Chapter 536

This primitive ancient martial world is a savage place filled with ruthless rogues.

Completely different from Qing’s hometown.

Grudges here don’t just fizzle out like burnt-out logs leaving nothing but ashes in the chest.

It’s a world where everything is settled with a clean slice of the sword, no strings attached.

So, what do the folks from the Central Plain mean to Qing? It’s a bit extreme, how should I put it?

Do they manage their bipolar societal choices well?

They’re incredibly kind to close friends and strong individuals, but to strangers and the weak? These dog-like bastards show no mercy.

A-Qing’s martial world and Seomun Qing’s are completely different in color.

Thinking back, before entering the Divine Maiden Sect, this world seemed nothing more than a gloomy den of evil, neither more nor less.

Honestly, what difference does it make that a high-ranking disciple of the orthodox sect lives life so dramatically easier?

But that’s because Qing is strong.

Even in her prime, there were no rivals among her peers, and once she transcended to the ultimate level, there was no one to stand in her way except true monsters.

But what about my friends?

If only I could slap some cosmic enlightenment into their brains like a TV screen.

But alas, that’s impossible.

Just because they train martial arts doesn’t mean they become as strong, perceptive, and gifted as me.

So, I must protect them.

I can step up, clear away the dangers, and if there are fitting bad guys, I can let them experience real-life combat under my guidance as they grow.

That’s why I need strength.

It shouldn’t just be enough to be powerful for their age; it must be strength that surpasses the ultimate level—strength of thought.

That’s why, in this tempting valley where a martial artist shouldn’t step, I find myself standing.

The spirit of a warrior, or perhaps their soul, or their mind—whatever it’s called—the definition is as muddled as the names.

Splash.

Ripples form in the shallow pooled blood, creating countless concentric circles, geometrically spreading everywhere.

On the other side, a giant wall made of the sticky remnants of humanity—flesh, bones, tendons, and so on.

Among them, there’s a small opening beckoning me to come in.

It’s the hole leading to the state of transformation.

Once you cross that gate, all you have to do is crawl and kneel to your wicked instincts, and you can step into the next realm, the entrance to the demon state.

The original aim of martial arts, to seize the impulse to kill enemies, will consume you wholly.

But can a person resist their instincts and act freely?

Sure, it’s grand to talk about a psychic entrance, but honestly, it’s not that hard to resist the urge to kill.

Why? Because there are precious things to protect in a person’s life: connections, social status, face, and wealth—all too important to be swayed by mere impulse.

As long as you don’t completely lose it, it’s true there’s no way to distinguish a master at the realm of transformation from one at the entrance to the demon state.

So, close your eyes tight.

Don’t go against human nature.

Just once, if you could crawl through the blood and immerse your whole body in it, right beyond is a dream-like state waiting for you.

So, it’s not strange that Qing, in desperate need of strength, finds herself at this threshold of the entrance to the demon state… but.

Thud.

Qing falls flat on the flowing blood like a starfish.

Flailing her arms and legs must remind her of those days back in her hometown when drawing angels in the snow was all the rage.

For an ordinary person, the scent of blood is thick and fishy.

But for Qing?

Hmm, it feels fragrant. Hmm. I want to eat some blood sausage soup. The kind piled high in a stone pot, stacked with soy bean sprouts and a generous helping of tangy pickled greens.

“Mmm, I’m drooling.”

Qing sprawls out, arms and legs spread wide open, gazing up at the ominous mass filling the sky.

Is that real or fake?

This place, too, is like the world within me that once tussled with the spirit entity that wasn’t really Ho but possibly someone real.

Just as I couldn’t tell if the Great Master Mucheondae I saw in the vision of Jeolgeumbyeok was truly him or just my own made-up version of Great Master Mucheong.

So, does it even matter if it’s really Heaven’s Kill or my own version of it?

What matters is whether it helps or not.

And now is exactly the time when I need that help.

If it can help, I wouldn’t care if it was a stray mutt asking for advice rather than Heaven’s Kill.

Just like what Confucius said.

“Hey, I’ve gone through all this fuss claiming I’m about to reach the state of transformation, but why isn’t it happening? It’s like using martial arts suddenly makes hallucinations pop up! I don’t know if what I’m seeing is real or not, but the one who created these martial arts keeps showing up, saying this means that. Doesn’t that mean I’m on the brink of transformation?”

[…….]

“No way, I’m right there, just a hair’s breadth away, just a paper’s thickness! I’m so frustrated I can’t express it. It’s right in front of me, dancing away! Why can’t I reach the state? Why can’t I achieve it? It’s driving me insane.”

[…….]

“Hello? Aren’t you supposed to be able to speak? Is this some pre-recorded message? Great Master Mucheondae? Or is it Heaven’s Kill? Any advice?”

[……Do you desire strength?]

It feels somewhat reluctant to respond.

“Hey, I’m not asking you to tell me to go through that hole. I’ve stashed coins and copper here, so why would I trade the state of transformation for the entrance to the demon state? Just something, something that could help a little?”

The countless eyes sprouting on the pitch-black night sky close shut in unison, expressions drenched in sorrow.

As a non-verbal expression, if I were to interpret it, it would be a clear “What a ridiculous girl.”

Qing grumbled to herself.

“Lady. Don’t act like a mute and pretend you don’t know. And what’s with this old phrase about wanting strength? Don’t say that junk! I’m only being received because it’s me; no one would want to hear some hick drawling about wanting strength! Wow, it’s strength! Sure, I’ll take just one, oh, by any chance, does it come packaged? If I buy two, do I get one strength for free? I’ve seen those markets where you can get something for free if you buy two!”

And then, the gnarled surface of the star seems to twist.

And then—

“Aah!”

Qing screams, covering her eyes.

Shapes, chaotic figures that pierce the brain, dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions of forms and sounds rush in all at once, crafting unfathomable shapes.

Humans, naked humans, beings existing merely as bones, creatures with distorted limbs, obscenely intertwined snakes, corpses, decomposing corpses, rotting corpses sprouting with mushrooms, flowers, flesh and blood, a burning universe, leftover infant shoes, spores blooming atop the sacrificial offerings, eyes, red eyes, blue eyes, irises split in two, into four, into eight, three eyes filled with thousands of pupils…

“Urgh!”

Qing violently expels the breath she was holding.

Before she knows it, the space around her is populated by faint sources of light, swaying the lavish drapery of the highest quality bedding.

And her chest is hot while the left side is cold.

Where am I?

At the Suzhou Tavern, in the Changtaehobi Pavilion of the Taegong Royal Estate.

Ah, yesterday I arrived in Suzhou.

I don’t know why the Prefectural Governor is in Suzhou instead of Nanjing, but it would be rude to decline the hospitality of the highest officer in Jiangsu Province.

I came pouring in with friends, and surprisingly, the Prefectural Governor was quite the party animal.

That talent show—wow, it was truly impressive.

To dance like that without even training in martial arts.

Qing reminisces about the joyous drinking party.

And then, what’s this fidgeting in my chest?

Qing turns to her right.

It’s Tang Nan-ah, the one in charge of the poisonous flower among the Five Flowers of the Martial World, giving an oddly awkward and servile smile.

“Oops. Did you wake up?”

“…Did you not sleep?”

“I did wake up, but I just couldn’t get back to sleep. Just a little—”

Tang Nan-ah says, fidgeting.

“Wouldn’t a normal person pull their hand away when they wake up? What’s with this brazen attitude?”

“I wanted to, but my hand just moves on its own. I mean, I didn’t mean to, but um, what’s going on? My hand won’t move.”

“Haah.”

Qing lets out a deep sigh.

What, did she get possessed by the ghost of someone who died without touching a chest?

While hers isn’t small either, why is she—

No, wait.

Thinking about it, her own is nothing more than a useless burden, just dead weight.

“Good chest. Yeah. Touch it, go ahead.”

“U—Really?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You think covering it up means you can’t touch it at all? You’ve got it so good, you need to be grateful you were born a woman. Just touch away.”

Thinking back, people generally crave what they can’t have.

After learning that bewitching technique from the cute girl, she no longer gets distracted.

“Really? Then I can just grope it?”

“Yup.”

“I can squeeze it?”

“Yup.”

“No holding back?”

“Yup.”

Qing casually replies.

She figures she can just let her tire herself out later.

Suddenly, a jolt. A sharp pain slices through her brain.

Qing tries to brush her hair back, but a heavy sensation pushes her arm down.

Turning her head, she finds a sleeping figure, hugging her arm. Ah, so dazzling.

Qing looks up at the ceiling again.

Right in front of her, Seoliri’s face is pure trouble.

It seems her tastes can’t be helped.

It’s chillingly cold.

How can she use Lamentable Skill in her sleep?

Because, for the Northern Sea folks, mastering Lamentable Skill is a critical issue for survival.

Those who can’t unconsciously use Lamentable Skill while sleeping are all long gone, with only those masters left.

She snores softly.

From what I’ve experienced, Gunyongi is the type who wouldn’t wake even if an elephant stepped on him.

He would only scream after waking up, feeling the pain of having been stepped on, uh, that would indeed be quite the sight.

If I just press down somewhere lightly—ow.

A sharp headache jabs at Qing, making her eyelids flutter.

It feels like those haunting images are still etched on her retina, flashing behind her eyelids.

Is this perhaps the ultimate weapon of the legendary warriors from my hometown, a mental destruction ray?

How dare this monstrous thing intrude upon me?

Qing closes her eyes.

And then splash.

“No way, with you being such a trashy mess might as well be Heaven’s Kill, a solitary friend I’ve never had. If you don’t like it, say you don’t like it; if you like it, say you like it. Why kick those unpleasant images into my head out of the blue?”

[…….]

If Heaven’s Kill is real, that’d be a pretty ridiculous conversation.

I’ve already expressed enough that I don’t like it, doesn’t her clinginess mean anything?

“Isn’t there something you want from me too? Isn’t it more beneficial for you if I’m strong? So, if you want something, why stay silent? I know you’ve got a mouth! You’re not a puppet whose strings have been cut by the cosmos?”

Qing trails off.

Wait, how do I know that? Have I seen that before?

Then suddenly—

Blood, tears, trampled old men, a procession of aged corpses, old women, very old women, grandfather, half-dead grandfathers, old men buried alive, blood tears forming a flood, because the advanced civilized society has no room for the elderly…

“Damn it!”

Qing bolts upright from her bed.

The flustered Tang Nan-ah quickly tries to explain.

“Uhm, I was told to touch. You said I could touch? Though it might’ve been sleep talking…”

“No, that’s not the point! Those dreams are haunting me!”

On the opposite side, Seoliri, curled up while hugging her arm, resumes her snores.

Qing smirks to herself.

Does this damn girl want to mess with me now?

---