Chapter 837: A Moment to Savor (12)

Everyone, living life, sometimes has a moment where they want to scream.

Imagine it.

If something went down the wrong pipe so perfectly that the inside of your skull was all hot and spicy and stinging and burning, blazing like fire?

And on top of that, something got into your eyes so they stung-stung and tears poured down?

That was a hundred times harder to endure than holding back a scream.

You would want to scream—loud.

But it did not end there.

If, in that state, you also had to run around frantically on a humid, muggy day?

And not with refreshing sweat, but drenched in that half-assed, unpleasant cold sweat?

It was like she had wrapped herself in a layer of sticky sweat; every time the skin on her body rubbed, it slid with a subtle tackiness that made her sick.

But it still did not end there.

Add dirt.

Her face was caked in it too, so every time she wiped the snot running down, it scraped past like a scouring pad, and inside her hair it felt like someone had poured in a fistful of sand—every scratch, and the sensation of dirt digging under her nails was vivid.

And there was not a single spot inside her clothes where dirt had not gotten in, so every movement came with dry grit rolling and stinging.

And even then, it still did not end there.

What if you poured filth on top of all that?

Five Poison Sect disciples and monsters alike were spitting everywhere, and the monsters even exploded when they died, spraying softened rotten flesh and chunks of black-dead organs.

That nose-stabbing stink of rot was a free bonus.

On top of it all, the enemies kept provoking her.

The Five Poison Sect disciples, even as they were dying, fought like mad just to land a single poison-needle hit, clinging to her arms and legs and continuing that sticky contact.

And the Blood Cult poison monsters were, from the start, just monsters—no satisfaction, no sense of accomplishment in cutting them.

Meanwhile, the ones who actually had skill kept fleeing around with strange movements, tossing javelins and daggers and poison-smoke pouches.

Then if she chased them, they ran again...

Disgust a million times over.

A colossal discomfort she had never felt in her life—filth, grating irritation, stickiness, the sly methods of despicable bastards—her temper kept rising and rising, and inside her nasal cavity it was like a burning spicy field, blazing, and her eyes stung, and tears streamed and snot streamed, and if she wiped it, the dry dirt grains scratched her skin—

“KRAAAAAHK!!”

This was not a problem of Qing’s patience.

Wasn’t this genuinely an extreme situation?

Honestly, even if you brought the Buddha here, you would have no choice but to lose your mind in a situation like this.

*****

This was something even three Buddhist divine arts acknowledged—Central Plains’ representative Muscle-Tendon Transformation and Marrow Cleansing Classic, Tibet’s representative All-Phenomena-Become-One, and the Western Regions’ representative Dragon-Throne Prajñā Tiger-Heart Art.

Yeah, you can’t blame her for exploding.

So, inside Qing’s dantian—

A tiny one in blue clothes, Moon-Maiden True Energy, stared at a four-hundred-eyed tiny one standing before it.

Light-Slaughter Demonic Energy—Qing’s only purple demonic energy—its eye-shape like an axe blade, and somehow its face looked like it was pleading, like it was wronged, as it stared at Moon-Maiden True Energy.

A moment later, Moon-Maiden True Energy turned around.

The three Buddhist true energies nodded.

Day-Sun True Energy looked dissatisfied, but still nodded as well, showing agreement.

Below them, Rapture True Energy, wearing a leash, bared its teeth and snarled, ARRR, ARRRRR—throwing a tantrum.

No one had ever said it out loud, but by an unspoken rule, it was as if true energies below gold had no right to speak.

Then Moon-Maiden True Energy looked back at Light-Slaughter Demonic Energy with its usual indifference, its blank face.

Light-Slaughter Demonic Energy’s bean-sized pupils shrank down to rice-grain size.

Then, brimming with swagger, it drew a tiny sword and hoisted it high.

After that, in a mood that somehow looked excited, it raised the sword and sprinted out in a patter-patter-patter, and behind it, Purple-Lightning Demonic Energy crackled with purple electricity, Blood-Cloud Demonic Energy and Demon-King Blood Energy—the red-robed pair—and the other demonic energies all flew and ran with vigor, excited, flipping through the air as they kicked open the dantian gate and surged out all at once.

Why were Buddhist and Taoist divine arts—supposed to keep the mind lucid (clean and clear)—allowing this demonic-energy rampage right now?

Sometimes keeping your sanity is harmful.

In a horrible situation, letting go of the thread is what helps mental health.

When every kind of annoyance had climbed from the soles of her feet up to her uvula, what was the point of enduring it and forcing herself to bear it until her insides just burned black?

And it wasn’t even the kind of explosion where a Slaughter Calamity killed the living to take their pain—it wasn’t that kind of slaughter-hunger.

Besides, letting the fury piled inside spill out in full, once in a while, would be good.

Like someone had said back in Qing’s hometown.

If you were going to satisfy a desire, you should do it properly when you did it—if you did it halfheartedly, the poison in your heart would just remain.

So, for the first time in a while: full demonic-energy mobilization—what martial artists called a grand berserk surge of demonic nature—begins.

...In the middle of that, a different kind of demonic energy, pressed tight into the corner, slyly lifted its head from between its knees to check the room.

And, miraculously, still sitting, it wriggled-wriggled toward the dantian gate—

In that instant, Day-Sun True Energy let go of the leash it had been holding.

And Rapture True Energy—the tiny one whose outfit was so awkward you couldn’t tell if it was “clothed” or “naked,” its mood completely wrecked—shot out like a firecracker with a lit tail.

And smack-smack, smack-smack.

Heh... heuh-heuh-heuh...

Heaven-Sundering Demonic Energy is laughing again today...

*****

GRRRRR—something low and threatening, like a beast, vibrated out of Qing’s mouth.

Her eyes had been flipped long ago.

“Alright—go! Your turn, monster!”

A Five Poison Sect disciple shouted as he opened the cage holding the Blood Cult-provided monster, the Poison Brute.

But the Poison Brute—normally so desperate to get out that it would pound the bars and ram them with its head until it cracked and caused a huge scene, so they had to keep it sedated—now, for some reason, crouched on the far side of the cage opening and refused to come out.

“Kyiee...”

“No, what’s wrong with you—go, go! The enemy is right there, the Heavenly Flower Sword!”

The Five Poison Sect disciple stuck his hand through the bars, grabbed the Poison Brute’s head, and yanked.

But—

“KYIEEEEEEK!!!”

“AAAGH!”

The Poison Brute bit down hard on the disciple’s arm, then burst out of the cage and bolted.

In the opposite direction from the Heavenly Flower Sword.

The Poison Brute had almost no intelligence, but if it could speak, it would have said this:

No, sir. No matter how much of a monster I am, isn’t it too much to shove me out to fight that? Humanely—no, brute-ly—this is too much. Too much.

The Five Poison Sect disciple stared blankly toward the direction the Poison Brute had fled.

In that moment, a breath tickled his ear.

SSSSSSS—!

A real monster that even a Blood Cult monster filtered out.

The Heavenly Flower Sword—exhaling red smoke from her mouth for some reason (a feature of the Blood-Cloud Demonic Art, Blood-Cloud Breathing)—had shoved her face right up close, and was tilting her head left and right in a bizarre little twitch.

“HUK!”

The Five Poison Sect disciple shrieked and fell backward onto his ass.

Then the Heavenly Flower Sword’s upper body trembled up and down, as if she were giggling in delight.

The disciple’s expression twisted.

As if he were furious at himself for having looked shocked and afraid, his face was instantly dyed with hatred.

Yet despite that ferocious look like he might pounce at any second, he crawled backward, pushing with his ass and both arms.

The Heavenly Flower Sword shook her upper body again, then jerk-jerk, jerk-jerk—tilting her head like she was telling him to try running if he wanted.

The disciple ground his teeth and turned his back.

As he shoved through the jungle thicket, he heard it—tap, tap, tap—the sound of very light footsteps, never getting farther, keeping the same distance behind him.

As if daring him to try escaping.

GRIND—his teeth clenched hard enough to crack.

He wanted to dump every poison he had right now, but he already had orders.

So he followed the route drilled into his body through training, heading for a specific point in the formation.

After some time like that—

At some point, inside the tropical jungle, a large artificial clearing appeared—trees chopped down, ground packed flat.

And in that space, dense rows of yellow tents.

On the outer edge, a warrior holding a Crescent Blade rushed out and leveled the blade’s tip at the Five Poison Sect disciple who had come running.

“Stop! Who are you?”

It was slightly clumsy Central Plains speech.

But before the disciple could answer—

“Hiiik—Macaron! Macaron!”

The warrior pointed behind him and shouted!

At that voice carrying undeniable terror, Qing’s lips split wide, like they might reach her ears.

Finally. At last. Now she had finally met someone who reacted properly.

“That’s not it! Enemy—enemy!”

The Five Poison Sect disciple shouted.

Then he charged between the tents in the clearing, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“An attack! The enemy is here!”

And then, finally, a middle-aged man dressed in dazzling golden armor blocked his path.

“Hey, Central Plains man. This is our territory. No matter how much you and the Blood Cult—”

That was the moment.

KRAAAAGH!! A wretched scream cut the man off.

The middle-aged man snapped his head around, and an oddly pronounced word leaked from his mouth.

“Macaron...?”

SHHHRAK—blood sprayed up into the sky.

He did not know how the throat had been cut, but he saw it: a head drawing an arc through the air.

The middle-aged man’s expression contorted.

“You, Central Plains bastard...! ###! ######! ##! #####!”

Then, urgently, a language that wasn’t Central Plains speech burst out, and warriors holding weapons poured out of the tents.

And right after that—DING-DING-DING-DING—

The loud clanging of a bell filled the area.

*****

Drinking salt water when you’re thirsty will never quench thirst, no matter how much you gulp.

But if you drink water?

If you pour water into a burning throat, how refreshing, exhilarating, delightful would that pleasure be?

That was the logic behind the sharpness returning to Qing’s eyes.

Some new bastards showed up, and the fear was obvious on their faces—this was actually a bit like slaughter, wasn’t it?

But who the hell are these guys?

“[Wait, vampire, calm down! We’re on the same side! We came to help you Blood Cult—]”

“Who the hell is Blood Cult!”

Qing roared and swung her arm.

A gigantic hand overlapped atop the back of her hand, long nails twisted like an old tree, and the warrior was chopped into pieces on the spot.

Qing didn’t need to study foreign languages.

Whatever she heard, she got automatic translation.

Though she could understand, she couldn’t tell what country it was from.

Just barbarians—but why were barbarians here?

Like in Tibet, it looked like the Blood Cult bastards couldn’t push their weight around in the Central Plains, so they were borrowing barbarian power.

Either way, if they came to help the Blood Cult, there was no reason to show mercy.

Qing shouted.

“I am the rice-eater, Elder Bandit Lotus!”

And then once more.

“[I am the rice-eater! Elder Bandit Lotus! I will reap your lives! Offer your necks quietly!]”

Fluent barbarian speech spilled out.

No idea what country it was, though.

“[Hiiik! It’s a rice-eating vampire! It’ll eat rice and drink blood too! It’s going to kill everyone!]”

One barbarian screamed and ran.

But only for a moment.

SHHHRAK—blood burst powerfully from his neck and he collapsed.

The middle-aged man in splendid golden armor flicked blood off the huge Crescent Blade in his hand.

What? Why is he killing his own side?

“[Listen, Great Yue warriors! A Great Yue warrior does not flee with an enemy before him. Man or ghost, it doesn’t matter! Aren’t Great Yue warriors warriors who hunt ghosts?!]”

Ah. Great Yue. So these barbarians were from the Great Yue Kingdom.

Come to think of it, they’d said the south ridge of Dochae Mountain was the border with Great Yue, so it was only natural these barbarians here were Great Yue barbarians.

Of course, whether they were Great Yue barbarians or Burma barbarians, what did it matter?

If they came to help the Blood Cult, there was no reason to spare them just because they were barbarians.