Chapter 466

Making a Hell for Villains.

Ingredients: Villains. The more, the better.

First, please chop the ingredients into large pieces.

Crushing their limbs works best, but it’s advisable to avoid self-dislocating methods like detaching bones.

(If you make a hole in the neck, you can enjoy a quiet villain’s hell.)

Second, dig a hole.

Since the limbs are merely decorative, it’s okay if you don’t dig too deep.

Third, once the hole is sufficiently dug, toss in all the prepared ingredients, and voilà! Villain’s Hell is complete!

Feel free to enjoy it by teasing, throwing stones, or stabbing spears, or even climbing in temporarily and rolling around to make the broken limbs feel pain.

The recommended method is the so-called ‘Did you get the gist?’

From now on, tell each other to kill, saying you’ll spare only one.

You can watch the spectacle of dissatisfied villains tearing each other apart with their teeth and crushing one another.

Of course, it’s not like they’ll actually help each other anyway.

“Hmmm.”

Qing summarized the recipe.

This should be left as a secret manual to be passed down through generations as a method of executing villains.

But if it falls into the hands of villains, it could cause great harm to the world, so sadly, I’ll just have to quietly remember it myself.

Being in a woman’s body is truly lamentable.

If I were a man, I could have enjoyed watching them pee their pants in terror and flee.

Of course, there’s no rule that a woman can’t do that.

But is there any chance of making a spectacle?

Those guys won’t get to see anything good.

It was a dim evening.

With Qing’s transcendent sight, it was still bright enough to see, but for someone with poor night vision, they might as well see nothing at all.

Qing looked down at the pit with a chilling gaze.

About half a shaku?

If you stand below, you’d almost touch the ground with your nose.

However, once the limbs become all broken, that half a shaku will be seen as an unconquerable obstacle, like a sheer cliff.

Qing stared blankly at the reddish-yellow mud floor and muttered.

“I hope the drainage is good. Since there are quite a few people, if it looks like it’ll flood, can’t we just drink it all up? They say yellow earth is good for the body.”

For the Han people, yellow earth is like a horrific universal medicine, used for flooring, walls, and even made into spit and pillows.

Huh? But wait.

Now that I think about it, ‘yellow earth’ is a funny term.

Why is it called yellow earth? Isn’t it red?

If Qing were to see real red earth, they might think, “Ah, so that’s why yellow earth is called yellow earth; real red earth is really red.”

In reality, Qing’s doubt is quite logical.

The people of the Central Plains hadn’t seen red earth and didn’t know there existed red soil, yet still insisted on calling it yellow earth.

Why is that?

In truth, it doesn’t matter whether the soil is brown, black, or even flesh-colored—it’s just dirt, so it’s called yellow earth.

The yellow color of the earth.

The sky is black, and the earth is yellow. End of story.

Qing thinks only this as they look at the villains floundering in the muck.

Qing turns their body and heads for a cliff about four shaku high.

Even rocky mountains have their advantages; the uneven rock formations provide various roofs for shelter even in the rain.

“Can we start a fire soon?”

“Yeah. Do you know how to make a fire in the rain?”

“Uh, more firepower?”

“That’ll do. Learn from this.”

Why, rocky mountains are usually covered in pines.

And on the coast, other pines struggle to survive against salt damage.

So, what about No Mountain, which is by the sea?

“Pine needles soak but catch fire easily. This place is filled with pine, and any scrap we pick up will be pine. But elsewhere, it’s best to search for pines.”

After rummaging through a pile of firewood, they pull out a large chunk covered in resin.

“The more resin, the better it burns and lasts. Who picked this up? They did a great job.”

Cheon Yu-hak strips off the bark.

Then they carve out the wick and thinly shave it to make it flutter.

After that, they bring a fire starter close, and the damp wood ignites in no time.

They toss a pile of bark on top, and stack the other firewood.

In an instant, a campfire is born.

Of course, it looks easier because Cheon Yu-hak is a master of transformation in the martial arts.

They chop firewood as if slicing tofu, not realizing they’re true craftsmen.

Besides, because they’re used to it, their work seems casual and haphazard, as is often the case for masters.

“Oh.”

“But whoa, cough, the wet wood is smoky; it’s not good to start a fire in a cramped place.”

It’s a terrain that hardly qualifies as a cave, nestled between rocky formations.

While the thick smoke rises and escapes upward, it lingers, making their eyes sting and their noses tingle.

I wondered if it was okay to start a fire, but according to my master’s words, it should be fine.

It’s deep here; with cliffs above and a forest ahead, it’s unlikely anyone will find it, especially since it’s dark and the smoke won’t be seen from afar.

Starting a fire to roast the deer they caught earlier, hanging it up after they bled it out.

Though it might smell a bit strong, I strangely find my appetite to be lenient when eating meals outdoors.

Then, they hang up their wet clothes to dry and change into fresh ones, lying down while listening to the sound of rain and engaging in casual chatter.

However, the hard rocky floor isn’t very comfortable.

Of course, Qing sleeps well anyway.

They’re not one to get sore even if sleeping on a gravel bed.

But Jin Jangmyung and Mo Yong Joo-hee seemed quite uncomfortable, tossing and turning as they struggled to sleep.

How often would they have slept outdoors?

Jin Jangmyung was quietly training in the Divine Maiden Sect.

Mo Yong Joo-hee, a descendant of a famous family, always sought out the finest inns even while traveling, so she never had to sleep by a campfire on the streets.

—-

One of the laws of the Central Plain.

If you follow a river, you’ll find villages which seem utterly remote and uninhabitable.

Of course, under the law of the Central Plain, this excludes the borders.

In the borderlands, folks only live if there’s a river, a town, or anything besides city life.

In any case, it’s not surprising to find villages around the upstream of the western river flowing between the southern and middle peaks of No Mountain.

Because the history of the Central Plain is akin to that of corrupt officials exploiting commoners.

Thus, more than savage beasts like wolves or bears attacking people, it’s the officials that people fear, hiding away in isolated areas.

And if you add in the closed village culture unique to the Han people?

You’d find that along the slopes of the Central Plain’s mountains and waterways, primitive villages akin to scenes from two hundred years ago remain.

The village known as Jukwa Village among the mountain people was one such hidden locale.

It used to be a village.

Before it became the No Mountain branch of the Jeolnak-seong of the Sado Ten Great Stars.

The horrific tragedy that befalls the well-hidden Jukwa Village within the bamboo forest results from a mix of various factors.

It was due to threats made with drawn swords and the village’s carelessness in revealing its location, unaware of the grace shown during mountain expeditions.

And, although hidden well, it was also due to the villagers lighting a fire and exposing their position.

Of course, even so, the crime of this atrocity rests solely with the martial warriors of Jeolnak-seong.

They were the ones who, upon finding a good base, carried out a village cleaning.

And so, when Jun Gi-chung, the esteemed lord of Jeolnak-seong, returned empty-handed after searching No Mountain in the rain, he could feel the villagers’ emotions thoroughly.

“Where are the brats?! Where are they?!”

Jun Gi-chung leaps into the center of the village among the corpses of the martial warriors.

Then he lets out a heart-wrenching scream, akin to agony in a traditional Central Plain manner.

For reference, this refers to the mourning of parents who have lost their children.

Jun Gi-chung felt just that way.

Because the corpse of Jun Woo-tang, the little master of Jeolnak-seong, lay there.

In a state where all the bones were crushed together, his limbs twisted and coiled into a tight bundle, tied up like a rope.

Seeing his blood-red eyes, one might guess that this process was done while still alive.

You might question why they sent a child to search for the Demonic Arts, but who would have dared imagine anyone would touch Jeolnak-seong?

Due to this lack of imagination, or what others might call a sense of security, Jun Gi-chung lost his son.

In fact, plenty of successors from the Sapa factions had settled in No Mountain.

Because there had been a Martial World Tournament from Sado, and such events usually involve successors for networking.

Then, hearing rumors of the Divine Treasure, they must have snuck off mid-way, leaving the successors behind to lead the way.

When anything good comes out, it’s usually the group representative who takes the credit; it was a good opportunity to firmly support the successors.

“What bastards are they?! Who are they?! Aaaah! Find them! Find them and bring them to me!”

But while it rains and the sun sets, what search is even possible?

There sits Jun Gi-chung, plopping down on the ground, simply staring at his son’s corpse.

The warriors, known as ‘Seongdo’ in Jeolnak-seong, carefully check the corpses and begin to clean them up, paying close attention to their lord’s mood.

At that moment.

“Lord.”

Jun Gi-chung’s head snaps around.

The elder, who had the highest rank and therefore dared to speak, trembles in fear.

Amid the flowing rain, traces of blood tears stretched wildly around his nose.

If Qing had seen this, they would have found it absolutely hilarious, thinking, “If there were a bowl of rice here, or rather, a whole pot of rice, I’d gobble it down without side dishes.”

Killing others’ sons and daughters, and yet shedding blood tears over one’s own!

Can’t they just let their eyes melt and flow away?

“My son, my son is dead.”

“I think you should see this.”

What the elder presented was a string of beads.

In a rush, Jun Gi-chung snatches the string from the elder’s hands, examining the handle of the Great Sword, where the string hangs.

Feeling oddly familiar, he turns the octagonal piece of wood and sees a character: Kang.

He flips it over.

There’s another character: Cheon.

“Kang Pae-cheon…! Where did this come from?”

“From the hand of San-dong from the Three Noble Warriors!”

A dark rage spreads across Jun Gi-chung’s eyes.

“Those punks have the gall to—”

“Lord, please calm down. It could be a ploy—”

“A ploy? What do you mean a ploy? Didn’t you just say it came from the warriors’ hands? They must have clenched onto it tightly, even while dying! To cry out for injustice!”

“But—”

“Right, the Kang Pae-cheon punk has settled on the western bank, hasn’t he? I will personally demand the truth from the Kang Pae-cheon!”

In that moment, thunder claps.

Jun Gi-chung’s face turns pale, and the ominous shadows grow darker.

A crazed expression etches itself into the elder’s eyes.

—-

Meanwhile, Qing and the group were silent.

How many villages could possibly be nestled in the mountains?

And how many commoners had likely perished?

They looked at the corpses of the villagers casually stacked up in the dung field.

Thus, no one hesitated about touching another of the Ten Great Stars.

However, since they had just killed a successor, they agreed not to light a fire tonight and went without it.

In the pitch dark, everyone remained quiet.

Then suddenly, Qing sprang up from their seat.

Why should we mope when we just took down the baddies?

The one who did the deed should stand tall.

Qing decided to liven things up and shouted loudly.

“I can’t stand this damp and griminess! Let’s wash up!”

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