Chapter 818: Our Wish Is Slaughter (9)

Corpse poison was, as the name said, a poison made from human corpses.

But corpse poison itself wasn’t that toxic.

Because people weren’t creatures that naturally carried poison.

If you let a corpse rot and ferment, it just becomes a rotten corpse—where would some sudden lethal toxin come from?

In truth, the “toxicity” of corpse poison didn’t come from the raw materials’ components. It came from the dying person’s negative emotions—desperate hunger to live, frustration at a hopeless situation, bitterness, and pain—melting into the corpse slurry.

Usually, an object that carries such resentment was called a Cursed Object, and it became material for all kinds of suspicious, horrific sorcery.

Corpse poison was that kind of thing, too.

And the ones in the Central Plains who made the best use of corpse poison were the Blood Cult.

They used it in the blood they used to draw all sorts of curse-arrays, and as material to manufacture monsters like hungry ghosts and corpse zombies, and they added it into vile drugs like the Slumbering-Blue Pellet, and...

GRRIND.

Qing bared her teeth and ground them hard.

Those Blood Cult bastards again—what the hell are they so dissatisfied about that they keep pulling this shit?

*****

Night was a time when feelings surged.

Back in Qing’s hometown, they said they’d scientifically figured out that, because of left-brain and right-brain whatever-or-other, emotions naturally rose at night. Or something like that.

Anyway, standing night watch was an act especially suited to soaking in midnight feelings.

Everything °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° was quiet. Pleasant insect-song echoed through the dark. Countless stars streamed across the night sky, and it felt like we were the only ones in the whole world (since, from ancient times, everyone knew that if you stood watch alone, you didn’t “stand watch” at all—you just fell asleep).

If you’d ever stood night watch during compulsory service, you’d have experienced the emotional storm that hits you on night watch.

Most of the time you’d spend every spare second kicking a ball, singing, or staring at some female singer on a screen—yet the moment you pulled night watch, you’d suddenly start having serious worries about the future, or telling stories about beautiful memories from the past, or, out of nowhere, holding a conversation about some philosophical thought you’d never once cared about.

That was the magic of night.

And there was someone here, too, who couldn’t come to his senses and claw his way out of that night-magic.

Maybe he’d finally spilled a romance story he’d been holding in, after losing to a senior’s pestering. Maybe, because of that, his lover back home was now aching in his chest through the silence of the night.

“The night sky doesn’t seem any different here than it is back home. Back then, the two of us used to look up like this... I wonder if she’s looking at the same sky right now? If she’s looking at the same sky, then even if our bodies are this far apart, aren’t we still together...”

“Ha—look at you, a poet and everything. Later, once we wipe out those Central Plains bastards, try writing some poems. Who knows—maybe you’ll leave your name for future generations.”

“Haha. A guy who can’t even read wants to talk about poetry? I guess it being night makes you say things you normally wouldn’t. But what about you, big brother? You said your sister-in-law is back home—don’t you miss her?”

“Ah, miss her my ass. That bitch only ever nagged me. Still... our kid. The moment I close my eyes, I see my son’s face clear as day.”

“Ah. Your nephew. How old is he this year?”

“Let’s see—one, two, three... so six? Or seven? Hm?”

“Ha—right in the cutest age.”

“......”

“They say that’s when they’re cutest, right? At four they do nothing but rotten things, and around ten they only pick out things you told them not to do and do those on purpose—really? Is it true?”

“......”

“Big brother?”

The young man turned his head, calling for his big brother.

And there was no one there.

As if no one had been there to begin with—no presence, no sound of breathing, nothing at all.

The young man swung his torch, scanning around.

But in the pitch-black darkness, only the flickering shadow of oily firelight wavered.

A chill crawled down the young man’s spine.

The person he’d been talking with had vanished within just a few steps—what kind of trick was this?

Then who the hell had he been talking to until now, and where had that person disappeared to?

“Big brother? Stop messing around—where are you?”

The young man’s voice trembled thinly.

And then—

Out of the darkness, two snow-white hands quietly stretched out to either side of the young man’s head.

Then—

SNAP.

One hand coiled around his throat, and the other clamped over his mouth.

DROP.

The torch slipped from his grasp and rolled away.

“Mm—mm!”

The young man clawed at the forearm wrapped around his throat, bucking and struggling.

But only for a moment.

From the rough cloth jammed over his mouth, a stench like strong liquor—reeking, drunken breath—poured into his lungs. Then his eyes rolled up, his body went limp, and he slackened completely.

THUD.

The man collapsed to the ground.

The white hands seized the young man by the hair.

Even in the torchlight’s glow, they were white and pallid—each joint thin and long, beautiful.

They were the Minor Water Witch’s hands.

Qing grabbed a head of hair in each hand and dragged them, step by step.

“Tsk.”

Just listening, their talk had been something else.

Beasts who piled corpses into mountains—and they still missed their woman, still acted like they cared about their wife and kid.

And what? Wipe out the Central Plains bastards?

These fuckers were blatantly Blood Cult, weren’t they.

Qing kept dragging the two heads by the hair and headed for the mine entrance.

She passed through the wide-open entrance with no guard posted. Deeper inside, in the shadows, the night-watchmen were already sprawled out unconscious, tangled together.

Two more were tossed on top.

Qing looked down at the mess with cold eyes, then turned without a sound.

After Qing walked out, a little later—

This time, a thick-muscled, solid-built giant appeared, set down more unconscious men, and headed back out again.

A little later, a man wearing a face veil—handsome even with only his eyes visible—dumped more unconscious people and vanished.

Then, two women appeared, RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE, hauling a cart.

One could have pushed while the other pulled, but they couldn’t even match that simple teamwork—each gripping a handle on opposite sides while keeping a wide distance between them, like they couldn’t stand each other—then they showed up and dumped the people piled on the cart in a heap.

And so people piled up, and piled up, and—

Finally, the face-veiled figures gathered in front of the mound of bodies.

And last of all, Qing took her place among the face-veiled group.

“Looks like this is all of them.”

It was the entire group—night-watchmen, plus all the miners who’d been sleeping in the building in front of the mine—dragged together into one place.

Strangely, the miners weren’t dead.

They were just unconscious.

Because killing was too easy.

For me, and for them.

Ever since I was young, whenever I saw revenge plots in movies or comics, there was always something I didn’t get.

How was “killing them cleanly” revenge?

After they die, they’re not going to open their eyes in the afterlife, beat the ground, regret it, and wail—so shouldn’t revenge be making them wail by making them suffer as much as possible, and making them as miserable as possible?

So it was annoying, but I used a drug.

Tang Clan Mind-Blackout Drug—Three Steps, One Bow.

Mind-Blackout Drug was the general term for drugs that blew away a person’s consciousness.

And among Mind-Blackout Drugs, the Tang Clan’s—of the Central Plains’ number-one medicine-making family—was a notorious, famous masterpiece.

The rumor was: if you inhaled the smoke, you’d collapse before you could take three steps, losing consciousness so instantly you wouldn’t even have time to feel dizzy—dropping in a posture like you were making a deep bow.

So: Three Steps, One Bow. One deep bow in three steps.

Mm. But...

Why is Nanna carrying something like this around?

No matter how precious and priceless our Nanna is—the Tang Clan’s treasured jewel—doesn’t this go a little beyond “self-defense gear”?

Of course, Tang Nanna would’ve snorted.

Even if it had the side effect of ruining your lungs, it was still a poison aimed at suppression, not killing.

And as for their great Tang Clan—poison this gentle didn’t even count as poison.

“Alright. Then... wake them up?”

Tang Nanna slipped her hand into those long, draping sleeves and rummaged around.

Then she pulled out a small glass bottle, popped the lid, and sprayed it into the air.

A cool scent like mint filled the mine’s interior, and then—“Ughh”—faint groans began to spill out.

At that, Qing clapped twice.

CLAP CLAP.

“Alright, alright—eyes on me!”

“Gah!” “This is—” “W-who—”

“Look over here. Sparkle-sparkle. And—shh. Quiet. Still. Everyone shut your mouths.”

Qing smiled brightly and released sword-energy.

When it came to shutting up people from the Central Plains, there was nothing better than sparkle-sparkle.

But if you lose consciousness and wake up to a suddenly unfamiliar ceiling—

How could you keep your mouth shut?

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t an unfamiliar ceiling. It was a familiar ceiling—the mine’s rock.

“Fuck—what is this shi—ACK!”

The man who tried to spit out a thick curse froze hard, like a stone.

Because once a cold blade dug into your mouth, you couldn’t even dare to think about moving.

“Shh. Quiet. When someone talks, do you think their words are a joke? I told you to be quiet. Do you want to die?”

The man shook his head desperately.

With a blade in his mouth, the short side-to-side shake looked exactly like trembling.

“Alright. Anyway—rules are rules. You have to take your punishment. Here. A little sting.”

One of Qing’s principles—conviction, maybe.

If a sword had pierced an enemy’s body in any way, then when you pulled it out, it could not come out the same direction.

Either way, it went into the enemy’s mouth—so when it came out, it had to come out in a different direction.

“Agh—AAAGH!”

The man toppled over clutching his face, then screamed miserably from the pain surging up from his torn cheek.

But only for a moment.

“Shh. I told you to be quiet, didn’t I?”

“Mmph—mmph!”

With a shining blade sinking gently into the stone floor right in front of his nose, the man clamped his mouth shut with all his strength.

If even the guy with a ripped mouth was holding back screams, what about the other miners?

Qing nodded in satisfaction.

“Alright. I’m showing you this because you might get ideas. Here—sparkle-sparkle one.”

“Sparkle-sparkle two.”

“......Three.”

Seol Iri and Peng Daesan released their aura.

And, for the record, the original sparkle-sparkle two—Gyeon Pohee—was unfortunately out, assigned to take care of Jayeo.

“Alright. You saw it, right? So don’t start thinking, ‘If we all jump them together, maybe we can win,’ or any stupid thoughts like that. Now, everyone up. Keep your mouths shut, and use only your feet—quietly follow along.”

After saying that, Qing picked up the glass lantern and started walking backward, deeper into the mine.

Because she couldn’t take her eyes off the bastards whose eyes were rolling around, looking for any chance to run.

“Didn’t you hear? Do you want to die?”

At Tang Nanna’s sharp voice—spiked with contempt, a brutal goad—the miners took unwilling steps.

Even as they walked, they kept locking eyes with each other so hard it felt like you could actually hear their eyeballs spinning.

Whether they did or not, Qing kept walking backward without hesitation.

And the farther they went, the more heavy confusion and anxiety settled on the miners’ faces.

These bastards—looks like they’re getting a rough idea where I’m taking them.

Watching their death-faces made a grin creep onto my lips without me noticing.

And while I was enjoying their faces, the flow of air I could feel brushed along my back, pointing to a dead-end rock wall blocked off behind me.

Qing set the lantern down on the floor—

Then flipped up the steel plate beside it in one sharp motion.

WHUMP—

Corpse stench, filling every direction with vicious force. A grotesque stink so foul it was hard to endure.

“Ugh—” “Ghk—”

Gagging erupted all at once, loud and messy.

Not just dry-heaving—some couldn’t hold it and started vomiting.

But regardless,

Qing finally brought out the main point.

“Alright. You all know how to climb a rope ladder, right?”