Chapter 280

“Yeah, there are twelve of them.”

The coachman suddenly became exceptionally polite.

Qing found it extremely satisfying.

It seems that unless someone is at the brink of death, they just can’t be bothered to show proper etiquette.

Etiquette and manners are traits that only those who’ve been taught exhibit.

Because etiquette and manners are learned behaviors.

Those ignorant fools only act rude because they think it makes them appear strong, but in reality, it just shows how pathetic their parents must be.

But in the Central Plains, there’s no compulsory education, so there are just so many uneducated buffoons.

Thus, in the Martial World, correcting such behavior usually involves a blade being held to their throats swiftly and simply.

Like this.

“Twelve? Hmm. That’s a bit disappointing. Is that all?”

“Yes, four!”

The coachman’s world went dark!

If hearing there are twelve more still makes you feel disappointed, then that master isn’t just any master.

Damn, I should have realized that this beauty was no ordinary sight.

But right as I was about to screw things up, the coachman thought to himself: Ah hell, whether I live like a bug or not, life only happens once. Before I kick the bucket, I’ve got to roll around under the arms of a breathtaking beauty!

“But isn’t this something that happens more than once a day? Is everyone’s poor physiognomy fooling them?”

In truth, there were two other coachmen with worse track records than this guy. Coachmen are human traffickers, bandits, and rapists all rolled into one, so what would be expected?

Those other two looked like nothing but trouble at first glance. It’s common sense that giving a gig to someone who looks like a criminal would backfire.

This bloke was chosen specifically because he had such a good impression. If he were in modern times, he’d be perfect for leading a cult.

His face was innocent enough to warrant some sympathy; this one’s gotta go.

With so many victims already counting their losses, we’ve got to stop more from piling on.

“Now, shake it up.”

“Huh, what?”

“The carriage needs to shake a bit so that the others can come rushing in, thinking it’ll be fun, right? If the coachman calls out, they’ll wonder why this guy’s having all the fun alone.”

“Right.”

“So why not shake it? Come on, think of the carriage floor as a beautiful young lady, and get moving!”

Qing’s blade turned dark. And as the Moonlight Sword’s blade was stained black, grotesque eyes started floating up from it.

Having achieved the Supreme Martial Artist level, Pachen Magi had blended in just a smidgen more, allowing him to wield it.

Anyway, since no one would realize the True Energy was useless, using it discreetly when no one’s watching made the utilization of inner strength just right.

With its ghastly appearance, the coachman awkwardly held his posture.

“What? Who would hold clumsily when sleeping with a woman? What is this, punishment? Shouldn’t you be flat on your stomach? The floor is a stunning beauty, after all!”

At that, the coachman laid flat on the ground.

Then, he started bouncing up and down.

“Lady.”

Qing’s blade went slice! separating the coachman’s ears from his head as it embedded into the ground.

However, just because the blade was now beside his head didn’t mean he’d scream out in pain.

“Hah!”

“Do it right! Come on! If you’re going to have fun with a gorgeous lady, you can’t just shove it in and shake. You need to kiss her first! Use your tongue actively, or do you not get it?”

“Yes, four!”

The coachman had yet another epiphany.

He wasn’t just caught by any master, but rather a truly insane master.

As he put his life on the line, the coachman ignited a passionate performance, swapping dirt on the carriage floor, rubbing and pulling relentlessly in a fit of exaggerated fervor.

“Hehe.”

Qing cackled at the sight.

“You’re pushing too hard in the foreplay, aren’t you? You aren’t going to stab it in hard enough to flip the carriage over?”

“Yes, yes!”

And so, there was a creak, then another creak as the carriage started to shake.

Once it gained momentum, the intensity accelerated and amplified.

With the coachman’s wholehearted commitment, the sounds of the carriage creaking and twisting resounded as it cursed the miserable passengers onboard.

Then Qing heard voices rolling in through the rain.

-How much fun is this guy having that the carriage’s going to fall over?

-Brother, you also saw what kind of woman he had. I already pulled back a foot.

-Why are you pulling back, you crazy fool? You gotta keep going in, gather every drop, and seal it tight to stir up the scene!

Well, death sentence.

Qing swiftly passed judgment.

And finally, the carriage door flew open.

“Hey, if you want to enjoy yourself, you gotta join in!”

“Of course, joy multiplies when shared, sorrow divides in half, and pain is entertaining for me! Waiting for folks is no good. Let’s go! Bam!”

Qing kicked the solar plexus of a guy hanging at the entrance of the carriage.

And then a whole mess of men tumbled down like a waterfall.

Qing lightly stepped on top and then crack. He kicked one ankle out.

To prevent anyone from escaping, he had to target their legs.

With twenty-four ankles, he only needed to ruin half of them.

So, Qing stomped, oh wow, kicked, oh wow, lightly sliced tendons, and relished this sweet handwork.

Noticing a guy turning his back, a hairpin shot out. It lodged right into the ankle with just the tip peeking out.

Considering the unexpected sneak attack, someone was already off guard, loosening his waistband, and their leader was all over, collapsing like a heap.

Plus, the heavy rain restricted visibility and darkened the skies.

Chased by the relentless Qing, footfalls crushed former ankles scattered everywhere.

But truly, were the bad guys always bad?

In a flash, some clever ones bolted away, and the hairpin danced, flew, then returned to Qing’s hand.

Usually tied up in a bun, her long hair now soaked, heavy, and draped down to her knees.

Her dark, shiny locks were too precious to be cut off, so her master’s wishes to let it grow echoed in her mind.

Fortunately, the last hairpin didn’t escape into the sky, so it worked out well, and without any fleeing enemies left, all ended up holding their own ankles, rolling in the muck.

Qing grabbed a handful of hair and tied it neatly while dexterously finishing with the remaining hairpin.

Then she started counting—one, two, three… twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen!

What? There are still three more hidden? Did they lie to me?

Of course, if it’s a pleasant lie like this, I wouldn’t mind hearing more of it.

But that doesn’t mean I could let anyone dare to deceive the esteemed Qing.

“Coachman, didn’t you say twelve? There’s actually fifteen!”

“Huh, how, already?”

“Now, explain yourself. How come there are three more? Maybe you can’t count?”

“That’s impossible. I swear there were twelve!”

“What’s this? You’re calling me a liar? Go on, count it!”

“Whoa! Wait a second!”

Qing grasped the coachman’s ankle and swept him out onto the ground.

As the mud splattered, he face-planted, struggling to sit up while wiping his face.

In conclusion, the coachman didn’t deceive Qing!

He brought along three friends because they all hoped to have some fun with the stunning lady.

Ah, that strong friendship! It should carry on hand in hand in the afterlife as well.

Anyway, the coachman honestly spoke what he knew. But even honesty could be twisted to deceive others.

“So what now? The deceived ones are here. It’s all wrapped up, meaning the coachman did betray me, right? Yes, death sentence.”

“Wait a second!”

“No shouting already. Plenty of time left to shout. If you’re gasping, it’ll bore the audience, so scream fabulously! Control your volume.”

What’s the difference between Sword Aura and Sword Energy, I wonder? I’m really curious about it. So from now, I’ll explore it myself through practice!

And so, Qing tried stabbing, slicing, cutting, and peeling, comparing all movements between Sword Aura and Sword Energy.

This was a noble martial artist’s enthusiastic training to find the fundamental difference between the two.

Sword Aura cuts cleanly.

But Sword Energy? It shreds everything!

If Sword Aura feels smooth and slick, then Sword Energy slashes like a wave.

So, the tactile thrill went to Sword Aura as a victor.

Sword Energy felt so sharp it just didn’t land appealingly.

What a letdown, Qing thought.

In truth, whenever we have high expectations, it’s rare to be fully satisfied.

And so Qing’s feelings about using Sword Energy were just like that.

That’s why I’d rather not use a stiff and strong fishing rod even if it fractures (an analogy for something difficult to use).

When using a sturdy and rigid rod, you catch fish without breaking a sweat, letting them haul themselves up easily.

But who has time for fishing?

In that case, just use a net to gather everything!

In that regard, Sword Aura resembles a fishing rod while Sword Energy serves as a fishing boat collecting all the treasures.

Though excellently functional for the core objective of fishing, it certainly lacks in enjoyment and feels laborious.

However, when combined with Mugeong Shinsu, it took on delightful nuances.

Thanks to weapon training, Qing deftly handled the sharp Qing Blade as if it was part of his fingers.

Mugeong Shinsu operated its secret theft skills, maintaining just the right distance to sneak in and execute a heist.

This meant slightly adjusting the distance to snugly slide between the muscle and skin.

But hey, what’s the use in flaying someone with butter-smooth skin?

This could create paper and use blood as ink to write a manual on Jiangshi techniques—a future marvel!

Although Qing knew nothing about Jiangshi practices, that was, regrettably, an unexplored future.

As Qing indulged in his hobby, ultimately, only the coachman remained.

Qing approached him slowly, wearing a trying smile.

And suddenly it dawned on him.

Huh? What’s this? I shouldn’t kill this guy, right?

What made me think that? Was there some reason I wanted to spare him?

Qing pondered over his thoughts.

The conclusion was, hmm! No idea!

With cheerful intentions to end him, it seemed he had simply forgotten.

As Qing approached with deadly intent, the coachman had already lost his mind.

That made sense; seeing someone gruesomely dismembered would scare anyone into a stupor.

Even midst sudden collapses and violent spasms rolling around in the muck—he was hardly human at this point.

Even if he’d clung to his sanity, escape would be impossible. His feet had holes, and his shin broke while tumbling off the carriage.

Surveying the coachman’s blank stare, Qing clicked his tongue and ultimately decided to use the Supreme Hand-to-Hand Combat technique, driving his hand deep into the flesh under the solar plexus, gripping his heart firmly.

Wow! Now, this is mine!

I can do whatever I want with it!

I can control this heart!

I rule it!

Like a master surgeon employing his last resort, Qing squeezed hard, forcing blood to gush through.

He ramped up the heartbeat threefold, causing blood to seep from every orifice.

Blood pressure skyrocketed, bursting through vessels with a loud burst.

Every single vein ruptured, the coachman’s eyeballs turned scarlet, “Oh, what’s this? It’s turning red after speeding up thrice? Is this the principle?”

And in that final moment, the last flicker of life was replaced by lifelessness…

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