Chapter 823: Let’s Commit Slaughter (3)

“Y-you killed them all? They were just... people who didn’t even know martial arts. Just ordinary people. Pitiful ones who’d been happy just not to miss three meals a day and to have a roof that didn’t leak... they’d only just started living like human beings......”

The lord of Jeong Family Manor’s voice trembled thinly.

Since his forehead was buried into the floor, Qing couldn’t see what expression he was making.

But the wet, finely shaking sound told her more than enough about how he felt.

Qing’s brows twitched.

Ordinary people don’t make poison out of human corpses.

And they don’t create corpses on top of that.

“Living like human beings?”

You took people, made them live by killing and eating people—made them live by devouring people—and you think you’re some great protector of compassion? Some guardian of mercy?

But not yet.

This wasn’t the time to debate who was right and wrong.

This still had to be nothing but a slaughterhouse for executing Blood Cultists.

“People? Where are there any people in the Blood Cult? There are only pests. So in this world, the only good Blood Cultist is a dead Blood Cultist. I just made them good. Those Blood Cult maggots are probably thanking me down in that hell, too. Sure, they’ve got sins, so they’re getting screwed in rotation through the Eight Hells, but hey—I stopped them from committing even bigger sins, didn’t I?”

“Sins? What right do you have to say that? You’re the sinners. You Central Plains bastards are the worst Killing Wraiths of all.”

“What, a maggot can talk?”

“Then what—are we supposed to just curl up and dry out? Do you even know how our compatriots live? No—this isn’t living. It’s being raised. No—no, that’s not it. Even livestock isn’t treated like that.”

“Because you’re maggots that aren’t even livestock?”

“Do you know what the Central Plains does to us? Just because we’re descended from rebels, they shoved us into the most barren land. They block the rivers with dikes so we can’t even farm, and if we try to go out to survive, they stab us to death with spears and swords—”

“I don’t care about your situation. Like, at all.”

“—Even when you Central Plains bastards invade to hold some kind of ‘contest,’ our compatriots can only cower and get beaten. Human trafficking? You Central Plains bastards always drag our compatriots away as bonded laborers. The only reason you don’t wipe us out is because you want us to give birth and hand our children over as bonded labor. Even animals aren’t treated like this.”

Central Plains villages were usually single-clan settlements—one surname dominating the entire village—so among them, there were descendants of rebels, so-called rebel villages.

And what “treated as rebels” meant in the Central Plains—

Of course, Qing was only dumbfounded.

Because what Jeong Ryujang was claiming was, as far as Qing knew, something from a long time ago.

The current Heavenly Dynasty was already pushing close to three hundred years since its founding.

The army couldn’t spend its strength sealing off rebel villages for a hundred-plus years—and it shouldn’t.

If you redirected the manpower spent on blockade duty into farming, how much grain would you get?

So either the entire group fled deep into the mountains and carved out a new settlement.

Or they changed their surname and slipped into the Central Plains—this wasn’t a country with resident registration like Qing’s hometown. If you just watched your mouth, what was there to get caught on?

And yet Blood Cultists still insisted they were persecuted for the sins of ancestors they didn’t even know.

Because that was how the Blood Cult maintained its power.

The Blood Cult would find a hidden rebel village, then impersonate government troops or martial artists, seal the village off, and slowly squeeze it dry through every kind of exploitation.

Then one day, a band of fighters bearing the Blood Cult’s banner would storm in, stage a “battle” that looked convincing enough, and at the end, the banner of the Blood-Taxed World would fly.

And then the Blood Cult would proclaim they had saved their compatriots.

And even now—at this very moment—there were still compatriots suffering out there.

Join hands. With our compatriots’ strength, drive those Central Plains oppressors out!

And after time passed, the “Central Plains oppressors” who had discovered the rebel village (Blood Cultists in disguise) would appear and treat the compatriots like beasts.

Once the Blood Cult had already taken root in the village as faith, that “oppression” only fueled rage—and became the driving force behind fanatical belief in the Blood Cult.

If the Blood Cult hadn’t taken root yet?

Then until it did, the village would “enjoy,” on repeat, the cycle of Blood Cult liberation and “Central Plains oppressors” retaking the village—forever.

So that miserable, horrific “compatriot life” Blood Cultists talked about?

It was nothing but the Blood Cult’s own abuse, breeding, and injected brainwashing—

‘So, disciple. The Blood Cult is like fleas or rats—if you don’t crush them the moment you find them, they’ll breed in an instant. Remember this clearly. You may pity them, but you must never let mercy enter your hand.’

It was her master—Ximen Surin’s teaching.

‘If you spare them because their situation is pitiful, remember this: you’ll end up dragging even innocent people—those who might never have become Blood Cultists—into that horrifying pit of evil.’

It was something she’d emphasized, over and over.

The Central Plains martial world had already suffered the Blood Cult’s rampages many times. It had no choice but to know why these human trash couldn’t be exterminated—or why it was so hard to.

So Qing’s eyes narrowed.

Does this bastard actually believe that?

Since he doesn’t have any martial arts to speak of... was he a true believer they’d picked up from a Blood Cult village and used as a disposable puppet boss?

No. No way.

If he was running the corpse-poison manufacturing site and taking responsibility for it, then he probably held a position with some weight inside the Blood Cult. Which meant he’d know the truth perfectly well.

And until his identity was exposed, he’d worn the mask of a moral merchant so smoothly—without changing his expression even once—while he scammed people.

And then Qing reached her conclusion.

Bastard—are you trying to buy time?

This whole sob story was too unnatural to trot out right now.

I provoked you that hard, and I told you I set the mine on fire, and you still didn’t even spit out a single curse—what, you’re sitting here selling me a tragic backstory?

If it were me, I’d kill you. I’d skin you alive, salt you hard, ferment you into fish sauce, and feed it to your parents—then I’d spit a full dipperful of filthy words straight in your face.

But... hmm. If it’s like this... isn’t this fine too?

Honestly, Qing didn’t need to completely subdue Jeong Ryujang and then provoke him to stoke his rage.

She could’ve just smashed, stabbed, and sliced until he suffered as much as possible.

And yet she’d worked so hard to flip his insides on purpose.

Because the original plan was to inflame him and bait him into a slip of the tongue.

But if it’s like this?

She didn’t know who he was waiting for, but if he was going to babble on his own, wouldn’t he bite if she tossed a little bait?

“So you’re saying you’re wronged? The Central Plains persecuted you so you had no choice? To live, you spread the disease, pretended to sell medicine for it, lured commoners in, and slaughtered them?”

“I won’t make excuses for that baseness. But we’re only trying to live. And compared to what you’ve done—”

She tossed a little bait—

—and it was a fat catch.

So you bastards did spread the disease, and sold the medicine—picking the most dogshit methods every time, like you had a gift for it.

Yeah. The only good Blood Cultist is a dead Blood Cultist.

A baleful light flickered in Qing’s eyes.

The first to react was Tang Nanna.

“W-wait—no—did he just—what did he say?”

“Ha. Why didn’t I think of this sooner.”

“Big sis. If what I heard is correct......”

“It’s weird. The Lord Physician said the strange plague absolutely wasn’t contagious, but patients keep popping up. And what—‘Bai Smallpox’? He even said there’s no such thing as ‘pureblood’ these days and disease doesn’t pick people. And on top of that, the ones messing with the cure were Blood Cult bastards? We should’ve noticed earlier.”

Jeong Ryujang’s eyes flew wide.

So he could think, after all—he realized he’d slipped.

“W-wait, spreading the disease? That’s—so—that’s a misunderstaaa—!”

Jeong Ryujang let out a scream close to a shriek as he hurriedly tried to add words.

Because Qing’s index finger slid straight into his eye socket.

All the way in—

—two knuckles deep.

In that instant, it felt like a lightning storm cracked down from her fingertips and struck her spine—

This pleasure!

Wow. Wow. Yeah. Yeah, this—wow.

“Ahhh. This is it.”

Qing shuddered as she flicked her finger.

Pale, watery eye-fluid splattered the floor in streaks.

Jeong Ryujang bucked and wriggled and trembled—

But pinned under a transcendent martial artist, that was all he could do.

After a short while—

Jeong Ryujang, soaked in sweat in an instant, sagged limp.

“Huh—huh—huh.”

“Hey. I play along and pretend you’re worth something, and you start thinking you’re easy, huh? You buy time with bullshit not even dogs would believe? Wait—do dogs believe bullshit? Whatever. Why are you buying time?”

Qing kept her real anxiety locked down—wondering if her rotten luck meant another Manifest Realm freak might pop out somewhere again—

—and she smirked, tapping Jeong Ryujang’s head with light little knocks as she talked.

“With the level of the guys you sent out to put out the fire, it’s not even close. So what—did you hide a Transformation Realm expert somewhere? If you stall, will they come?”

“I’m not buying time—”

That was when—

“U-um... Young Master...? This was in the kitchen, and it looked like a letter Miss Yuryeon left......”

A thin voice cut in.

The group’s heads—plus one one-eyed bastard—whipped around all at once.

Jeong Ryujang’s remaining hope even sparked in his lone good eye, like he was expecting something—

—but then his face twisted hard.

It was just a maidservant of Jeong Family Manor.

She’d heard screams and thought the guests were playing some kind of cruel prank in a mob. Then she saw her lord’s face, sucked in a shocked breath—

DINGGG—!

With the temple-bell sound, the maidservant’s skull shattered into pieces, spraying its contents everywhere.

Her headless body collapsed with a THUD.

Haaaah...

Qing exhaled a long breath.

Yeah. Killing Blood Cultists who didn’t know anything—just Blood Cultists—still wasn’t enjoyable at all.

Qing stepped out the door, snatched the letter from the corpse’s hand, and unfolded it.

She skimmed the contents, scowled hard as a wrinkle carved into her brow.

What is this now?

Then—she snorted.

And read the letter aloud.

“Young Master. If you’re reading this letter, congratulations—by sheer heaven-sent luck, it means you avoided a huge danger. But I can’t protect you anymore. Because Yuryeon has to get out of your sight now. So protect yourself properly, on your own. Of course, don’t trust that pathetic Jeong Family Manor riffraff. I could wipe them out all by myself. I could wipe them out with one finger. You know I’m not joking, right?”

Jeong Ryujang’s face twisted violently.

Looks like the person he’d been waiting for was the owner of this letter—someone named Yuryeon.

Qing kept reading.

“My contract with the Blood Cult is over! Yuryeon is free! World, wait for me! The free Yuryeon is coming!”

Qing didn’t know who she was, but she sounded like a pretty entertaining person.

If Jeong Ryujang was waiting for her, she must have real ability—and “contract” made it sound like some kind of mercenary wanderer.

Either way, Jeong Ryujang’s expression was spectacular.

Rage, shock, betrayal, confusion, denial—mixed together into a thick fear he hadn’t shown once until now.

Finally, it was written all over his face.