Chapter 976: It’s Me, You Fuckers (12)

She didn’t come again!

Not once—twice—they got played!

“You can’t toy with people like this......”

“Just how much of a joke do they think we are, to commit something this outrageous?”

“HAWK—PTUI! It’s filthy, fuck!”

In the plaza under the setting sun, the noise of people swallowing down curses roared from everywhere.

There was no humiliation like this—none.

And when they thought about how the Heavenly Flower Sword was twenty-three this year, a young brat—and they’d been toyed with by someone that age—the disgust doubled.

But what are you going to do if you’re offended?

If you’re mad, storm the Priestess Order Temple and demand what kind of manners this is.

Except the number one woman under heaven—the Great Matron—was terrifying.

And it wasn’t just the Great Matron.

If you considered the Great Matron’s influence, it was obvious you’d get condemned by female martial artists across the entire murim. That was terrifying too.

Weak to the strong, strong to the weak.

That was one of Qing’s traits—but beyond that, it was the trait of murim as a whole, and beyond that, of everyone in the Central Plains, and beyond even that, of all people in the world: humanity’s instinct.

So you couldn’t exactly call it some glaring flaw that the jackals gathered in Jagwi County feared a tiger—especially a big tiger among tigers.

It was just the natural order.

And would it really end with just the Great Matron?

If you thought about the Martial Alliance’s tight “bond” (written as “bond,” read as “connections”), you could end up building bad blood with the entire righteous murim.

Of course, seed-extraction demonic arts were worth taking all those risks.

That was why demonic masters hiding their identities, dark-world types, and even random nobodies chasing a lucky break by “picking up scraps” had all swarmed in, forming a massive crowd.

But that was only when it came to seed-extraction demonic arts.

For mere venting—venting because a young bitch had toyed with them—nobody wanted to take risks like that.

So what could they do?

Endure it. They had to endure it......

“Did you hear? The Heavenly Flower Sword says she’ll make a statement on the first of June......”

“No, FUCK! A statement my ass—how many times is this now? And more than that, where the hell are you even hearing these ‘she’s coming’ stories from?!”

“......?” “......?”

“Where are you getting these ‘that bitch is coming out’ rumors? We already got played twice!”

“Who the hell are you, yelling all of a sudden? Eavesdropping on people—what are you?”

“Hah. Insolent bastard. I am Broadblade Chang U-gon of Jagye.”

“Broadblade of Jagye? Never heard of you in my life. And you’re pulling ‘I am’ this and that—get lost, asshole. I’m already pissed, and some pissed-off asshole is trying to start shit.”

“What? Dick? You think you can just say whatever you want?”

“I said it. What—does it bug you? You want to go?”

“Oh? Let’s go! Come out here, you bastard!”

And so it turned into a CLANG-CLANG, fun little sword-fight game.

Already wronged and furious with nowhere to put it, hearts collided here and there—so the story went.

Anyway.

Heavenly Flower Sword. Reservation no-show. This round.

The next “statement” would be on the first of June.

So once again—seven days later......!

Why it was always seven days was anyone’s guess.

*****

A beautiful face lit by a swaying lantern.

A beauty absorbed in documents—so polished it could stir carelessness even in a Central Plains man who said women should stay home and mind children.

Of course, that didn’t mean you should actually harbor feelings toward this beauty.

Because he had something hanging.

The number one beautiful man under heaven—the sharpest mind among cross-dressing men—this was something the righteous murim’s holy symbol, the Heavenly Flower Sword, had staked their name on and proven.

It was the moment when Seolga-nom was scanning the merchant house documents and continuing the day’s work.

KNOCK KNOCK.

—Seol little brother, are you in there?

“Ah, Brother Kim? Come in.”

A face-veiled “boy” scratched the back of his head awkwardly as he entered Seolga-nom’s office.

Of course, he wasn’t really a boy—only his build looked about fifteen. The one inside was Kim Heo-jung, a man already into middle age.

“Little brother, are you busy?”

“Not particularly. It’s what I do every day anyway, so it doesn’t matter. So—did something happen?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just... it feels awkward for me to keep loafing around. You’ve taken such good care of me, but I’m sitting here as a guest with nothing to do. So I thought I’d ask if there’s anything I can help with.”

Seolga-nom nodded.

While he’d been staying, Kim Heo-jung had spent his time looking uncomfortable—sweeping the yard for no reason, helping with unloading—anything to fill the hours.

It wasn’t unusual.

Diligent people tended to feel awkward “playing guest,” and wasn’t Kim Heo-jung exactly that sort?

“A good thought. I also tried doing absolutely nothing when I was young, but wasn’t it torture? Every day was boring as hell. People need some kind of pastime, anything, to do. Well, there are types who say idly playing around is best, depending on the person. The merchant house is always short on hands, so anywhere would work, but Brother Kim—do you have something you want to try?”

“Mm. I’m fairly confident in cooking, at least....... You know, even Qing—their friend—ate my honey pastries and made such a fuss about how good they were......”

“That friend makes a fuss about anything they eat being delicious. Mm. But—cook. The cook positions are overflowing already.”

Strangely, at the Seol Family Trading House, a cook position was one of the highest “honor posts” those Demonic Cult types prized—because it meant you could prepare the Heavenly Demon Supreme One’s meals directly, or so they said.

Anyway, what a weird bunch. Seolga-nom—a heretical Demonic Cult believer—couldn’t understand it at all, but it wasn’t like it harmed anyone.

“Let’s see. It’ll still take time for you to learn enough martial arts before you go out on escorts or merchant runs... Brother Kim, can you read ledgers?”

“Ledgers? I’ve never done it. But if you teach me, I’ll work hard and learn.”

And so Kim Heo-jung’s job-experience program began!

The first step was the ledger: accounting—job title, cashier.

A name that required careful pronunciation.

But the result?

“It seems Brother Kim isn’t suited for ledgers.”

“......Sorry.”

“What does Brother Kim have to be sorry for? We’re just trying things. Mm, let’s see. I can’t ask you to be a crew chief either, and it’s not like Brother Kim can stand a guard post.”

“Why can’t I stand a guard post?”

“No matter what, you don’t put a guest on guard duty. Mm. Then... how about the forge? Brother Kim can use martial arts, so it might be good as a hobby too—hammering away a bit.”

“Oh, the forge. That sounds good.”

And so at the Seol Family forge—Old Man Ban’s forge—Kim Heo-jung’s apprentice artisan experience began.

Then—

“Master Seol. Could you do something about that sir? Even if someone has no talent, I didn’t know it could be this bad. He’s strong as an ox, so he hammers—but he only hammers. No iron survives, sir.”

“......I’ll take care of it, Elder.”

It was Old Man Ban’s complaint: a man with no talent and no knack who was only diligent, ruining precious iron—THUNK THUNK THUNK.

“......Sorry. It was fun, but it seems my hands weren’t suited for it.”

“What does Brother Kim have to apologize for? If it was fun, that’s enough. Mm. Mm-hmm.”

“Is there anywhere short-handed in a garden bed or something? I did that kind of work for a long time.”

“The estate landscaping isn’t something we ‘staff.’ The employees divide areas as a hobby. Still—if Brother Kim takes to it, I’ll give you an area.”

“No, no. I’m not trying to be a burden. I just meant—if you’re short-handed, that kind of thing.”

“Mm, short-handed. Then how about this? Actually......”

And so Kim Heo-jung ended up standing in front of the main gate of the large estate next door to the Seol Family Trading House.

Several huge gates stood wide open, with no obstruction at all—an imposing, expansive view.

And above it was a neatly written sign:

[Sasa Medical Academy]

Kim Heo-jung’s face veil tilted.

“Sasa Medical Academy? Academy Medical Sasa? So it’s a clinic, but what a weird name.”

The correct meaning was: a medical academy belonging to Sasa.

They said an open clinic door meant you wouldn’t refuse patients.

Maybe that was why—when Kim Heo-jung walked in, the inspectors didn’t seem to care.

No one guided him, so he lingered awkwardly, staring at the overall view of the clinic.

But the Sasa Medical Academy was truly busy.

They said it was a clinic that treated people for the minimum money—so no wonder it was packed.

Patients went in and out nonstop.

“Number two-four-two! Anyone for number two-four-two? Number two-four-two!” The shout calling patients by number.

“Me! Sir, I’m number two-four-one......” A patient who’d looked away for a moment and was now making a miserable face at the number that had passed.

Luckily, it didn’t seem like they sent you away just because your number passed—the patient followed the clinic staff and disappeared beyond the corner.

In the yard over there, trainee physicians followed a senior physician around, asking for prescriptions, answering, taking notes—studying pulse diagnosis and medical arts in the process.

So that’s why it was a “medical academy,” huh?

A sharp, savory, somehow health-restoring scent of boiled medicine spread through the entire clinic.

And then, suddenly, wasn’t there an old man standing beside him, watching with a satisfied look?

Every inch of exposed skin was packed with wrinkles, like he was two hundred years old.

Yet his posture was straight and his eyes brimmed with focused light.

The old man met Kim Heo-jung’s gaze and spoke in a voice laced with amusement.

“You’re the friend the Seol Family is sending, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Bo-yeol. Some call me Sasa. As I look now, I’m still the academy lord.”

Then the old man’s true identity was revealed: Bo-yeol, the academy lord of the Sasa Medical Academy—Sasa Bo-yeol.

“So—can you appreciate tea? A fine tea just came in.”

If Qing had been there, they would’ve greeted him by lightly scolding, asking where in the world he kept getting “fine tea,” and how he always had fine tea every time you saw him.

Bo-yeol’s impression had changed quite a lot from before.

Originally, Sasa’s skin—nothing but wrinkles—had been glossy like scales, making him look like a snake covered in tight scales.

But now, maybe because of the hollow, genial smile resting there, he didn’t look snake-like at all—he even gave off a fresh, immortal-like air.

But Kim Heo-jung didn’t know Sasa’s old infamy, and he didn’t know his older, prickly impression either.

To Kim Heo-jung, he looked like a living divine physician.

Kim Heo-jung swallowed hard.

And so began Kim Heo-jung’s job-experience program: life as a trainee physician.

*****

Last night, the moon hadn’t risen—because it was the new moon, when the moon is fully obscured.

And in the Central Plains’ calendar system, a new moon meant the final night of the month had passed, and you’d spent the first night of a new month.

In other words: today was the first of June.

It was also the day of the third “statement” announcement from the Heavenly Flower Sword, Seomun Cheong.

Once again, the time was the Hour of the Goat, well after lunch, and the place was the South Boulevard plaza.

The plaza had been crowded since lunchtime, but the atmosphere was ominous beyond measure.

Surely... she wasn’t not coming again today.

No. Today, she would definitely come.

If the Heavenly Flower Sword had a human heart—if she had even the bare minimum of decency—she couldn’t possibly deceive people three times with the same trick.

Because if you said you’d been tricked three times by the same method, the entire world would mock and ridicule you, and that label would probably follow you until you died.

No—maybe you wouldn’t be forgotten even after death.

Wasn’t it basically a ruthless, vicious act that completely destroyed a person’s dignity?

Unless she planned on turning everyone here into fools and idiots, she would absolutely appear today.

“Buy beans! Buy beans! Roasted beans! Roasted beans!”

“Buy beans! Buy beans! Roasted beans! Roasted beans!”

A snack vendor—either unable to read the murderous atmosphere or just not caring—raised his voice to hawk his goods.

A glare swept over him: Who’s the ballsy bastard selling beans? Who is it? The snack vendor hurriedly fled.

A small number of martial artists who’d been thinking about cracking roasted beans because they were hungry felt a pang of regret, but anyway.

Time passed like that.

It was June, and June was June—the sunlight had passed “warm” and become a stinging, blazing glare, and the crowded plaza grew hotter, climbing into an intensely unpleasant temperature.

So the martial artists swallowed down their surging irritation and kept stealing angry glances at the sun.

Time was a nasty bastard: the moment you became conscious of it and tried to endure it, it slowed its steps on purpose.

You’d look up thinking half an hour had passed, and the sun would be in basically the same place, like it was mocking you: Not even a quarter-hour yet.

People with low realms even started dripping sweat.

No, fuck—the smell. Who the hell is walking around without washing?

But this was a city where you couldn’t even get a room if you threw money at it—so the stink wasn’t exactly avoidable.

Thanks to that, the plaza’s misery index shot straight up.

It was almost summer.......

So: sun blazing, sweat dripping, discomfort soaring.

Time passed—past the Hour of the Goat, into the Hour of the Monkey, and the Hour of the Monkey was ending, reaching the start of the Hour of the Rooster......

The sun’s position now—perched toward the mountain ridge, preparing to descend.

In Qing’s hometown time, it was around five o’clock.

The time the martial artists had waited was over five hours—up to nine hours at the longest.

Of course the plaza began to roil, curses bursting out here and there.

Maybe they’d been played again.

That damned bitch—again, again, and again!

What a woman with no human heart. Terrifying. Terrifying—she’s completely been swallowed by demonic arts.

This is the true viciousness of a seed-extraction demonic person—Slay-in-Slay. Even that notorious Thousand-Kill Star wouldn’t attempt something this horrifying: erasing a person’s dignity like this!

It got so bad you could even hear sniffles—people on the verge of tears.

Three times—how could it be three times? How could a person do this three times? She’s not human.

I got played three times. Three times. The exact same method, not a single detail different—three times. Ahh! And after this, can I still call myself human......?

I’m ashamed of myself, pathetic—I can’t bear to look at the sky. For the rest of my life I’ll wear a hat and never dare look up.

That was when it happened.

A low shout rose from somewhere.

“The Heavenly Flower Sword—The Heavenly Flower Sword is here!”