Chapter 982: Tears, Drop by Drop (3)

Wang Daeyang’s breath caught in his throat.

His heart dropped cold, his airway tightened, his knees went weak and numb.

It wasn’t a warning that came through the five senses so much as something that struck straight into the mind—an instinctive threat, the kind of human intuition that screams danger.

Killing intent.

And not just any killing intent.

It was refined, tempered killing intent aimed by the master of the Thousand-Kill Ancient Star—someone who had reached the very peak of the Transformation Realm. How could it not be suffocating?

That was when it happened.

The Evil Path Alliance patrol officer jumped in front of Wang Daeyang and planted himself there, blocking the way.

“Wait! Heavenly Flower Sword! You can’t do that! There is no law in this world that allows you to kill a child who declares vengeance for his father! Is this what your so-called righteousness of the orthodox path is?!”

“If he were a person, that might be true. But that isn’t a person, is it?”

The patrol officer’s face went pale, too.

Because he had met the profound killing intent in Qing’s eyes.

“Profound killing intent” was a phrase that didn’t even make sense on paper, but the formless, colorless killing intent quietly boiling over beneath those black pupils had no other comparison.

A little girl—what killing intent could she possibly have?!

This wasn’t some bluff.

She really intended to kill.

The patrol officer hurried to keep talking.

“How can someone who would sell himself for his father’s vengeance—who would spend the rest of his life as a slave—possibly not be a person?!”

“Even beasts cherish and raise their young, and they respect and value their parents. But does that mean you call beasts people?”

The greatest value in the Central Plains was loyalty—loyalty—and because it applied to one’s parents as well, filial piety also became a supreme value.

So using filial piety as justification was a good play—

Except the opponent was a woman who, by all appearances, had come out of the imperial academy of letters.

“The heart that makes a person a person can be many things, but the greatest among them is conscience—the ability to feel shame for one’s own evil.”

“Confucius said that to one who knows no shame, you can never teach the Way of humanity. Mencius said that one who knows no shame is not human.”

“Is that not the moral teaching of Confucius and Mencius?”

“T-that...”

“He does not feel shame over the sinful life he lived, keeping himself alive through banditry. He does not feel shame over his father’s lack of virtue. Though he killed countless people’s fathers, he never once felt shame.”

“And yet he does not feel shame over raising a fuss about his father’s death.”

“Then can you truly call him human?”

“That isn’t what I’m saying! Even so, vengeance is sacred! No matter how vile a man is, isn’t it impossible for him to be unable to feel grief at losing his father?!”

“I did not see him.”

“So when his father, drunk on demonic nature, went berserk—when his father was dying—what was he doing?”

“A man who hid and ran to preserve his own life only becomes ‘grief-stricken’ after his father dies, scrambling around in theatrics. It’s laughable.”

“And even if such a man steps forward claiming he’ll sell the rest of his life into slavery, isn’t it simply that he wants to live—even if it’s as a slave?”

The crowd shivered quietly.

That woman is terrifying. She beats people with her tongue. And did Confucius and Mencius really say that? She wouldn’t just invent it, would she?

“Th...”

While the patrol officer stammered, tongue-tied, Qing spoke again in a voice as stern as a judge.

“If that isn’t the case—if he truly grieves his father’s death and wishes to relieve that resentment out of filial devotion—then tell him to prove that intent right now, immediately, of his own accord.”

“If he does, the heroes of the world will rise.”

“And historians of later generations will write: though the Wang bandits were heinous thieves, at least they raised a proper son—leaving those words behind.”

“As a child, he would be able to preserve his father’s honor.”

End himself.

Written with the character for “self” and the character for “cease”—to cease oneself.

To kill oneself.

If he truly wanted to resolve his father’s resentment with his life, then let him offer his life here and now.

Just as Qing said—if Wang Daeyang actually did it, the entire situation would flip.

Because “heroes” weighed faith and righteousness more heavily than questions of right and wrong, good and evil.

If someone sought to resolve his father’s resentment with death, then even if he were a villain, he would be a hero enough—and vengeance born from that justification would become an absolute sacred ground, respected without exception.

But Qing was certain.

A bandit bastard who lived by banditry would never abandon his life for a father who was already dead.

And so the crowd’s attention poured onto Wang Daeyang.

The rain of gazes—thick with expectation.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of eyes stared at him expecting his death.

Was there any fear in the world greater than that?

Wang Daeyang staggered back, step by step...

The patrol officer finally let out a long sigh—then moved his mouth in small, silent shapes, as if sending voice transmission.

His subordinates stepped in to shield Wang Daeyang, and the patrol officer sighed again.

In the end, it was a sigh that said: I have to insist, pathetically.

“Young Master is under Paejon’s protection. Whether he is human or not, he is a man who receives Paejon’s sponsorship—so I must protect him.”

“Interesting.”

“Earlier, you said Paejon sponsors him personally. Yet the patrol officer of the Evil Path Thug Grand Coalition is the one protecting him.”

“Then is this an affair of the Evil Path Alliance?”

“It is not. It was a personal request, so it has nothing to do with this coalition.”

“Then even if I cut down the great hero, it will have nothing to do with the Evil Path Thug Grand Coalition either—correct?”

The meaning was obvious.

Move.

If you block me, I will cut you down.

“Heavenly Flower Sword. Do you have to go this far?”

“I’m only finishing what I failed to finish back then.”

“Even if righteous and evil differ, Paejon is a great elder of the martial world—and your senior.”

The patrol officer’s face reddened slightly as he spoke.

Because it was a naked threat.

Aren’t you afraid of Paejon? Aren’t you afraid of what comes after?

“Out of respect for my senior, I cannot leave this man alone.”

“He must have fabricated this 사건 with vile lies and begged for my senior’s sponsorship. I fear that by sponsoring someone like him, my senior’s reputation will be stained.”

Her words were courteous.

But to the patrol officer, it sounded like this.

What a load of crap. And you think that ‘senior’ would let himself be fooled by petty tricks?

“That is for Paejon to consider. It is not for you to decide here.”

“I will convey the concerns of the Heavenly Flower Sword well—so sheath your blade.”

Are you really going to go this far?

“No.”

“If I do not end it here, something like this will happen again.”

“And each time it does, I cannot keep feeling guilty toward my senior.”

“So this once, you will have to excuse this junior’s discourtesy.”

In other words:

I know perfectly well this is Paejon’s scheme. Even if I yield, he’ll scheme again. So why shouldn’t I go all the way?

A faint redness crept into the patrol officer’s face.

Of course it did.

The Heavenly Flower Sword wasn’t stupid—she could clearly see that this was, in truth, an affair of the Evil Path Alliance.

And yet she was saying she’d ram straight through it.

Young, hot-blooded, treated like the martial world’s precious saint, pampered and indulged until she thought she was something—so now she was acting like a mere Harmonization martial artist could look down on the entire Evil Path Alliance and say, Try me.

At this point, even the patrol officer’s anger had no choice but to rise.

The patrol officer drew the great blade at his hip.

“...I have received kindness from Paejon, so even if this is personal, I cannot betray his request. Don’t blame me.”

“The life of the martial world is like this, so I prepared myself long ago.”

“And I assume the patrol officer has as well.”

At the same time, the crowd split left and right as if on cue.

There were moments where martial artists no longer needed words.

A wide avenue cut through the plaza, connecting Qing to the patrol officer’s group.

Their momentum pressed against each other, as if they would collide at any second—

That was when it happened.

—Enough.

A woman’s cold whisper, heard clearly in everyone’s ears.

It wasn’t quite voice transmission. It was different—arriving from far away and close by at the same time, yet crisp and unmistakable.

A strange voice-transmission sound no one had heard before.

And yet, the moment they heard it, they understood what kind of art it was.

Six-Harmony Resonance—the proof of an absolute master.

TAP.

A quiet sound of something landing.

On the platform, beside the Heavenly Flower Sword, a beautiful mature woman appeared—someone who hadn’t been there before.

The Evil Path Alliance patrol officer’s complexion turned ashen.

It seemed the anger and heat rushing to his head had made him forget for a moment.

This was the Priestess Order’s front yard.

And when you said Priestess Order, wasn’t there an expert everyone thought of—someone of the Mystical Realm?

The beautiful woman stepped forward by one pace.

Behind her, seven long swords unfurled—SHRRRK—spreading diagonally and hanging in midair.

Starlight swelled clearly within the seven blades.

Under the now dark-blue evening sky, sunset-colored aura draped over them.

Countless people in the crowd felt as if each blade were aimed at them.

Cold dread ran through them, like a fired blade would pierce their hearts at any moment.

An overwhelming show of force.

There was no need to announce who she was.

Everyone here understood the identity of the woman who had appeared.

The Great Matron—Ximen Surin.

Ah. Master.

You didn’t have to come—no, I told you I’d handle it myself, I asked you to just close your eyes to it...

But now that she’d come, Qing couldn’t say something regretful in front of this crowd.

So she did what she could.

Like a disciple meeting her revered teacher—

And as if she’d expected her to come all along—

Qing simply clasped her hands and stood respectfully behind her.

“Greetings to Great Matron Senior.”

The patrol ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) officer offered a fist-and-palm salute with a stiff face.

But Ximen Surin barely acknowledged it.

Then she tossed out a single line, casual and flat.

“I don’t see a single thing wrong in my disciple’s words or conduct. Do you have something to say?”

“...No.”

Then Ximen Surin, just as casually, said—

“Leave either your head, or an arm.”

If you had to choose between your own head and your own arm, who would choose to lose their head?

But if the choice was between someone else’s head and your arm, the story changed.

Leave Wang Daeyang’s head—or leave your arm.

That was what Ximen Surin meant.

The patrol officer fell silent for a moment, then finally forced the words out.

“...Will the left arm be acceptable?”

“Tsk. Pathetic.”

Ximen Surin clicked her tongue in displeasure.

But it wasn’t a refusal.

So the Evil Path Alliance patrol officer drew his blade and chopped down on his own arm.

SPLAT—

An arm dropped onto the ground.

The patrol officer gripped the severed stump above the elbow and bowed his head deeply.

“Thank you for your mercy.”

But Ximen Surin looked away like she’d already lost interest.

The patrol officer turned, led his subordinates, and left.

And it wasn’t only Qing’s imagination that the subordinates dragging Wang Daeyang with them looked... rough.

Inside her mind, Qing clicked her tongue, savoring the taste of it.

Mm. So they’re letting him live and sending him back...

Of course, even if he made it back alive, the treatment he received wouldn’t be the same as before.

Qing had beaten him to death with words, and the spectators would spread those words.

Socially, he was as good as dead.

A patrol officer’s arm had been cut off for a useless piece of social trash.

Even if it was the left arm and not the right, for a martial artist it was a devastating defect.

Two arms reduced to one—cut in half?

Then your strength dropped to a third, a fifth, even a half of a half.

So what kind of treatment that man would receive in the Evil Path Alliance—

You didn’t even need to see it to know.

Still.

Regret was regret.

She’d finally seen someone worth killing and gotten her hopes up...