Chapter 886: The Plague Wretch Is Hiding Its Strength (5)

Qing slowly rose to her feet.

GASP—an inhalation.

“She stood on two legs!” “She can stand up normally?” “What kind of freakish—!”

I mean, I’m a person, so obviously I stand on two legs.

Why are you freaking out like you just witnessed a cow or a horse walking around on two legs?

Qing dropped her voice low and imitated a man’s tone.

“Stop. Don’t come any closer.”

Then—GASP, GASP, GAAASP—an even stronger chorus of swallowed breaths than before.

“She talked!” “She can talk?!” “She could speak normally this whole time?!” “I thought she was possessed by a ghost!”

Looks like the Plague Wretch’s beast-possession had been a little too convincing.

The Geonpyeong people couldn’t snap out of it at the sudden sight of the Plague Wretch acting human.

They really did look... pure.

For the record, “pure” in the Central Plains never means something good.

Among the Central Plains’ “pure traditions” was something called village butchery—so what was village butchery?

You raided the next village, killed the men or crippled them into slaves, killed the old because they were useless, and took the women as spoils.

A time-honored tradition—“pure,” the Central Plains style.

This had been Geonpyeong land—rich with Six Mountains, One Water, Three Fields, free even from government interference—so it was easy to imagine that long ago, there had been multiple villages and settlements here.

A learned intellectual might reasonably infer that the Jang clan unified them—and that was why the current prosperity, comparable to a small city in its prime, had become possible.

Of course, Qing wasn’t exactly a learned intellectual.

But after experiencing Geonpyeong’s “purity” with her own body during her beggar days, she’d still learned the lesson.

If your head won’t do it, your body will.

If your body is good, your head gets to be comfortable.

Anyway, Qing snapped her palm forward, bold and open.

“Stop the violence! I learned martial arts.”

The Geonpyeong people flinched and stopped.

To ordinary civilians in the Central Plains, someone from the murim was basically a fear object by default.

A murim person should be handled by a murim person.

So Geonpyeong’s eyes naturally shifted to the scarred man—Geonpyeong’s Number One, Instructor Kang.

Instructor Kang stepped forward.

His level wasn’t high.

He had a lower dantian capable of holding internal energy, at least—that kind of level. Only second-rate, by the standards of the rivers and lakes.

Still, in a backwoods hole like this, even second-rate was enough to earn respect and fear.

Instructor Kang knew his own level well.

So why step forward anyway?

Because the Plague Wretch looked easy.

Just look at the commotion over the last few days.

The Plague Wretch had only run hard.

She hadn’t really fought them head-on.

Why?

Obviously because she didn’t have the confidence to handle that many people.

But the moment she said she’d learned martial arts, his mind brightened.

How had he not thought of that?

Maybe she’d picked up a line or two of some weird Ground-Crawling Fist art and trained it hard.

Of course, even so, it was only a few years’ worth.

From what he’d heard, it had been around five years—maybe a bit more, maybe less—since the Plague Wretch left Geonpyeong.

And if she’d even managed to crawl out of third-rate in that amount of time, that was impressive.

Even so, Instructor Kang set his stance and raised a clasped-fist salute.

In the murim, you were told to be wary of children, the elderly, women, and beggars—so there was no reason not to be cautious with the Plague Wretch, who matched two of those categories.

“I’m Kang Anryak, martial arts instructor of the Jang Family Manor. I’m lacking, but I learned the Iron-Flower Sword.”

Inside, Qing swallowed a snort.

Oh? Look at this.

Trying to be polite while feeling me out, huh?

Qing knew lowlifes.

A massive body of data—an ecology study—built from countless cases she’d experienced when she traveled with the Evil-Feller Blade in late Year One.

This bastard was acting polite while testing the waters?

Fine. She’d play along.

And besides, she didn’t have any particular grudge against the Jang Family Manor.

After all, the Jang clan—the richest family in Geonpyeong, the real power, the owner of the place—had no reason to go out of their way to bully one beggar.

“Plague Wretch. I don’t need any other name. And I mastered a terrifying peerless divine art—yeah. Beast-Asura Heaven-Rending Cat.”

“Beast-Asura Heaven-Rending Cat...?”

“That’s right. The fiercest beast among beasts—cruel, vile slaughterer, relentless hunter who never releases prey, roaming all the world with lightning movement, feared by all... the king of beasts! A fur-shedding monster! A noble discipline meant to follow the divine authority of... the cat.”

“Since when is a cat the king of beasts—okay, it sheds fur like crazy, but—”

“No questions. Grandmaster Meow, who founded this art, rose to the number-one seat under heaven with this divine art and ultimate learning—so even an ignorant bumpkin like you must have heard of Grandmaster Meow’s divine authority!”

“Th-that’s—never mind. Fine....”

Inside Instructor Kang, the threat level he assigned the Plague Wretch dropped off a cliff.

He felt like he understood the background.

The Plague Wretch who left Geonpyeong must have met some murim master.

That master probably made a cat-themed martial art as a boredom pastime—or some similarly petty reason.

And maybe they taught it because they felt sorry for the wandering Plague Wretch, or because they wanted to see whether the silly art they made had any practical use, or because they wanted to release what they’d created into the world.

Something like that.

But the master probably didn’t feel any real affection for the Plague Wretch.

Just look—“Grandmaster Meow” was obviously a lazy fake name, and after teaching her, they’d still let her wander around looking like a beggar again.

So then... was it a fated encounter or not?

If you learned martial arts from a master you met on the road, that was definitely a fated encounter.

But if the art was some Ground-Crawling Fist garbage called Beast-Asura Heaven-Rending Cat, then... hmm.

Instructor Kang—relaxed—was about to sink into contemplation over this absurd riddle when—

The Plague Wretch planted a hand on her hip and spoke like she was showing off.

“If you understand, then back off. If you leave now, I won’t bother to stop you.”

“You wreaked havoc all over the town—how can you be that shameless?”

“A beggar did beggar things. Is that a problem? Since ancient times, beggars were traditional bandits who lived by causing trouble.”

“Hm.”

It was true—beggars were the active type of begging: barging into people’s houses, banging sticks and singing loudly until they got fed, sprawling out like highwaymen.

She wasn’t wrong.

Instructor Kang let out a deep sigh and drew the sword at his waist.

“You’re completely rotten. Words won’t work.”

“Oh? You want to go a round? Are you truly going to refuse the penalty cup and drink the offered cup instead?”

“The penalty cup and the offered cup are reversed—no, never mind. You brought this on yourself, so don’t blame me for how heavy my hand is.”

“No questions. Take this! Beast-Asura Heaven-Rending Martial Art, First Technique—Fierce-Cat Swift Fist!”

At the same time, the Plague Wretch slapped both arms to the ground and came skimming in low, rushing like she was gliding along the earth.

But Instructor Kang’s face, watching her charge, stayed calm beyond belief.

Because she was shouting the technique name honestly while attacking.

The Plague Wretch’s threat level dropped another notch.

There were plenty of morons like this in the murim.

A technique name, by itself, carried meaning—an implication of the art, the manifestation of the mental image.

And you were telling the enemy?

A seasoned enemy responded like this.

Fierce-Cat Swift Fist—break it down and it sounded like a vicious cat’s fast punch.

So the core had to be a punch, a cat-fast punch.

He’d never fought Ground-Crawling Fist before, so handling an opponent that low was tricky—

But in the end, a fist would come flying.

So he just had to focus on the fist and counter, and victory would be easy.

The Plague Wretch dashed in with a zigzagging trajectory, bounding in jagged bursts.

That posture—mimicking a four-legged beast—was certainly bizarre and dizzying.

In an instant she surged to his front—

Then sank down, suddenly dropping.

In that moment, Instructor Kang’s eyes flashed.

Of course.

The Plague Wretch snapped her knees tight and crouched, yanking her fist back to her waist.

Instructor Kang’s gaze chased that fist, and at the same time he extended his sword edge-on, drawing it back—

Come. I’ll sever your wrist.

And then—

BAM!

Instructor Kang’s waist bent like a bow.

Not backward.

Forward—toward his stomach.

Because the Plague Wretch, who’d been crouching, sprang up with force and drove the crown of her head straight into his solar plexus.

HUK—his lungs emptied, and pain clamped down on his chest.

In his head, Instructor Kang screamed.

You said a fist! You said a cat’s fist!

If Qing had heard him, she would’ve mocked him for being the idiot who fell for it.

But Qing already had a club in her hands—Instructor Kang’s scabbard, ripped away in the blink of an eye—and she brought it down with savage force as she shouted.

“Fourth Technique! Fierce-Cat Divine Kick! Behold the savage cat’s furious kick!”

Instructor Kang collapsed, curled up on the ground clutching his head, getting beaten—yet still screaming back at her.

“AAH! A kick! Aah, aah—You said a kick! Why—AAH! What kind of kick is this—AAH!”

“It’s my heart!”

“You vile—AAH! Wait—bone—bone!”

“Cats are like that!”

The sound of scabbard strikes rang out—WHAP WHAP—thick and meaty.

Then—SNAP!

Oh? You little—

He caught it?

Instructor Kang reached out and grabbed the scabbard, then bellowed hoarsely.

“Y-you bastards! What are you doing?! This bitch—AAH—this is nothing! Hit her! Hit her!!”

“W-waaaah!!”

“Die! Give back my Dongpo Pork!”

Only then did Geonpyeong’s people rush in—half a beat late.

Instructor Kang had been getting pummeled, but the Plague Wretch hadn’t drawn blood, so it looked like they found courage by leaning on numbers.

Qing released the scabbard and smiled bright and sweet.

What kind of “force” could thirty-six ordinary civilians possibly be against a master at the Transformation Realm?

Not thirty-six—even a hundred would still just get beaten.

So what came next was the most obvious thing in the world.

“AAH! AAAAH!”

“GAAH!”

“Aigo—augh.”

Geonpyeong’s men got beaten with gusto.

Punched, elbowed, kicked with toes, stomped with heels, rammed with shoulders.

Some got slapped, some clutched their stomachs as nosebleeds burst, and wails erupted along with them.

Instructor Kang and the thirty-six men—thirty-seven men total—were all sprawled on the ground within one moment, the time it took to drink a cup of tea.

Not seventeen to one, but thirty-seven to one.

You could say what kind of brag was it for a master at the Transformation Realm to do that—

But anyway.

And after a bit.

The Plague Wretch clapped her hands twice, dusting them off.

In front of her, the men knelt in neat rows—six rows of ten.

“Anyway, there’s something seriously wrong with this town’s character. And isn’t it all because of you adults? You bully beggars, so kids watch and learn that—oh, beggars are fine to bully. What, did your parents teach you like that? In Geonpyeong, from way back, from our ancestors, did they pass down some kind of life wisdom—some family precept you hand down for generations—like, ‘Whenever you’re bored, go bully beggars’?”

“......” “......” “......”

“Answer.”

“No!” “That’s not it!”

Qing shook her head slowly.

“Don’t bully beggars again. Even if you won’t help, you shouldn’t kick them. Got it?”

“Yes, that’s right.” “We understand.”

Thus, on some year, some month, some day—

In northern Liaoning Province—

The Plague Wretch pacified the land of Geonpyeong.

And after Geonpyeong’s people suffered the Plague Wretch...

They called her the pinnacle among beggars—the most noble master of beggars—since she was a beggar with great power.

They feared her, and also revered her, and called her—

Beggar Venerable.