Chapter 390

If you’re a true apostate, you shouldn’t hesitate in retreating one bit.

Because retreating is merely an act of promising the next time, enduring the current mockery, and brimming with enthusiasm to regain strength for revenge.

So, this is definitely not fleeing or running away.

It’s not turning your back on the enemy and running; it’s a hopeful march towards a better future!

“Retreat! Retreat now!”

“It’s the retreat signal! Let’s go!”

“Scatter and gather at Yeonbang!”

Here lies the difference between the Baek Woong Guild, Baek-hoo Dan, two first-rate combat teams, and the Heuk Woong Dan, a second-rate one.

Unlike the Heuk Woong members who are panicking and getting caught by the enemy, the Baek-hoo Dan quickly scatters in all directions with a shout of, “Oh, we were waiting for you! Charge! Move in the opposite direction!”

“The enemy is retreating! Kill them! If we leave them alive, they’ll be a future threat!”

Kang Su-yang understood the sad nature of the Sapa, never able to forget their grudges, and immediately shouted to inform everyone.

“Waaah!!”

The spirits of the orthodox warriors rose in response.

It goes without saying, but if you must swing a sword, it’s much easier to deal with the back of the enemy than the front.

Because people can’t see behind them, and their joints don’t function well when turned back.

So you can stab without worrying about a counterattack.

A strange glow spreads in Qing’s pupils.

To the naked eye, it seems red, but upon closer inspection, it’s red but also blue—the color of the lush fire demon, the twisted hue of blood, a beach piled high with the corpses of countless fish, the lifeless gaze of dead fish staring blankly at the sky.

In contrast to the terrifying gaze, the wide-open mouth reveals neatly arranged white teeth.

So, slash, and slash again. Ah. Where are you running to?

Then suddenly, Qing thinks that the fleeing figure of the Sapa warrior looks strangely familiar.

An unexpected memory sweeps over Qing.

In a world drawn in black and white, “Is this a market?” A familiar figure stands, stepping boldly on spilled vegetables while a certain old lady flails her limbs and bursts into tears. Just kill me, you bastard! Don’t you have a mother or father? What are you doing?

At that moment, a furious sheath strikes the old woman’s head.

An old body crumples to the ground amid the scattered vegetables, with only the blood gushing from her head starkly red in the monochrome world.

The bright red blood touches the market floor, moving bizarrely, splitting and bending, curving and crossing, until it finally takes the shape of a number that people call digits.

One hundred seventy-two.

The back of the head below looks oddly familiar and comfortable.

“Huh.”

Qing tilts her head at the vague sense of déjà vu.

Why does it feel like I’ve seen this somewhere?

Well, fleeing figures often look the same from behind; you can’t see the faces of those running.

Qing swings the straight sword broadly.

The blade slips into and out of the thigh.

The old lady’s—no, the Sapa warrior’s—torso without legs rolls over clumsily.

Qing pauses again.

What was that? Did something just whip by?

But when she tries to recall it, it’s like a dream slipping through her fingers; she knows she had a dream but can’t remember its contents, leaving just a lingering unease behind.

Something…

Qing reaches for the remnants of the dream in her mind.

Yes, I definitely saw that scene, but—

Beep! Beep!

At that moment, a racket pierces her ears!

Some things that were about to be caught evaporate into a crash of bubbles, and flames suddenly flare up in the corners of Qing’s eyes.

“What kind of bastard…”

Qing is very displeased with those signal pipes.

How dare you play a flute during a sacred battle?

If you’re going to blow one, you better do it well!

No noise between floors! Absolutely unforgivable!

Thus, Qing suddenly accelerates.

“Lady!”

Courtesan Chang desperately yells, trying to chase after, but Gakdawi firmly grabs her hair.

“You bastard, how dare you grab a woman’s hair—”

“I’ll let her go. It’s not dangerous; since everyone is fleeing anyway, let her enjoy herself.”

“What are you talking about? Enjoy herself? Are you saying she’s a lady who delights in killing? Do you want me to tell Yeon Pa?”

“Yeon Pa? No, never mind. You’re a woman, yet you really don’t have any sense at all. Ugh, forget it.”

Gakdawi shakes his head cautiously.

Courtesan Chang’s expression turns foul.

But regardless, Qing keeps running.

Since the Sapa warriors are also fleeing, no one hinders her.

But when Qing looks to the side, someone is running alongside her—it’s a Sapa warrior.

Hmm, ninety-nine points. One point short.

Qing jabs the Sapa warrior in the side with the back of her dagger.

With an “ugh,” he crashes into the ground, and the one making all those noisy beeps? That bastard is unacceptable.

That noise-maker must be dealt with!

And finally, Qing’s scream bursts forth, filled with irritation.

“Shut up! Stop making that flute noise!”

As Moon Jeong-yeok, who had been signaling retreat, suddenly shouts, he is taken aback, swinging his sword.

Clang! Sparks fly as blades clash.

“You are—”

“In public places! Be quiet! Please!”

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! With each word, Moon Jeong-yeok takes a step back.

With each retreating step, his expression grows increasingly serious.

What kind of woman has this much strength! He holds back a cry of disbelief that nearly escapes him.

Purely with her ungainly trajectory, yet the force behind it is overwhelmingly strong.

The more skilled the swordsman, the better they are at deflecting attacks smoothly to create openings.

But however much you say one hundred can counter a thousand, that doesn’t mean a cart will change directions when you lean a sword against a rolling wheel.

The sword may break, or the person wielding it may get tossed away.

Qing’s trajectory doesn’t bend—Moon Jeong-yeok’s sword is pushed back instead.

So, he can only step back and avoid!

“Wait! I am Moon Jeong-yeok—”

“Moon? Then I’m Northern Capital, you bastard!”

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Moon Jeong-yeok cannot comprehend Qing’s rage.

What’s going on? Why is he so angry? Did I unknowingly incur some grudge against the Cheonhwa-geom?

But in a warrior’s life, grudges tend to pile up from unexpected places.

Perhaps he inadvertently harmed someone connected to Cheonhwa-geom.

Of course, the beeping signal pipe sound only fueled Qing’s anger, but however imaginative a warrior might be, they wouldn’t think deeply about these matters.

“Stop! Is this how you speak to a senior swordsman!”

“Hmph. Senior? What a joke. I’ve never recognized a Sapa as a senior. They just want to enjoy benefits without earning any!”

“What did you say?”

“No more pointless dialogue! Moonlight Sword? No, hell, perhaps it’s the True Moon Sword, yeah, definitely the True Moon!”

Qing, now familiar with the massive butcher knife, names her dagger with a perfect fit.

“Come on, True Moon!”

Moon Jeong-yeok watches as Qing’s waist twists sharply.

An incredibly twisted right shoulder.

It’s hard to believe a joint could move like that, but her right hand holding the dagger peeks out beyond her left shoulder.

No matter how flexible you are, this posture seems almost impossible. Yet, the powerhouse has twisted her whole body, ready to launch the dagger.

Moon Jeong-yeok tips his sword, resting his left hand on the blade.

And then, clang!! A fierce collision.

“Ugh. True Moon?”

The blade snaps, leaving just an inch of handle behind where True Moon once was.

With the Number One Sword in Fuzhou, one wouldn’t use just any sword as a weapon.

But Qing’s True Moon is a cheap knock-off made from a local blacksmith’s random metalwork.

Is it even necessary to stress the importance of weapons in a battle of Qi against Qi?

Filled with indignation, Qing shouted.

“How dare you touch my dagger! I can’t forgive this!”

If True Moon had a consciousness, it might be asking, “What? My sword?” And the original owner, who now rests in the afterlife, would be saying, “That’s a real thug over there.”

But weapons have no words, and the dead certainly do not speak.

“Hmph! Without your weapon, you only have spirit now!”

Moon Jeong-yeok’s eyes gleamed.

A chance! A weaponless swordsman, huh? Hmm? Why is a swordsman calling a dagger their beloved weapon? Why?

Suddenly, Moon Jeong-yeok’s blade flickers slightly off-balance.

But the difference between swaying and not swaying probably doesn’t matter much.

For the swordsman, instinctively reaching for a grasp of the sword with their right hand at least meant understanding they were in a pickle.

It’s said that brilliant talent can be panicked when left empty-handed.

So, Moon Jeong-yeok smirks slyly as he prepares for that moment.

Clang!

What? Moon Jeong-yeok’s face goes dumbfounded.

Because the peak martial artist sword technique swung hard will not be caught with bare hands.

In an instant, Qing’s left hand strikes Moon Jeong-yeok’s abdomen.

Moon Jeong-yeok’s body flies back in a fashion reminiscent of a dagger shape.

In his mind, an image of the wrinkles on the master physician’s face suddenly flashes; that look of grievance and frustration—what Could that indicate?

“That Cheonhwa-geom woman is the Supreme Demoness! It’s real! No joke! It’s true!!”

Ah.

Moon Jeong-yeok realizes too late.

Why is that the truth? How does that work?

It’s utterly unfair.

But he has no time for grievances.

The Cheonhwa-geom approaches rapidly.

Those pale, long fingers raised—indeed, the most beautiful hand in the world.

Suddenly, a cursed flame known to the ones familiar hits him, a consequence of the demonic arts.

“Why the true cycle—”

That’s as far as Moon Jeong-yeok gets.

He didn’t cultivate the tenacity to continue once his palm dug into his skull.

If he had that grit, he could’ve casually smoked a scroll of memories while recalling pleasant times with a piece of metal lodged in his head.

Thus, people must cultivate their grit.

Number One Sword in Fuzhou, Moon Jeong-yeok. Head ruptured, dead.

The elite and seasoned warriors led the retreat.

Those clever brothers tossing aside their juniors to survive.

But the relief of being alive didn’t last long, for when they reached a wall they hadn’t seen before, it twitched slightly, revealing itself to be a wall of shields.

“Stop! You filthy criminals daring to defy the National Law by wielding military weapons!”

A spear suddenly thrusts through the gap in the shield wall.

Truth is, anyone from the Central Plain could easily deduce that archers lie beyond.

Why are the government officials getting involved?

“My lord, we are martial world individuals—”

“Shut up! Aren’t martial world individuals the people of this nation?! Throw down your weapons and kneel immediately!”

“My lord, the government and the martial world—”

“Get them open! Fire on them!”

At the general’s command, delivered while cutting off a Sapa warrior’s rein, the shield wall parts left and right, revealing the cannon’s mouth.

People of the Central Plain have a tendency to turn into meek lambs right in front of that mouth.

Because therein lie thousands of razor-sharp metal shards ready to fly.

Two people need to stand in front of that to keep the third one alive.

“I’ll kneel! I’ll kneel!”

The Sapa warriors throw down their weapons and kneel on the ground, realizing their predicament.

A beat later, the orthodox pursuers swipe in.

Seeing those who were fleeing suddenly kneel is shocking, but even more astonishing is the barrel aimed at them.

The orthodox warriors arrive one after another, freezing and quietly sheathing their swords.

“Who are you!”

“We are warriors of the Gye-rim Sword Faction…”

“Oh, so you are the esteemed martial art masters spoken of by Wang Ya? We’ve come to apprehend those vile criminals who attacked the martial arts school, so feel free to return in peace.”

The expressions of the Sapa warriors sour.

One is a vile criminal, the other a respected martial arts master!

“Um, uh, thank you for your hard work.”

The orthodox warriors awkwardly bow their heads.

Whatever the reason the government is siding with one side, they must back off in front of the cannons anyway.

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