Chapter 920: A Strange Bitch, A Strange Guy, A Strange Guy (5)

As Qing’s eyes narrowed, Kim Heojung set down neatly stacked trays—more like small, legged dining tables—one by one in front of his guests.

It was the kind of scene you got because Joseon culture, by default, had people use their own personal table after the age of five.

On the tabletop sat a rough, plain teacup, and cookies shaped like sunflowers.

Then Kim Heojung tipped the kettle and poured.

“Now, first, have some. What could possibly comfort a chilled body more than a cup of hot tea?”

So Qing carefully lifted the teacup and brought it beneath her face veil, cautiously.

At that moment, Kim Heojung’s eyes flashed.

Heh heh. Drink. Just drink, and you’ll become my captive too...! That was what Kim Heojung was thinking—except he was terrible at managing his expression, so his sinister inner thoughts were leaking straight onto his face.

And yet, even while staring at Kim Heojung making such openly sleazy expressions, nobody at the table realized anything was suspicious.

Because extreme ugliness makes every expression look suspicious. When the face itself is suspicious, sleazy, and grotesque, you can’t read any emotion or nuance no matter what expression it makes.

Not knowing any of that, Qing slurped—drawing the steaming tea in with air.

The instant it hit her mouth, the fragrance burst.

No, wait—this bastard—this—how is this even—

Qing gaped, and blurted out.

“Whoa. This is good?”

“Haha. Does it suit your taste? It’s pine-needle tea. Last summer, I picked only the new shoots one by one and dried them myself. I repeatedly froze and thawed them so the condensed aroma would bloom. Then I brewed it with a bit of mountain ginseng.”

New pine shoots steeped deep, sweetened with honey and simmered into this taste—mm, new shoots. So, tea brewed from pine buds.

And the particular crisp fragrance of mountain ginseng wasn’t too strong or too weak, just faint and perfect, weaving into an exquisite balance.

What the hell. Why is it so good?

Next, Qing picked up a cookie.

A round cookie with a pretty rough look—well-fried brown, with a faint, subtle translucence.

Honey cookies—called Goryeo cookies in Central Plains speech.

“Whoa. What is this.”

“Haha. I kneaded glutinous-rice flour with rock honey and fried it. It’s crude work, but I’d be grateful if you enjoyed it.”

“Crude work? This isn’t crude at all. You made these yourself?”

“Yes. Living alone in the mountains, my hobbies became things like making cookies like this, or cooking. I even grew the glutinous rice, then ground it myself. It’s leisure that isn’t exactly manly, so it’s truly embarrassing to say... still, I’m genuinely happy I can serve you like this.”

“Not manly, my ass. If you sold these, the line would be four people deep and wrap around the city wall three and a half times.”

“Haha. You flatter me.”

It was a masterpiece that could proudly be set at the very top among any Goryeo cookies Qing had ever eaten.

Honestly, honey cookies were the kind of thing that was hard to make taste bad—how could something made by kneading glutinous-rice flour with honey and frying it possibly be bad?

And yet she could distinctly tell this was delicious. What was the difference?

The outside still had that crisp bite, but the inside was dense without being hard—soft, and yet also chewy, with that hidden pull that clung and stretched.

It wasn’t overly sweet, so even when the sweetness wrapped around her tongue it didn’t feel heavy—yet there was something faint, something—

Dried persimmon. There’s dried persimmon in this!

Anyway—CHOMP CHOMP. Mm, so good.

Watching Qing eat so well, a smile as vile as it could possibly be spread across Kim Heojung’s face.

Yes. Eat. Now that you’ve tasted my secret cookies, no other cookie will ever satisfy you again.

Every time you eat cookies from now on, you’ll remember the Goryeo cookies I made with my own hands... and then you’ll remember me...! Keh heh heh...!

A truly terrifying scheme!

Meanwhile, Qing’s wariness dropped dramatically.

Looking at it this way... maybe he wasn’t actually a bad guy. Maybe he just looked tragic?

For Qing, who became pathetically weak toward anyone who fed her, it was a scheme that worked unbelievably well...

Except—

The tea was good, and the cookies were good, sure, but... why was he staring at her with some bizarre expression while she ate? And what expression was it, anyway? What was it supposed to mean?

There wasn’t any special effect, to be honest.

“It’s genuinely delicious. Oh my god—how do you even make cookies like this? Is it a recipe passed down as a family treasure? Are you Joseon’s master royal chef? I can’t breathe because I’m eating. These are murderous cookies. My breathing is difficult.”

Gongryang Sayoon kept praising them.

And the Plunderer Demon kept taking more too—it looked like it hit his taste perfectly.

So Qing spent a little time like that, with delicious tea and delicious cookies.

And then, after stacking the snack tables neatly and shoving them into the corner, Kim Heojung spoke with an unreadable expression—serious, that time.

“I believe you asked about one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts—Heaven-Sundering Reverse-Blood Heart-Needle Pointing Art. Is that correct?”

“You seem like someone from Joseon, but you know Central Plains affairs surprisingly well.”

At that, Kim Heojung’s expression changed again.

Drooping brows, trembling outer corners of the eyes, yet only the corners of his mouth spreading sideways—

Even on a face this hard to read, this time it was easy to tell.

With a bitter smile, Kim Heojung answered.

“The one who taught me martial arts was from the Central Plains. I served him for nearly thirty years, so I heard many things about the Central Plains.”

“Ah, your master—”

“Master?! That bastard...! Kkhm. I apologize. We weren’t close enough to call him master or teacher. It was just the one who taught, and the one who learned—no, less than even that. And he’s dead now, anyway, so what use is it to resent someone who’s already gone.”

Mm. For someone saying that, his grudge sounded insanely deep.

And Kim Heojung’s vicious hatred of Central Plains people probably came from that teacher.

Still, there was no reason to dig.

Qing cut off the pointless curiosity and returned to the main point.

“Yes. For personal reasons, I’m searching for Heaven-Sundering Reverse-Blood Heart-Needle Pointing Art, and I heard rumors about a mysterious person on Changbai Mountain, so I came. Is there anyone besides you staying on Changbai? Black blood vessels bulging up over the skin are the hallmark of a Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner.”

But Kim Heojung shook his head.

“I, Kim Heojung, am not the kind of scoundrel who would allow such a wicked demon practitioner to remain on the sacred land of Changbai. Most likely, the rumor about me was distorted. The fastest way is for you to see the characteristics of my martial arts with your own eyes.”

Suddenly—CLANG.

With that sound, ice formed and spread over Kim Heojung’s skin, covering him.

But the surface wasn’t smooth—cracked all over like a dried rice paddy.

At a glance, it looked like the skin of a sea turtle—except inverted in color: white ice clinging tight, with black fissures running everywhere.

“Ah...”

Qing let out a tragic little sound.

Of course it was tragic.

The mysterious person of Changbai Mountain!

The Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner!

Wasn’t!

If this were some festival back in her hometown, the announcer would’ve screamed it like a catastrophe.

She’d kind of suspected it already when the Plunderer Demon started muttering about sorcerers—but still.

There hadn’t been any Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner on Changbai Mountain at all.

So what—she came all the way out here for nothing?

Came all this way up to Changbai Mountain, and on the way she even got her martial arts ripped off, and it was all completely pointless?

She wasted time, wasted money, and got her martial arts stolen too?

No—what kind of bullshit is this? Where does the world run on laws [N O V E L I G H T] like this?

If she came all this way with all that effort, then even if it wasn’t a Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner, there should’ve at least been one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts.

Something like Heaven-Toppling Slaughter or Half-Body Long-Calamity Blade, at least...

Qing’s lips trembled as she stared blankly.

Kim Heojung cleared his throat—Kkhm—and spoke.

“You must have a reason for seeking vicious demonic arts. If I may infer... you must have an irreconcilable mortal enemy, one you cannot oppose without such extreme measures. And yet you believed that only the rapid attainment of demonic arts could be your final hope—so you came all the way here, did you not?”

His inferences never, ever hit.

Still, it wasn’t completely wrong.

Reaching the Transcendent Realm through normal training felt hopeless—there wasn’t even a timeline to speak of.

And even on this Changbai trip alone, hadn’t she run into a martial-arts robber in the Transcendent Realm, and a sorcerer on a similar level?

So if she wanted to yank her combat power upward immediately, the easiest method was collecting the Ten Great Demonic Arts.

Meanwhile, whether it was Heavenless Emperor or Qingless Emperor, it was sulking and refusing to hand over the next move—what kind of manifested thought sulks, seriously. Unreal.

“However, miss, there is a reason demonic arts are called demonic arts. Such wicked methods always end up harming the practitioner as well—especially when the thing in question is a brutal object known as one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts.”

“Mm...”

“So instead, I... I, Kim Heojung, will help you.”

“Huh?”

Qing blinked. And blinked again.

What—help how? Help her find demonic arts?

“You don’t need to feel burdened. As the successor of the Black Warrior Sect, I only wish to establish proper justice on this land. I simply cannot stand by and watch a pitiable woman—someone with a wronged story, with no one to rely on, driven even to seeking demonic arts.”

Qing tilted her head.

Since when was her story “wronged”?

I mean, this current situation is wronged as hell—damn it, Seol Iri, you fed me false intel, you humiliated me.

That so-called “top intellect” my ass. From now on, you’re neighborhood-tier intellect, dead last, below Gunyeong—

...No, below Gunyeong is maybe too harsh.

Fine. Above Gunyeong, below Jayeo.

Anyway.

One part of what he just said bugged her.

“Black Warrior Sect?”

Because among the Hall Cadets at the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy, that slick, dancing Azure Dragon guy Chae Seong-ha was from the Azure Dragon Sect, and that fire-spitting Leopard-Skin Girl Chang Yohong had mastered Vermilion Bird Dance.

And there were supposed to be four—east, west, south, north.

Azure Dragon, Vermilion Bird, White Tiger, Black Warrior.

Collect all four and you get Yellow Dragon Dance, or whatever.

And Black Warrior Dance was the one she’d heard about.

Come to think of it, that unique manifestation—drawing and using natural energy—Azure Dragon Dance and Vermilion Bird Dance had been like that too.

Chang Yohong said she hated constantly breathing fire and joined the academy to learn normal martial arts.

Chae Seong-ha declared his grand ambition about building fame to collect all four, but... mm. Too bad, buddy. Give it up.

Because this guy looked like the final boss.

At Chae Seong-ha’s Hall Cadet level, he’d need another hundred years of training to maybe, possibly win...

Thinking about it, of course Black Warrior was strong.

Qing lacked many things, but she wasn’t stupid.

She was a woman who graduated from the Imperial Academy—how could she be stupid?

And as someone from the Central Plains, she knew something about the Four Guardian Spirits: the four weren’t actually equal.

By prestige alone, the name “Four Guardian Beasts” was wrong from the start.

Because among the four, Black Warrior was absurdly, uniquely powerful.

So if you wanted to be accurate, it wasn’t “Four Guardian Beasts.”

It was “Black Warrior and three lackeys.”

You call Vermilion Bird “Vermilion Bird.” You call Azure Dragon “Azure Dragon.” You call White Tiger “White Tiger.”

But when you call Black Warrior?

You call it the Northern Pole True Martial Dark-Heaven Supreme Emperor—Black Warrior Great Deity!

Northern Pole—the god of the north.

True Martial—the god of martial might.

Dark-Heaven Supreme Emperor—meaning the Jade Emperor, meaning the one who rules the heavens.

And yet, back in Qing’s homeland, Black Warrior never got much attention.

Because... it was ugly...

That was when the Plunderer Demon, who had been listening, suddenly spoke.

“So you’re saying your methods are martial arts, not sorcery? I suppose there are martial arts that contain sorcerous elements.”

The Plunderer Demon’s eyes glittered.

Why would a martial-arts robber’s eyes glitter?

Because he was about to rob you.

Seriously—who else but a martial-arts robber would see a martial art that looked good and immediately start verifying so he could rip it off?

“Sorcery? Old man, this is absolutely martial arts. It’s just that unlike the half-baked martial arts that only use a handful of internal power inside one’s lower abdomen, my martial art is different in that it commands the energy of Heaven-and-Earth nature itself.”

“Then the ice created out of empty air? You’re saying that isn’t a sorcerous element?”

“In nature, water energy flows—unseen, but undeniably present. Black Warrior Great Deity is the guardian deity who governs water energy, so I only commanded what exists in nature. How could I possibly create something that did not exist in the world?”

Kim Heojung was... oddly blunt with the Plunderer Demon.

Another word for it: rude as hell.

Of course, Qing didn’t care.

She only called the Plunderer Demon “sir” because the Transcendent Realm was scary. He was still a vicious demonic master who didn’t deserve manners.

“Hoh. Is that so. Then let me ask you—if someone learns that martial art, do they start to resemble Black Warrior in appearance?”

That instant—

Kim Heojung’s face twisted hard.

But only for a moment.

He flicked his eyes toward Qing, then forced—probably—some kind of trembling smile, like he was making an effort—

“Yes. A backplate of diamond-indestructibility rises from the back, completing Black Warrior Great Deity’s indestructibility, and the appearance comes to resemble the bearing of the Dark-Heaven Supreme Emperor.”

He glanced at Qing again and continued.

“Though my appearance may look like a hunchback, my back is not bent. I simply carry the strongest shield in the world. So even if I were to have descendants, they will never, ever come to resemble Black Warrior Great Deity.”

Another quick glance at Qing.

“Absolutely no such issue with heirs. None.”

Shock!

Kim Heojung wasn’t a hunchback!

Master Singwi’s “Singwi” used the turtle “gwi” as in “turtle”—it was a turtle nickname!

The Plunderer Demon’s expression darkened.

“Mmm... even if it’s a divine art, mmm... no matter how divine, that’s still... mmm.”

He muttered under his breath—someone might think he was being offered a lesson.

But Kim Heojung wasn’t finished.

“And do you know Black Warrior Great Deity’s appearance? That backplate is majestic as Mount Tai, the head is a sacred turtle itself, and astonishingly—the tail is the form of a massive serpent. A long, thick great serpent is attached.”

“Hm?”

“I am the same. A great serpent itself.”

And then he bared his teeth at Qing—

CROOKED, uneven teeth—and a flash of brilliant white that didn’t match his face at all.

Qing spent a moment processing what she just heard.

No—this bastard—serpent? A serpent?

...Mm. Jealous. Mine fell off even though I used to have it, and this guy—who looks like he’ll never use it once in his life—has a serpent?

But... what’s the point?

Why is he bragging while looking at me?

I mean, sure, that’s something to brag about, but why are you telling me while staring right at me...?