Chapter 940: A Strange Bitch, A Strange Guy, A Strange Guy (25)

Qing shoots her back leg straight, then drives her knee forward with everything she has.

Her front foot is folded so her calf and thigh touch, the sole pulled tight at the end.

Her body pitches forward. The folded leg snaps open in a clean, forceful extension, and the Yongcheon point on the upper part of her sole slams into the ground and blasts out a massive surge of internal power.

Fuck—my hip.

A horrifying pain floods in at the upper edge of her pelvis under her side, like a pair of huge hands swung a hammer down and stamped her bone in place.

Goddamn it. The sound when I hit the ground earlier didn’t feel normal. Looks like there’s a crack...

But pain is nothing.

My frame’s sturdy. I spit on it and it heals.

What matters is I have to fuck him up before he regains his senses.

To be fair, a cracked bone hurts worse than a clean break.

When the bone’s fractured and wobbling, every little shift can make tears burst out on reflex—there’s no way that’s “whatever.”

But Qing holds it down anyway.

That’s the difference between a fighter forged in real combat and someone who climbed realms on elixirs.

The decisive gap between the Heart-Eating Demon—panicking because his forearm got ripped off—and the Heavenly Flower Sword, who has endured extreme pain while crossing countless lines of death.

Qing lunges in again and snatches the Heart-Eating Demon’s left hand—still clutching his torn elbow stump tight.

For the Northern Abyss Divine Art’s suppression, you can’t just grab anywhere. It’s not enough for bodies to touch.

The owner of the art has to press the center of their palm tight against the enemy, on a spot where a major energy channel runs, close under the skin, flowing smoothly.

Of course, that wasn’t exactly a hard condition.

Those spots aren’t rare.

A palm center like this, the Yongcheon point and the heart of the sole on the foot, the Three Yin Intersection three inches above the inner ankle bone, the lower-abdomen region a hand-span below the navel, the perineum in an extremely embarrassing location, and if it’s a man, even the penis has a major channel running through it—then there’s the spine on the back, which is practically the main highway of blood and qi itself.

And also points like the Inner Pass on the inside of the wrist.

Qing twists his wrist hard, opens her own channels, opens his, and connects them.

There isn’t some extra technique she has to “operate” to absorb internal power.

All waters gather into the sea.

Everything in the world runs from high to low.

And Qing’s lower abdomen is the lowest sea in the world—and the deepest point.

“Eek—let go! Let go!”

“Heeheehee—no!”

Seomun Cheong really is a genius at scaring people.

Now his only remaining forearm is being held in a death grip. If he swings his elbow, the only thing that reaches her is warm, fragrant blood.

Qing throws her body with recoil, forcibly straightening his arm, then wraps her legs around his shoulder and locks in tight.

Then she puts strength into it—her whole body trembling.

“AAAAH! Again! N-no! No, don’t!”

“KYA-AH!! Yes! GRAH!!”

“AAH!! I was wrong! I’m sorry—AAAAH!! Please, please!!”

“AH! Stop moving!!”

Only one person is about to lose an arm again, but there are two screams.

Because the Heart-Eating Demon is flopping like a shrimp out of water, and Qing is already forcing strength through a hip that feels like it’s being sawed in half—every time his body jerks, her breath catches too, HUH—HUH—like it’s stopping on its own.

Qing shoots Kim Heojung a savage glare, sharp as an axe blade.

This bastard—why is the table already set and he’s still not going all in? Why is he hovering around throwing half-assed Black Warrior punches and kicks like it’s a sparring match?

“Hey, Mr. Kim—what are you doing—come help! Freeze him—ngh—freeze him! He’s a frozen demonic master!”

“Um... first, I handle water energy, not cold energy, and besides, the study of Black Warrior Dance is in imitating the Black Warrior deity, so—”

“Ugh—ah—what, you have to dance? Then dance—GRAH—nghhhh.”

“If I dance the Arctic Dance, I can freeze him... but then Miss Seomun may not be safe either.”

That was one of the big weaknesses of the Four-Direction Dances.

Martial arts fused with dance, so you sway and move while handling nature’s energy—but if the dance doesn’t properly form, then nature’s energy is bullshit and you’re stuck burning your own true aura.

And given the art’s nature, that means there isn’t much you can do.

Also, nature doesn’t discriminate.

When it rains, everyone gets wet. It’s not like some people get soaked and some people get politely avoided by raindrops.

Qing gets it immediately.

If the Four-Direction Dances were truly that overpowered, would the successors have stayed nameless nobodies?

It sweeps too wide without distinguishing friend from foe, so it doesn’t fit group combat at all—maybe that’s why it stayed a one-person legacy.

And thinking back... when she was buried in ice the whole brain-engraving time, she only survived because she was her. Anyone else would’ve been guaranteed full-body frostbite...

“Fuck it—ngh—just FUCK HIM UP!”

“Yes! I will fuck him up!”

And so—

SMACK-SMACK, SMACK-SMACK—AAAH! AAH!

SPLAT-SPLAT, {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} SPLAT-SPLAT—GRAH! GRAH!

SQUEEZE—SQUEEZE—AAAAAAH!!!

Qing squeezes harder, pouring in pure passion, twisting his arm—until finally she feels it.

TUK.

The tendons attached to the bone start popping loose, one strand at a time.

“Sword Demon!! Save me!! Save meee!!”

Good. There isn’t much left—

And then it happens.

A cool, alarm-bell sensation.

Presence behind her.

From the air-flow observation of her awakening art, she senses a mass far away cutting into the wind.

“Tch.”

Qing releases her legs, scrambles up with a fast crawl and jump, and flings herself to the far side of the Heart-Eating Demon.

Because she’s still gripping his wrist tight, his fat, round torso rotates half a turn and presses down on his already-torn elbow stump.

“AAAAAH!”

A scream detonates again.

And then—

BOOM!

A spear slams into the spot where Qing’s shoulder had been. Gravel blasts outward in every direction from its edge.

Sword Demon—arrival.

The Sword Demon lazily spreads one palm toward Kim Heojung.

Usually that means “don’t,” or in moments like this it means “let’s talk.”

So Kim Heojung—who had his arms spread and neck stretched long, preparing that grotesque dance again—freezes with a suspicious expression.

He doesn’t fully drop the stance, though.

It’s a clear statement: I can start dancing again anytime.

Then, amid the Heart-Eating Demon’s screaming, the Sword Demon raises both arms and approaches slowly.

Qing squats and looks up at him—still gripping the Heart-Eating Demon’s wrist, still sucking his internal power out in steady pulls.

“Hm. And what situation is this?”

“I’m fucking up the Heart-Eating Demon.”

“SOOOORD DEMON!! Sword Demon!! Save me!! I’m begging you!! Save me!! You bastard! You dogshit piece of—!!”

The Heart-Eating Demon is screaming his throat out, but among masters, someone yelling doesn’t stop a conversation.

“I wasn’t talking to you. Brother Yu—enough jokes. Stand up. You’re calling me that desperately, so I thought you had some scheme. I even wondered if this was a trap to bait me—if you were trying to take my heart.”

The Sword Demon is unhurried.

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world that the Heart-Eating Demon is just “playing along.”

And in the Sword Demon’s common sense, that made perfect sense.

A Heart-Eating Demon who had taken countless blood essences and entered blood-qi rampage was a monster even he wouldn’t dare face.

Even if the Heavenly Flower Sword was skilled and Kim Heojung’s martial arts were surprising—so what?

With the defense of blood-qi rampage, even standing still shouldn’t lose.

So, given how vile and cowardly the Heart-Eating Demon always was, it had to be an act—pretending to be cornered, pretending to be helpless, then flipping it in one instant to deliver despair.

The Heart-Eating Demon was losing his mind.

He screamed to be saved, and the one who finally showed up was calmly asking why he was doing this.

“Bastard, help—save me—this bitch—this bitch is ess—MMMPH!”

Qing urgently shoves her right hand straight into the Heart-Eating Demon’s mouth.

From the Sword Demon’s attitude, he clearly thinks the Heart-Eating Demon is playing along—but if he hears “Essence-Siphoning Demon Art,” he’ll understand the situation instantly.

“Mmm-huh-huh—mmm-huh-huh-huh-huh!”

The Heart-Eating Demon bites down hard on Qing’s hand.

It’s been a while since she felt pain in her hand like this.

She can’t operate internal power, and on top of that the channels in her right palm are shredded—so the Minor Water Demon Art’s half-assed, fake invulnerability has cracked.

If I stall like this...

And this bastard—how much internal power does he even have? I keep draining and draining and it doesn’t end.

So with her hand jammed in his mouth, Qing blurts out whatever.

“Um, Sword Demon sir? So, uh... the weather’s nice, right?”

“Hm?”

The Sword Demon’s eyebrows lift high, then drop again.

Why are you suddenly talking about the weather? That’s the exact look.

“No, I mean.”

And then Qing’s mind sparks.

“Right! Sword Demon sir—do you happen to know about the Boxer Rebellion?”

“Hm? The Boxer Rebellion? What is that?”

“It’s a group of martial artists with the idea that they should share their martial arts with each other, research together, share the results, and all rise to higher realms together.”

Qing explains the Boxer Rebellion—an organization aimed at communal ownership and distribution of martial arts.

“Hm. I see.”

“And I thought it might suit you, Sword Demon sir. How about quitting the Blood Cult and joining the Boxer Rebellion? You wouldn’t have to hide in the shadows as Blood Cult trash anymore. You could stand proudly under the bright sun as a Transcendent Realm master, earn respect, and collect martial arts together, like you enjoy.”

“No.”

Qing thought it sounded pretty good.

But the Sword Demon answers instantly, without even needing to think.

“Huh. Why?”

“Why? Why would I associate with insane people like that? If what you’re saying is true, that means I’d have to hand over my martial arts too. Why would I give my martial arts to people like that?”

“Because you’d get to share theirs too? Even if there are ten people, you give one and receive ten. If you want to gain multiple martial arts—”

“Why? When I don’t have to.”

Qing understands in one shot.

Because he can steal them.

And before that—his whole posture, even as he talks calmly, is still the posture of someone pointing a blade at you and saying, hand over your martial arts already.

Yeah. His entire way of thinking is just different.

Even if his manner is gentle and he’s willing to talk, a Blood Cult great demonic master is still human garbage.

Being gentle doesn’t stop him from being a killer.

Being able to talk doesn’t mean words actually reach him.

In his world, the only important person is himself.

Other people are nothing but boxes that contain what he needs—no more, no less.

He might put effort into opening the box carefully if he cares about the contents, but if he doesn’t, then breaking it, burning it, kicking it away—it’s no different from a rock.

Nothing matters except himself. So even if he wears a human face, he isn’t human.

Because a human is born from relationships between humans.

“Hm?”

The Sword Demon’s gaze drops.

Blood is leaking out from under the Heart-Eating Demon’s swollen body—too much of it.

And now that he’s actually looking, the Heart-Eating Demon’s bloated body is subtly... wilting.

“You—would you let go of Brother Yu’s mouth? He’s still an elder. It doesn’t look very dignified.”

“This isn’t a relationship where we’re ‘elders’ and ‘juniors.’ One of us has to die.”

“No matter what, a martial artist needs dignity. That’s not the way. From what I know, your disposition should be considerable. What are your juniors supposed to learn from that?”

“They’ve got a mountain to learn from. The selfless will to destroy evil? The resolve to execute villains without hesitation? The attitude of throwing away face and everything else to take down a Blood Cult great demonic master? The life lesson that every moment has to be desperate no matter how strong you are? That doing your best is—”

Qing keeps rambling while thinking to herself.

This clueless bastard.

If I’m dragging time like this, he should either launch that grotesque dance as an ambush or do something—why is he just standing there watching like it’s entertaining?

Qing finally flicks her eyes toward Kim Heojung and signals him.

Only then does Kim Heojung start the dance, neck twitching—

but there’s no way the Sword Demon wouldn’t notice something that obvious.

The Sword Demon kicks off the ground and dives in.

Qing hoists the Heart-Eating Demon’s forearm up in front of her like a shield.

Enemy bodies are the best shields. It’s a personal creed.

The Sword Demon’s saber stops dead for a beat—then in an instant it pulls back and flashes toward Qing’s right arm.

Qing whips the forearm she’s holding—SHK-SHK—blocking the saber’s path.

With the bloated body between them, one guy is standing there slashing at empty air, and one woman is sitting there whipping someone else’s arm back and forth.

It’s an insane sight.

But if she could use internal power, maybe.

Right now, Qing can’t circulate any internal power either.

And the Sword Demon’s saber is faster than Qing can swing a whole severed-arm shield—plus the severed arm is heavier than her motions.

She can’t keep up.

Finally, under a vicious aura edge, she yanks her right arm back in a panic—

POP!

The hand jammed in the Heart-Eating Demon’s mouth gets pulled free, and at the same time two front teeth fly up—

and—

“ESSENCE-SIPHONING DEMON ART BITCH! ESSENCE-SIPHONING DEMON ART! ESSENCE-SIPHONING DEMON ART!!! SHE’S USING ESSENCE-SIPHONING DEMON ART!!! ESSENCE-SIPHONING DEMON PRACTITIONER!! SAVE ME!! SHE’S TRYING TO STEAL MY ESSENCE!!”

The Sword Demon’s face hardens into stone.