Chapter 410

Knock knock knock, someone is banging on the Great Gate from the morning.

But once the noise travels across the spacious garden of the villa and reaches the sliding door, it’s not really loud enough to disturb an average person.

However, Qing’s body is anything but average.

Yet the reason Qing hasn’t woken up right away could be described as a sort of unconscious indifference.

After all, if one has transcended human hearing, they couldn’t wake up to every sound in the night and would never get any sleep.

But when the banging at the gate continues alongside a voice calling out, “Civil Engineering Fairy!” in a desperate tone, the situation becomes a bit different.

People are sensitive to the sounds calling their names even when they’re asleep.

Qing wakes up in Gyeon Pohee’s embrace.

As the pale dawn light shines through the sliding door, irritation surges within.

Who on earth is this punk waking people up at such an early hour?

But the softness against his fingertips settles his anger somewhat.

In the end, he had fallen asleep yesterday without washing up, just kneading his chest like pizza dough, which is how his hands ended up tucked beneath his uncle’s jacket.

Hmm. Why doesn’t my chest ever get tired of this?

Still groggy but feeling happy, Qing contains himself, feeling his way around the soft belly skin, enjoying its smoothness—

Knock knock knock knock. “Fairy! Please!”

But the banging continues.

Qing finally sits up as he hears the sound of the lady.

“Hmm, Uncle? You’re already up…?”

“Oh. You’re awake? Go back to sleep.”

“No way, ugh, is someone calling from outside?”

“Seems like it. Just lie down. I’ll go check.”

“No way, I’m going with you.”

Since Qing had just laid down, he was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

His hair must be a mess, but that’s exactly when hats were invented. (Not really)

Throwing on a cloth cap, he lets out a massive yawn and heads to the gate, where despite the dim early morning light, quite a few people have already gathered.

However, their expressions—

Qing feels all sleepiness vanish instantly.

“The Fairy! The curse, the curse has returned!”

“But you said you had dispelled the curse!”

“Our man outside, Fairy, has to set the table, but just in case the curse might get on it, please get rid of the impurities, okay?”

Each person opens their mouth at once, some surprised, some resentful, others wailing and pleading, which creates a cacophony.

Qing’s expression freezes, the tension rising.

—-

Amidst a wall of people keeping the curious onlookers at bay, Qing slips silently inside.

To the patrol officers, a shaman is a formidable presence that’s hard to understand and commands respect.

As Qing pushes through, no one blocks him, merely observing silently, making it seem completely natural as if he were in a police station.

Corpses are lined up in shrouds on the ground.

Apparently, the damage to the bodies was too severe to be shown.

Seven corpses already, and another stretcher just arrived, making eight.

As the stretcher rocks, a corpse’s arm flops out and drags across the ground.

That scar on the back of the hand looks strangely familiar.

Qing carefully lifts the shroud covering the corpse to check the face.

It’s Master Jang, Mr. Lee. I may not remember his name, but we shared a laugh, didn’t we?

Of course, someone like Master Jang must’ve become wealthy through various shortcuts.

From skimming materials, inflating costs, or hiring invisible laborers…

So Mr. Lee would certainly qualify as a villain with a resume of wrongdoings, crawled through all kinds of legal loopholes.

It would be absurd to say that such shortcuts aren’t part of a merchant’s fundamental skills in the Central Plain.

Moreover, he was respected for treating his workers well while swindling customers out of their money.

And Mr. Lee’s exceeded a hundred, so is it natural death?

Still, it makes me angry. Very angry.

Qing grinds his teeth.

What kind of bastard—Salty Moon, salty moon—have they gotten too brazen now?

I should have dealt with them earlier.

Just lingering around like this…

I should have killed them all by now.

Flames blaze in the depths of Qing’s eyes.

It’s a fire burning in colors not found in the Central Plain.

In that instant, a vision flashes before him.

The light from the lanterns blurs and the world sways, just like a drunk’s perspective.

Suddenly feeling a strange grip on his shoulder, he turns to see unfamiliar faces. Before he can even ask who they are, a sharp blade pokes him silently in the ribs.

Suddenly, his senses snap back into focus as the surroundings become crystal clear. He’s dragged through a deserted alley.

Stabbing and cutting. Amidst a slowly fading world, he hears laughter ringing out.

Let’s finish this quickly, then go have a drink.

And then everything goes dark.

Qing stumbles.

“Uncle? Are you okay?”

Gyeon Pohee rushes in, grabbing him immediately.

A bead of sweat hangs from Qing’s chin, before finally dropping.

What in the world is happening.

Did I accidentally become a real shaman? A possession? Superpowers? Past life?

And who’s showing me this?

Is it my power? Is it you, Mr. Lee?

Or are you the stats screen again?

Why show this to me at all?

No. That doesn’t make sense.

Why would they show it? It’s obvious.

Qing’s lip curls into a smile.

Whatever kind of trick it is, fine.

Yeah, this time I might just play along willingly.

Qing shifts his gaze and continues walking with Gyeon Pohee’s arm linked with his.

Then suddenly, with a swift motion, he grabs a man’s collar and throws him towards the sky with all his might.

“WAAAAH!”

The man screams as he crash-lands right in the middle of the patrol officers by the corpse’s head.

With that, there’s a whooshing sound that pierces the air.

The hammer’s head slams into the man’s ankle, THUD!

The bricks on the road beneath them explode into the air.

A sudden stir causes the piled onlookers to scream in shock.

But regardless, Qing keeps a tight hold on the man’s neck, raising his other hand high—

SMACK!

“AAAHH! Please, please, please!”

The man’s screams broken by fear and pain seem to fade away into nothingness.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

On the now-silent street, Qing’s right hand keeps slapping the man’s face, the sound echoing loudly.

With blood pooling in his ears, his eardrums burst, and blood tears well up, barely enough to protect his eyes from Qing’s relentless strength.

In no time, Gyeon Pohee has tightly restrained both of the man’s arms, holding them forward.

The man struggles, but Pohee is now a true master, standing on the brink of the Realm of Transformation, even a divine warrior would find her a challenge.

He’s simply no match for her.

“Stop, please, please, stop. Please!”

But Qing doesn’t stop hitting him.

Only when half of the man’s face swells up does Qing suddenly yank him back.

Being quickly perceptive, Gyeon Pohee loosens her grip, sending the man falling down like a scarecrow.

Landing right on top of Master Jang’s corpse.

And with a cold voice following—

“Why did you kill him?”

“What, what are you talking about?”

“I said, why did you kill him?”

Qing clenches the man’s hair and drags the shroud down to press against the corpse’s face.

The man flinches, shaking his head in horror.

“EEK!”

“Why? Do you have to be scared after you killed him? You were chuckling when you did it, but now that he’s dead, you’re scared of the corpse?”

The bystanders collectively gasp.

“What, what do you mean…?”

“Seems like you haven’t had enough yet. Uncle?”

“Yeah!”

Pohee cheerfully responds, grabbing the man once again.

Qing raises his hand for another slap.

“Wait! Just a moment! I’ll tell you!”

“Too late! First, ten hits.”

“NOOOO!”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The rhythmic slaps come down firmly on his cheeks.

Blood and saliva start to mix as the flesh on the man’s cheeks ruptures, causing blood to drip all over.

Finally reaching ten strikes, Qing asks again.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Orders, orders from—OOW!”

“Your voice is too low! Say it again!”

“I got the orders!”

“From who?”

“Brother Osori!”

SLAP! The man’s head spins around.

His eyes widen in disbelief, and Qing responds in a deadpan voice.

“You think I know who that is? Want to speak only in whispers?”

“Gui Gak-dae! Gui Gak-dae, Great Lord!”

“What’s Gui Gak-dae? Speak properly!”

“The Great Lord Osori of the Gwangju Seonbang Combat Unit ordered it!”

A chorus of gasps ripple through the onlookers.

Regardless, Qing slaps again!

“Do even trash get to call someone ‘brother’?”

“No! That little punk ordered it!”

“Why?”

“That’s because—”

Qing raises his hand again.

The man desperately shouts.

“If more laborers die, the Jin Gajang will stop the work!”

“Who did you kill? Who was it?”

And the man quickly rattles off names in response to Qing’s question.

Honestly, how could Qing know who they are?

But there are plenty of people here wondering the same thing.

“Uncle, break his arms and let him go.”

“Okay!”

Pohee bends the man’s arms outward with ease, snapping them like twigs.

He’s already missing a leg, so once Pohee lets go, the man collapses on the floor, unable to move and flailing helplessly.

“Now let’s go. No, wait. It’s too dangerous for you. Do you want to stay at the shrine, or better yet, wait at Jin Gajang?”

“No way! You’re going to fight, right? I’m going with you!”

Gyeon Pohee firmly declares her intent.

Qing opens his mouth but concludes that nothing he says will matter.

“If it gets dangerous, run away. If you get caught, it’ll be even more dangerous for me.”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

Though her face is covered with cloth, her expression is surely cheerful beyond words.

Qing, feeling everything is settled, quietly walks toward the market.

The onlookers back away as if afraid of being touched, parting the way for Qing, who strides ahead with his signature swift pace.

“Ugh…”

The man is still sprawled on the ground.

One ankle is crushed to a pancake shape, and with both arms broken, even a strong willpower couldn’t lift himself.

And surrounding him, figures begin to gather, blocking the slowly brightening morning sunlight with their shadows.

These are the victims he had callously shouted at earlier, the families and friends of those he hurt.

“Save… me…”

His voice trails off.

Each holds tightly onto the bricks they clutched, remnants of the road that Qing had shattered.

“Patrol Officer! Police! Help! Over here!”

But no answer comes back.

They wouldn’t be here if the patrol officers hadn’t been stopped from entering.

And the predictable story continues.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

—-

Surprisingly, the area before the Gwangju Seonbang is clean.

Qing tilts his head in confusion.

Surely there would be a little cricket running back to inform its lair after witnessing that trash?

Or am I just being underestimated?

Dragging his hammer along, Qing approaches the Great Gate of Gwangju Seonbang.

On either side of the entrance stand two Imperial Guards, weapons ready, who breathe in deeply.

“Stop!”

Though there are two people taking a breath, it sounds like one voice.

That’s because their movements are synchronized, and as one arm swings, it creates a whack that smashes into the other’s ribs, shattering them completely.

The sharp shards of broken ribs pierce the lungs, leaving no room for the man to make a sound.

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