Chapter 967: It’s Me, You Fuckers (3)

When the enormous rumor first flowed into Jagwi County, the reaction of the real Demonic Cultists was, at first, downright ecstatic.

WOW! Our Heavenly Demon uses Essence-Siphoning Demon Art!

So it wasn’t just the Ground-Leaping Art, huh!

Under the Demonic Cult’s “new” doctrine, the Heaven-God–Heavenly-Demon Fusion-Evolved Perfect Being was supposed to flash east, flash west, grasp the world in the palm of his hand, oversee all people—and be a master of the Ground-Leaping Art that crossed a thousand li in a single step.

But that was the kind of lore only true believers knew. The masses of the world—people who still didn’t know about the Maitreya Heavenly Demon’s incarnation, meaning probationary believers (unbelievers)—didn’t know any of it.

And yet here was this astonishing news coming out of the mouths of those probationaries, not believers:

The demonic art of demonic arts, the king of demonic arts, the number-one demonic art under heaven—the master of slaughter within slaughter—belonged to the very lord of our souls and flesh!

Well, “Heavenly Demon Descends, Ten Thousand Demons Bow” meant all demons in the world prostrated themselves beneath him and obeyed, so of course he would be the master of all demonic arts as well.

Truly... your chest swelled until it felt majestic...!

They were happy inside like that—because it was beyond pleasing that those stupid unbelievers—no, those probationary believers—had come to grasp even a sliver of the Supreme One’s might.

But that was just how they felt.

A devout believer of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult knew perfectly well that mere demonic arts could never invade the mind of the great Supreme One.

Because there was no master who was controlled by his own slave.

The Heavenly Demon, lord of ten thousand demons, would never be tainted by the demonic nature of demonic arts.

But those probationary believers?

So the devout understood: a truth that was “obvious” to a believer—the strongest Supreme One naturally taking the strongest demonic art—could become anxiety and fear to probationaries.

That was why a devout believer, Migillyeo, couldn’t simply sit still.

For the record, Migillyeo was the side-dish cook at the Seol Family Trading House’s in-house cafeteria.

As the cafeteria’s side-dish cook, how could she possibly stand by and watch this?

Migillyeo wasn’t clever, but she was wise. In moments like this, she understood the life-wisdom of seeking counsel from someone smart rather than trying to force her own head into actions it couldn’t support.

So of course Migillyeo went to visit that Seol Family bastard, to seek a countermeasure.

As far as Migillyeo knew, there weren’t many people as wise as him.

So Migillyeo—who had been vigorously tossing freshly harvested spring cabbage—sprang up from her spot.

Then she strode into that Seol Family bastard’s room, sat down squarely in the seat of honor, and stared into his pretty face.

“Teacher Seol, you’ve heard, haven’t you? The news about that person.”

“Yes, Elder.”

That Seol Family bastard answered, seated politely with an oddly demure attitude.

It was a truly strange scene.

That Seol Family bastard was the owner of the Seol Family Trading House, while Migillyeo was merely the kitchen’s side-dish cook—not even a head cook, just a kitchen helper.

So why?

Because Migillyeo wasn’t just the cafeteria’s side-dish cook.

She was also the highest-ranking figure in the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult’s ceremonial order—the number one of the Sacred-Flame Hall that governed doctrine and rituals.

She was the Highest Sacred-Flame Priestess.

“The news that that person took up a divine art is truly joyous, but it may not be so for foolish probationary believers. That’s why I came, burdened with worries. What should we do?”

That Seol Family bastard thought:

No—why are you asking me?

He felt wronged.

He was only the Seol Family Trading House’s “owner” in name. Not the real owner. He showed his face at formal occasions, and if he lazed around all day he’d get bored, so he ran operations and did business now and then as a way to pass the time.

In the Central Plain they called it a puppet boss.

Back in Qing’s hometown, they called it a figurehead owner.

Wasn’t that exactly what he was?

He held no official position in the Demonic Cult, and honestly, he didn’t even want one.

“Elder, even if you ask me... how can you ask a mere merchant about a matter this important to the faith?”

“A mere merchant? How many people in this world are as wise as Teacher Seol? That child Seungju is bright in his own way, but perhaps because he’s still young, he lacks maturity. I truly believe you can stand beside the world’s great minds without being found wanting—so I’m only seeking that outstanding wisdom.”

That Seol Family bastard thought:

Me?

As if she couldn’t read his mind, the Highest Sacred-Flame Priestess smiled gently.

“Isn’t that why the Supreme One considers you a wisdom pouch, and treasures your insight and discernment?”

“Mm.”

A low sound slipped out of that Seol Family bastard.

He’d never once thought of himself as clever or wise.

From birth he was a bastard child of an Ice Palace branch—base blood. Study? To hell with that. He hadn’t even properly learned to read. The best he’d done was steal letters out of the air by watching over shoulders, learning in secret.

He wasn’t some idiot who stayed illiterate because he was proud of it. He’d just struggled—because if he couldn’t read, he’d stay ignorant and stupid forever. That was all it was. Not some grand ambition for scholarship.

And “discernment”?

He’d lived as a fugitive long enough that tilting his ear for information had become a habit.

Then he got dragged into the Demonic Cult, so he had no choice but to gather what he could, organize it, read the flow of power, predict the next board position—and figure out how to survive.

He’d read the Hundred Schools and military texts, sure, but it was just a hobby.

And even then, it wasn’t because he wanted to read them. It was because there was nothing else to read.

Those Demonic Cult bastards went rabid over secret manuals or pulp like Romance of the Three Kingdoms, but they had zero interest in dusty classics. So the only books a poor bastard stuck in the Demonic Cult’s corner could get his hands on were those.

So: low birth, barely educated, no real interest in running schemes.

And yet people were calling him genius, wisdom, putting him up against real minds.

It didn’t even belong in the same sentence.

This is all because of my big-chested friend.

She keeps joking about “genius” and “top intellect,” but to people beneath her, it wouldn’t sound like a joke.

They say if you stand next to a crooked one, you get hit by the crookedness... though is she the crooked one?

As he recalled his friend’s generous, heavy pectorals—frankly excessive for his tastes—the corner of his lips curled without him noticing.

A lowborn fugitive who’d been struggling just to survive—when had he ever imagined this kind of luxury, even in a dream?

Whatever he truly thought, when he remembered the friend he was grateful to—who’d somehow handed him this unearned fortune—a smile naturally slipped out.

But separate from that, he started turning his brain.

He was already tightly entangled with the Demonic Cult.

He didn’t want to get tangled any deeper.

And he had no intention of becoming a “real” Demonic Cultist who did Demonic Cult work.

Besides, if he tried to force a countermeasure out of his mediocre head, wouldn’t it be all loss?

If it worked, he was Demonic Cult.

If it failed, he was responsible.

The Demonic Cult surely had real smart people crawling all over it. Those people would deal with it later.

So for now, he’d slide past with an answer anyone could give—something safe.

“Rumors aren’t something you can simply stop. But you can distort them as much as possible in a favorable direction. Use secret channels to spread the rumor with a clear tone: There’s a claim Heavenly Flower Sword learned Essence-Siphoning Demon Art—how could that be? How could a righteous swordswoman, an upright chivalrous hero who slew countless demonic masters, be such a thing? Isn’t it just narrow-minded, petty people spreading rumors to damage her fame? If you emphasize that tone, then even if the rumor spreads widely, people won’t be able to trust its truth—and the speed at which it spreads will slow drastically. A rumor that isn’t very entertaining always slows down.”

“Oh-ho!”

“Also, if there is someone actively trying to spread the rumor, it would be worth investigating that person.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s clearly a scheme aimed at the Supreme One. It could be the Blood Cult or the Unorthodox Factions’ dirty work, so it’s worth checking whether they’re an infiltrator. Of course, most people who spread rumors aggressively are just gossip-hounds who love to talk—well, you know how Central Plain people are. Still, caution is necessary.”

In that instant, Migillyeo’s gaze flashed.

There were people who mocked the Supreme One’s blemish for fun?

They were evil bandits who deserved death—except the Supreme One was merciful, and would surely embrace even them.

So she wouldn’t harm them.

But they would pay the price they were due.

That Seol Family bastard saw Migillyeo’s eyes and flinched.

Those eyes were completely gone. Ruined.

Yeah. Entangling with Demonic Cult people is never the answer, he thought, and opened his mouth again.

“And... soon, many people will gather in Jagwi County. The martial world’s obsession with martial arts easily leaps over face and morality, so all kinds of dogs—ahem, wolves will swarm in. Even so, it would be best to simply watch them for now.”

“And why is that?”

“Because how to handle them is something the Supreme One must decide personally. If the faith steps in and suppresses them, it may create other misunderstandings and rumors and worsen the situation. Also, if you strike them, they’ll scatter in every direction and wait for later opportunities. Better to leave them alone and keep them gathered in one place.”

“But if we gather them, couldn’t it bring great harm to the Supreme One’s sect?”

“Who would dare touch the disciples in the front yard of one of the Ten Great Masters of the World?”

“But the Supreme One is currently away, isn’t she? If something happens and she doesn’t appear, the world will learn she’s absent. Then, surely, some thunder-naked fool who doesn’t know his place will emerge. And if such a thing happens and the Supreme One is deeply wounded... ah, how much would that tender person’s heart ache......”

That Seol Family bastard went blank for a moment.

That tender person?

Are we talking about someone else?

That friend of his came every night and said things like, Who should I kill tonight? Killing them one by one is unsatisfying—just write me a list of people who deserve to die.

She was the world’s very incarnation of slaughter, a demonic practitioner among demonic practitioners.

A true arch-demon.

“Ahem. You don’t need to worry about that. The Great Mother should have returned.”

“She returned? That person?”

“It’s probably certain.”

Because the number of Priestess Order disciples who used “buying supplies” as an excuse to come out for air had dropped sharply—and their attitudes had turned rigid, like they’d been whipped into discipline.

And the niece who used to visit all the time—Seomun Jayeo—had stopped coming down at some point, leaving Choi Ri-ong gloomy.

And the previous Heavenly Demon, who used to “play around” while actually patrolling and quietly checking public order, had silently slipped away without a word.

When you added it all up, what conclusion could you draw?

The Great Mother—who had supposedly gone to Qinghai in secret—had definitely returned in secret.

“As expected of Teacher Seol. No wonder the Supreme One favors you so greatly and praises your talents again and again. Splendid. You could truly be called a divine brain.”

“You flatter me. Truly.”

That Seol Family bastard answered with a faint smile.

Divine brain, my ass.

He’d only said the kind of obvious thing anyone could think of if they used their head for two seconds.

And yet...

Yeah. Having that friend wasn’t something to take lightly.

Because thanks to being friends with the Heavenly Demon, he was now receiving sweet-tongued flattery and empty praise—even from the Highest Sacred-Flame Priestess, someone he couldn’t even look at in the past, let alone brush her sleeve.