Chapter 552: Hanga Yoran (12)

Qing was knocked sprawling, the back of her head crack! against the ground.

Her torso, still driven by inertia, tried to surge forward, so that with her head pressed to the earth she looked as though standing on her head, legs flung high.

At the peak, strength failed, and her body folded like a sickle—knees struck earth, leaving her hunched forward on forehead and forearms.

“Arms! Arms!” “Legs! Legs!” “I’ll take the legs!” “No! You get the arms!”

Even with Jincheonroe exploding, the Blood Fiends didn’t flinch. Why would they care that Qing had dropped to her knees and lay collapsed?

Suddenly—a sword-qi as long as a man’s height cleaved down from above, sweeping left.

Gongson Yoye’s Xuanyuan Sword.

The stroke scattered four Fiends in pieces, and as Gongson Yoye staggered from the recoil, the others rushed in to shield Qing.

“Hey! I told you not to use that! Damn it—ahhh, it hurts... You’re burning up your lifespan! Why do you keep using it?”

“Ah! Lady Seo Mun! You’re safe—”

But turning back with a bright face, Gongson Yoye froze mid-sentence. His expression twisted, words cut short.

Because Qing’s state was too horrific to behold.

A diagonal gash, from left shoulder down past hip, ending in right thigh.

Exposed, glistening crimson tissue—severed fibers already dangling loose.

“Lady... Seo Mun?”

“Eh? Did I get hurt that bad? It doesn’t hurt much—sshhk—it hurts, yeah, but it’s fine. I can bear it.”

Gongson Yoye’s pupils shuddered.

Those words—any warrior’s deathbed lines.

I’m not that hurt. It doesn’t hurt much. I can bear it. Don’t worry, I won’t die.

“Qing-ah!”

A piercing scream, Dang Nan-a’s voice, sharp as shattered steel.

Her ears were ringing, yet that cry jammed itself straight into Qing’s brain.

She winced involuntarily—not from the pain, but because Nan-a’s face was ready to spill tears, and Qing felt guilty for making her look so.

So she forced her grimace into a smile.

“Oh, Nan-a? I’m okaaa—pft.”

Suddenly, something shoved deep into her mouth—Nan-a’s fingers, ramming something down. Qing reflexively swallowed.

At once, a fragrant herbal tang spread across her tongue, soothing the metallic churn in her gut, easing the nausea in a single slide downward.

“Oh! What the—this is good stuff! My head’s clearing—wait, this isn’t expensive, right?”

“You—I can’t with you—you—doing this—I swear—you—the medicine—it’s Hemostatic Powder! Hemostatic Powder!”

Nan-a frantically patted herself down.

Hidden weapons and bamboo tubes clattered loose, some round—poison bombs? Could she just toss those around?

For the famed expert of the Tang family’s hidden-storage arts to scatter her entire pack just to find medicine—it showed how panicked she truly was.

“I’m fine.”

“Fine!? Look at yourself—”

“I’m fine. For now. Later.”

Qing gently pushed Nan-a back, still clutching her Crescent Sabre in one hand as she strode forward.

Nan-a reached out, then froze. This was not the time to pull Qing back—or to tell her the truth about her wound.

A flash before death.

The saying: just before sunset, the sun blazes brightest.

In East and West alike, they call it hui guang fan zhao—the last flare before death. A man suddenly grows stronger, wiser, hurling himself into a final strike.

Or, in her homeland’s terms, some brain secretion numbs pain and clarity sharpens.

Perhaps it was the Hundred-and-Eight Asura Swords’ influence.

Or the Thousand-Kill Cry or Corpse-Blood Poisoner’s Art.

Who knew?

But the truth: the pain was oddly bearable.

The world, faint, thinned, like air grown too light.

Still—she had things to do.

These brats. She’d left them behind deliberately, yet they wouldn’t understand her heart.

Why step into danger?

Why leap without looking? Do they not value their own lives?

She was proud of them, grateful—but still.

They were weak... too damn weak.

So there was no choice.

The Supreme Transcendent, Transcending Supreme Transcendent Qing the Peerless, had to rise.

If nothing else, as president of the Half-Sword-Double-Blade Society, she bore responsibility for her members’ lives.

And then—thud—a broad back blocked her path.

“Iriya.”

“No.”

Not no, but not allowed.

A new form of refusal.

The Fiends swarmed, but Binglong coiled around, ice blades flashing in the air.

To Qing, unimpressive. Binglong was a pretty piece of trash, and her swordsmanship clumsy.

“Iriya? Step aside, will you?”

“No.”

Wherever Qing slipped, Seol Iri ghosted into place, back barring her way.

Already, without Mo Yong at her side covering gaps, Iriya would have died three times in as many breaths.

Mo Yong really was remarkable.

Though Iriya had never trained with the Half-Sword-Double-Blade Society, Mo Yong shielded her, covered her weaknesses, tended her like a frail bamboo doll.

Not long ago, Iriya had only clung to others’ chests and sobbed—and now she was protecting comrades? Maturing?

Once her chest caught up with the rest, she’d be a perfect woman.

Qing slid sideways like water.

Iriya, frantic to block her again, parried a Fiend’s claws with a clang! and bit her lip until it bled.

Then—donggg! A great bronze-bell sound.

Jegal Ihyeon, grappling hand-to-hand, tore blood from a Fiend’s elbow.

His muscles swelled to twice their size, seizing both of the monster’s arms, twisting until crack—then slamming it to the ground, twitching.

“Thank you! Big Sister!”

All right then. She’d honor him for three lifetimes.

Did she think that aloud or just inside? Hard to tell, hazy as she was.

Qing stomped down—thud! The shock made blood spray like rain.

Ahead, Peng Daesan and Namgung Sinjae barely held against Chang Sanya, forced back step after step, lives hanging by a thread.

Two Supremes, yet failing to hold a single peak Profound?

How could she leave them like that?

Moon Maiden Sword Art, Sixth Stance. Defeat the Ten Swords of Qi.

Qi’s tyrants oppressed Yue.

Ten swordsmen, the greatest of Qi, cut down Yue folk for sport, harassed women in the streets.

Fury drove a man to lift his blade—yet the Moon Maiden stopped him, stepped forward in his stead.

Clang! Two swords, one Crescent Sabre, and a thin rapier—all entwined, Chang Sanya’s qi nullified. One step, two steps forward.

The Moon Maiden advanced, facing ten at once—

“Enough. Can’t you stay out of the way? You’re hindering the fight.”

That cold voice pierced Qing’s vision.

“What? I’m helping here—”

“Right, Geomwu. No matter if you are Geomwu, men and women should be separate. Fighting shoulder to shoulder, our rhythm is ruined. You’re just a nuisance. Leave.”

“What—? What nonsense—”

“Enough. Burdensome. Go. Now.”

Veins bulged on Qing’s brow. Blood trickled. Her hand snapped out.

Clang! Her iron mace slammed against Chang Sanya’s sword-blade.

The twisted qi lashed earth instead, splitting it open half a zhang deep.

Namgung Sinjae seized the moment, twin swords scattering azure sword-qi, forcing Chang Sanya back step after step.

Qing moved to aid—but dizziness hit, staggering her.

She grabbed for balance—solid, unyielding, hard as stone.

She blinked up—Peng Daesan’s face, right there.

Hmph. Hard as rock, but what use?

She was stronger. He was just inflated balloon-muscle. Not jealous. Not at all.

“I told you. Burdensome. Leave. Now.”

The low growl broke her stray thoughts—and stoked her fury.

“What? San, you almost died just now! How can I relax seeing this? Are we planning funerals? Already setting death dates?”

“I die, not you. Don’t bother yourself.”

“What? You can’t say that! What if you die, what about me—”

“And if you die—what about me?”

“Huh?”

Qing froze.

Because Peng Daesan’s voice wasn’t mere gruffness—it burned with raw fury, deep and scalding.

Not the childish bass of a sulky man—but a voice so hot it dropped heavy in her chest.

“You always do this. Throw us aside, solve everything alone. And now? Look at you. Like a walking corpse. Stop worrying about us and look at yourself—”

Her eyes welled.

“How can I not worry!? You’re weak! If you were at least peak Profound, you could fly and dodge—but you can’t even handle one old man! If anyone dies, I can’t—I won’t watch—I won’t!”

His eyes flared blue—fury, but inward too, streaked with self-reproach.

“And yet you left us behind? Slipped into the jaws of death alone? Did you ever think how it felt—for those asleep beside you when they woke to find you gone?”

“That—I—”

“Laughing with us one night, then gone the next. Hearing from another’s lips that you’d been lost. You think they’d just sigh and drink it off?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“And if you died? Convenient for you. You’d smile stupidly, dying with our faces in your mind. But us? Left behind, refused even the chance to help, called useless baggage—”

Qing’s chest dropped hollow.

That wasn’t what she meant.

It was just—they were fragile. Unlike her, immune to infection, poison, wielding supreme strength and techniques. Unlike her, they couldn’t escape.

But she couldn’t form the words.

Because in the end—it was the same. She had thought of them as weaker, lesser.

“You say you can’t watch us die? Of course not. No one wants to. Not me either! I’d rather die than see you dead. Better to go with you than live hollow!”

Her breath stopped.

Because he was right. Too right—it was like a punch to the gut.

“So go. Stop dragging yourself here, bleeding, thinking one stroke will change anything. Go take the Tang’s medicine, heal—or just leave. You’re strong enough to flee. If you’re gone, at least we can stall, maybe escape.”

Suddenly, a memory flashed.

When she and Jang Myeong ran from two Supremes, terrified.

She had yelled then, holding him in front—Don’t look down on Jang Myeong!

That he wasn’t some shield, some pet to be protected.

And now? Wasn’t she doing the same to her friends?

Calling them weak. Treating them like burdens.

If they hadn’t been kind, they’d have beaten her down and cut ties long ago.

Her face burned with shame.

“Just a little.”

“What?”

“Protect the president of the Half-Sword-Double-Blade Society! One breath—no, two! Just two breaths, and this president will handle the rest!”

She shouted, and from all sides came strong replies—Yes! Yes, Big Sister! Qing-ah! Lady Seo Mun!

She met Peng Daesan’s eyes.

“Listen up. If anyone dies—no, even crippled—I’ll never forgive it. I’ll nurse you for life, I’ll smother you, I’ll become your curse. You hear me? Don’t you dare.”

“One shichen—can you last?”

Peng Daesan grinned.

Damn him—barely first step of Supreme, but with that face—so unfair.

Her cheeks flushed hot. Maybe the medicine Nan-a gave her was working.

“Done with your lovers’ quarrel? Peng! Help! Help!”

Namgung Sinjae, blood-smeared, hopping around, shouted.

Qing doubted again—could she really trust them?

She meant it:

If anyone dies or ends maimed, she’ll lock them in Jade-Gui Mountain’s Eternal Seclusion until they reach Profound.

Qing sat cross-legged.

Her awakened art widened, sensing her comrades forming a circle around her.

Uneasy.

Always the same doubt—was it right to leave them like this?

But soon, the noise outside dulled, like water closing over, fading into silence.

Her spirit dove inward, deeper, sinking down.