Chapter 715: When Going Out, Maintain Your Dignity (9)

Qing understood the man’s real game.

You little shit, you’re trying to die now, huh.

The old Qing would have killed him on the spot and sprinted back to So Pyeonggak.

She had to save the cadets; they were her responsibility, the ones she was supposed to protect.

But that was no longer the case.

Because two rooms to the right of the one where the cadets were playing with women—that was where her friends were.

The cadets’ martial skill wasn’t even decent enough to call “martial skill,” but if a surprise attack came in, they’d at least pull swords and make enough noise to be heard.

Her kids would obviously go check it out. And they were all drunk enough that you could strip the alcohol out of their qi in one go; the kids would of course have handled things properly by now.

Two super-transcendents, two at peak realm—realms below that weren’t even worth counting—and Chunbong was smart; she might even clean up the aftermath neatly.

She wasn’t exactly at ease leaving it all to them, but they were at least middling experts by name. They could handle that much.

You’ll do at least that much. I’ll trust you. Kids.

Of course, if some super-transcendent assassination squad had slipped in like ghosts and cut all the cadets’ throats, there’d be nothing she could do; in that case, it was already too late.

“So what you’re saying is—you’ve got colleagues.”

“How relaxed of you. Do you really have time to be chatting with me—kgh—like this? So that one brat is your only cadet and the rest don’t matter, is that it?”

He sneered. Qing shook her head.

“The instructors’ drinking party is in the room right next door, you know. I don’t think we really need to guess which side would suffer the mass funeral.”

It wasn’t next door, but next-next door; still close enough.

The sneer vanished from the man’s face in a snap.

It was a lie, pure malice.

“Well then, sounds like we have a lot to talk about. Strictly speaking, I don’t have anything to say, but you probably do, don’t you?”

“Spare my life and I’ll tell you everything.”

“...Huh.”

A very dramatic flip from the man who’d been forcing a sneer, insisting the others wouldn’t possibly be unharmed with all that poison in the air.

You couldn’t turn a palm over this dramatically; at the end of the day, the top and bottom of a palm were both just skin.

“Cooperative attitude. I like it. Why did you target Righteous-Proper Martial Academy?”

At first she’d thought they were after this dog-bone bastard specifically—but if that were true, there was no need to come back and ambush the scene of the poisoning attempt and the birth of a world-class masterpiece poem.

Maybe she’d been wrong.

What if they were targeting the Academy itself?

The incident when dog-bone got attacked—maybe that hadn’t happened because he was dog-bone, just because they were aiming for any cadet who slipped away, and it just so happened that the one storming off in adolescent angst and running away from camp was him?

“I don’t really know. Here, I have the commission letter—please take a look...”

With the only intact limb he had, his right hand, the man fumbled in his robes.

And then suddenly yanked something out and stuffed it into his mouth.

“You—!”

Qing was one beat late, smashing his wrist and kicking him in the solar plexus to knock him down, then catching his lower jaw.

“Mmph, mmphh—!” He clamped his jaw with desperate strength and held on.

But Qing had no intention of taking a gentle route.

CRRCH, RIIIP, PRACK!

His molars, top and bottom, shattered and split, tearing into his cheeks as they went.

Her brutal force wedged between his gums; teeth splintered and fell, and his jaw was forced open.

Qing’s fingers drove straight down his throat, clawing through the soft flesh like she was ripping it apart from the inside.

“Guhh, agk, urk, mmph! G-HEURK, BLEURGH!”

The man gagged as if a flood of vomit were rising; GHEURK, GHEEUURK—then his upper body suddenly arched with the huge bounce that came right before a violent eruption.

Qing jerked both hands away and skipped back.

And then came the grand upsurge.

Qing’s expression soured as she watched.

Disgusting didn’t even begin to cover it, and on top of that, the trick itself was filthy—this bastard had tried to choke down poison?

“Kkh-heh... to-too late.”

Sure enough, his tongue looked like a viper’s, puffed up and swollen, tinted a blotchy purple.

Apparently whatever he’d swallowed hadn’t been any ordinary poison.

And still he tittered. Must have been a fast-acting variety that killed pain, or came premixed with something that numbed it.

Qing gently ground down on his loose ankle, just above the useless joint.

Sure enough, there was no sign of that delightful shiver of pain in the follow-up of the sensation; like a dish that looked perfect and tasted flat, it held no fun at all.

On the other hand, it was chilling.

He’d gone so far as to scheme out his own poisoning?

And what kind of poison was this strong?

What was he trying to hide? Or was he just terrified of what would come afterward?

And above all—this wouldn’t do.

If you’d gotten caught on the spot trying to poison people, it was only right you submit quietly to horrific torture, suffer a nice, long stretch of agony, and then die a thoroughly miserable death.

You dare to take poison and go out easy?

That was not how this was supposed to go.

Qing’s gaze turned feral.

But facing someone who’d just swallowed a poison loaded with anesthetic, what exactly was she supposed to do?

A heavy sense of helplessness washed over her.

This is just too much. Seriously. How am I supposed to properly slay the wicked at this rate...

“Heh-heh... I’ll be w-waitin’ for you in hell. You’ll never get a pretty death, b-bitch. They’re gonna make an examp-ple outta you...”

Of course, from the perspective of someone dying, he might see things differently.

Sensing his life trickling away, the man spat out curses thick with malice, one after another.

“Sure, sure. Go ahead. ...Man.”

But she swatted it away.

Whether you called it good karma or bad karma, or the cold logic of pure utilitarianism or Central Plains supremacist doctrine of “Middle Kingdom people first,” there seemed to be this guarantee of comfort after death anyway.

Why, when she crossed the Yellow Springs, it wouldn’t surprise her if some grand nuclear carrier came out to escort her across.

“Heh-heh... your futchurre’s already writtten. You’ll get the Pig Pen punishment like Concubine Cheok, you know that? They’ll cut yer arms an’ legs off an’ stake you down in front of the hounds, then let ’em gnaw you from head to toe. Over an’ over an’ over till there’s nothin’ left...”

That was a curse among curses.

He was talking about the end of Concubine Cheok, a former concubine of the Yu family—the punishment so horrific that it had been outright banned by imperial law.

Even the Son of Heaven would have to brave all his ministers’ opposition to inflict it; what was he, the Son of Heaven now?

Still, thanks to him, Qing’s mood started to lift again.

So he was pissed about dying.

There was no reason to get mad because a dying guy was cursing you out; it was just him yelling, I’m mad, or, in terms from her homeland, “You are currently on fire, sir,” that’s all.

Once she saw it that way, a silly grin slipped out.

At that smile, the man’s eyes flew wide.

Then he couldn’t even close them; his pupils just went flat and glassy as they rolled up and froze.

What’s so damned unfair that you can’t even close your eyes?

Am I not the one who should be pissed?

She’d done a good deed and got nothing out of it. If you wanted people to hunt down evil men, you had to give them something to show for it.

Either way, once someone was dead, Qing had no further use for them.

What she wanted was enjoyable ergonomics with living bodies; messing with a corpse was just gross.

“Cadet Mandarlo? I’ll ask just in case—but do you happen to know anything about the assassins’ identity, or—hmm.”

Qing cut herself off mid-sentence.

Wait. This little bastard got ambushed by assassins and still put in for an outing?

So he’d come toddling out here three days after an assassination attempt, delighted to go on leave, groping women, staging a whole forced-assault roleplay with a woman who already had someone?

Did he have a brain? Could you really say this was the behavior of someone capable of the act known as “thinking”?

“Cadet. You got attacked by assassins and still applied for outing privileges? Are you, perhaps, in a state where you’d like to die? If so, I’ll send you off myself.”

“Wh-what are you saying!?”

The sudden formal speech suggested that, to young eyes, the scene had been... a bit stimulating.

Whether you should call a young man who liked that sort of scenario “a kid” was debatable, but still.

“Let’s head back first. We need to get back fast so—hmm, come here.”

“I can walk on my own—”

“Cadet Mandarlo, I am giving you two options. One, you come while being punched. Two, you just come. I personally like the first option.”

“A-at least don’t carry me like luggage, for heaven’s sake!”

Apparently he really didn’t want to be hauled around like a sack.

His last shred of pride, it seemed.

“Well. Then I’ve got no choice.”

Qing stepped in, planted a hand on his back, and hooked the crook of his knees with the other hand, flipping him up into her arms.

In Qing’s homeland, this method of carrying a princess in your arms was called the Princess Carry, a posture used to serve someone precious.

Mandarlo’s face went beet red.

“W-what kind of—! Just carry me like luggage instead!”

“Cadet, do not give orders. I do not listen to people weaker than I am.”

If someone said they hated it, human nature demanded you do it more.

Qing sprang into the air.

Her steps on the way back to the tavern were more hurried than ever.

Of course, she trusted her Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society members plus Chunbong—but any reaction would happen only after assassins fell on the cadets; they’d inevitably be one step late.

If one real high master were mixed in among the enemy, well—no, no bad thoughts. Think positive.

They handled it. They did fine.

Qing very badly wanted to believe that.

If someone was badly wounded—she hated even to imagine it—but if someone had actually died...

Would the decision to chase the assassin have been the right call?

Or had she just gotten excited at the chance to enjoy a little slaughter again after a long time and dashed out of there...

No surprise her lightness skill kept getting faster.

A master tearing through city streets at terrifying speed, cradling someone politely in her arms like a bundle, was a colossal nuisance—but what could you do.

“Did you see that just now?” “I—I don’t know, something went by really fast—was it a man holding a woman?” “What are you talking about, wasn’t it a woman holding a man?”

Stuff like that.

When Qing finally got back to the tavern in a rush, she forced down the rising dread and raced straight up to the top floor.

“...Mm.”

She let out a heavy sigh.

She’d wanted no one to be hurt, and in fact no one was.

Because nothing had happened at all.

Tch. I got played. ‘Attack’ my ass.

Every word out of his mouth had been a lie.

He’d begged for his life, then taken poison to kill himself.

He’d claimed his colleagues were going to “take care of” the cadets—another lie.

So she did have to conclude they’d been after dog-bone after all.

The only consolation was the reassuring sight of her own group seated opposite the cadets, who were sitting properly and respectfully on one side.

If assassins had come in, they would have been able to hold them off after all.

As expected of Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society. Reliable.

The moment Qing stepped in, her group sprang to their feet and rushed over.

They checked her up and down for injuries; seeing not a single drop of blood on her, just her clean self, they all let out long breaths of relief.

“Cadet Mandarlo, I’d like a word.”

It was time she finally heard what that “how dare you, do you know who I am” was all about.

She left the cadets in the room, telling them the situation wasn’t fully resolved yet, so don’t get drunk—just play a bit, stay loose.

Of course, they weren’t dog-bone; it wasn’t like they could relax and party when the attack had just ended.

Amid the Academy instructor corps, Mandarlo squared his shoulders proudly.

“Hah. I was told time and time again that this must never be revealed, but given the circumstances, I have no choice.”

Considering how many times it had almost come out already, that “never reveal it” warning hadn’t exactly stuck.

“My true name is Kang Damhyeon. My father is none other than Kang Cheomnyang, the Administrative Commissioner!”

Qing counted on her fingers. One, two... now.

But no particular refrain came.

The instructors just glanced at each other, checking the fairly serious looks on one another’s faces.

And Qing alone stood there with a different expression.

What? Who’s Kang Cheomnyang and what’s an Administrative Commissioner? Is that high up?

What was an Administrative Commissioner supposed to do, exactly?

It wasn’t a courtesy title; they’d said he was from the palace side, so he had to be an official.

But was it important?

Everyone else looked like they knew, and she was the only one out of the loop.

Qing blinked her big eyes.