you!”

The furious shout cut her off.

The Blood Cult expert Chang Sanya, his robes full of holes and dust, his body blotched with bloodstains, face smeared with countless shallow wounds.

Yet Qing’s words weren’t cut short.

“—you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? Are we forbidden from coming?”

Peng Daesan hacked down fiends as he answered, voice low and seething with anger.

“No, I mean—how did you even—”

“Rode horses.”

“The Grand General gave us his warhorses.”

Qing gaped.

Wang Ssangryong! The Grand General betrayed her?

She thought him a wise commander—but this treachery!

A swift, precious warhorse in full gallop could outpace even masters of lightness skill.

Of course, it required level ground, and would soon foam at the mouth from exhaustion, but still.

“No, I wasn’t asking how—”

“You thought sneaking off would fool us? You who play as you please yet always cut ties clean—suddenly delaying by a day? Anyone could see through that.”

“Anyone...? I—I’m not even worthy of being called a friend—”

“No, not that! And Ye, stop using that trick—lengthening your sword cuts your lifespan!”

Peng Daesan’s sulky, earth-shaking bass radiated like a curse, leaving Kong Sonyeo as a collateral casualty.

“I asked the General to tighten night watch, just in case. Hmph. As expected.”

Qing reeled again. Wang Ssangryong—betrayed her twice!

In truth, after hearing Peng Daesan’s request, Wang Ssangryong had staged a twenty-three-layer midnight ambush defense. Even if Qing called herself a mere reserve new recruit, she needn’t be ashamed at being found out.

In her mind’s eye, she could almost see his sly grin in the dawn sky: Hehe, Your Highness.

“Geomwu! What are these abominations!? What the hell!?”

“Go for the heart and head! They ignore defense—be careful!”

“Ah! Of course! Then this is the perfect time to practice the essence of Royal Sword Form Dune! Haaap!”

“No—listen, these things are really dangerous! They’re Blood Cult monsters! I’m glad you came but—”

“Who the hell are you, I said!!”

“—you need to fall back—”

“Hmph. Not a chance.”

“She’s right. We can’t.”

“No, this isn’t the time to be stubborn—”

“Qing!”

“Oh, gods above.”

Her awakened perception swept wide, and she caught them—Nan-a, Lady Mo Yong, Ilriwa, and Jegal Yi.

Why had they all come? Did they not know this place was death itself?

She had left them behind deliberately—and now they all came charging in. Her chest felt ready to burst.

“Hey, Jegal! The wind!”

“Oh, this time of year in Hangzhou, north-east—”

“I know that! Does it shift or not?”

“At least not until winter solstice—”

“Eii!”

Pop! An almost cute sound, and smoke billowed forth.

The north wind blew it south, behind the estate—but still, there were fiends in the rear. And with their ironclad obedience, they would never think to hold their breath.

“Cough!” “Bitter!” “It burns!”

The fiends at the rear slowed, stiffened, collapsed one by one. Others surged to replace them, of course.

“Who the hell are you!”

“Guys? Don’t you hear me? Fall back, slowly—these are Blood Cult fiends, real monsters!”

“Anyone could tell by the sight of them.”

“No, what are you all doing? This is dangerous! You must fall back—”

“You admit it’s dangerous, yet—”

“Do you not hear me!?”

Suddenly—through Qing’s shoulder, a savage blast roared past.

From her left, a brilliant ice dragon uncoiled, slamming a fiend’s chest and shattering it to pieces.

But true to its reputation as “beautiful trash,” the fiend scrambled up again, shards of ice falling from its body, charging anew.

Namgung Sinjae, wielder of Ice-White Divine Palm, stepped forward, pushing aside his ally, settling naturally at Qing’s flank.

“This time—I’ll protect you.”

“Damn it, even Gunyaeng? Protect me?!”

“Lady Seo Mun.”

“You being safe is protecting me! How do you expect me to fight while worrying about you!?”

“If you keep talking that way—”

“Can’t you hear me, damn it!”

“Shut up!” “Shut your mouth!”

Chang Sanya’s lips opened and closed.

To be ignored like this, scolded by brash young brats—how dare they! Rage boiled up, his vision red.

“You insolent brats! I’ll kill you all!”

He lunged, slashing.

Crescent Sabre above, thin rapier below—steel clashed, sparks flying.

A flying blade whistled between Qing and Peng Daesan’s heads.

Chang Sanya flinched, retreating.

In that instant, Qing’s mind sparked.

Weren’t these fiends only targeting her limbs?

If she rushed in herself—wouldn’t all of them follow?

“Qing!” “Geomwu!”

Her allies shouted in alarm as she broke formation.

But the fiends’ eyes—every one fixed upon her, the blood-soaked peerless beauty.

Chang Sanya, too, realized his mistake.

He should have ordered them to kill the others. But fury blinded him, robbed him of thought.

“Om—huuup.”

“Shut it!”

Qing swung her sabre, cutting off the dark chant.

Qing wielding her Iron-Mace Crescent Sabre was an entirely different existence than Qing with just a common blade.

In destructive power, in reach.

Chanting required breath, spirit, focus. Qing’s cut forced him to abort, leaping back.

“Kill them! Kill them all!”

“Kill!” “Kill!”

The fiends repeated the words, but their eyes stayed fixed on Qing.

Her allies hacked them down—the fiends resisted reflexively, but halfheartedly.

Qing stomped down, crushing a fiend’s skull, vaulting farther, her blade drawing graceful arcs.

Moon Maiden Sword Art, Fifth Stance. Grass Sees the Flower.

The vision of the Moon Maiden.

Her expression pure, childlike still, despite her grown body.

Raised alone in the mountains, playing with monkeys, until she first stepped into the world—everything strange, wondrous, tripping at each step.

And though the world was frightening, she was happy—because a man walked at her side, showing her the way.

She followed him into the world. Through him, she learned herself.

Her hairless body—human, not ape. The heavy flesh on her chest—the mark of being a woman.

Alone, she was nothing.

Existence defined by another.

A flower unseen is just a weed.

The Moon Maiden laughed, pouted, giggled, ate, and the man sighed, smiled, shook his head, shared her meals.

Her hand brushed his. He startled. She seized his hand.

And when night fell, heat and breath and bodies tangled—

Wait—what?

Why was this sword-art vision suddenly rated 19+?

And why was she the subject? Ugh—what the—gross, gross! Chills!

Still—she grasped the essence of the form.

This was the beginning of martial arts itself.

The nameless monkey-girl became human, became woman, and in meeting others, her play with a sword became swordsmanship.

The Crescent Sabre bent in strange curves—not brute force, not childish play, but like flowing water, entangling, sticky, relentless.

“Om—!” clang clang!

“Om—!” clang clang!

“Om—!” clang clang clang! Kkak!

“You wretch! Can’t you hear me!?”

“Shut up!”

Qing pressed the attack.

This—could she actually win?

“You dare—”

“I said shut up!”

“Graaah! I’ll kill you!”

Crunch.

Huh?

Qing’s eyes flicked skyward.

The deep blue of dawn.

Faint cries, calling her name—Qing, Lady Seo Mun.

But why so desperate, so anguished?

Suddenly—her breath caught.

Her chest constricted. Lungs shriveled, refusing air. Heart pounding furiously, but blood carried no oxygen. Her whole body screamed in agony.

Cough! A torrent of bright red blood burst forth, scattering slowly into the pale dawn sky.

Qing realized.

Ah. I must have taken a serious hit.