Chapter 887: The Plague Wretch Is Hiding Its Strength (6)

Lord Jang clicks their tongue.

“They’re raising hell, screaming for someone to do something about the Plague Wretch. Instructor Kang, is there really no way? Are you saying that bitch Plague Wretch is that much of an expert?”

“She’s not an expert. She’s about on par with me, or maybe just a little above.”

“And?”

It was the question of why he lost, then.

Even with that many able-bodied men.

Instructor Kang makes a wronged face.

“It’s the matchup. Among martial arts there’s something called Ground-Crawling Fist—an art where you crawl on the ground and fight while running on all fours. Even at the same realm, it’s extremely tricky to deal with...”

“If it’s such a strong martial art, it’d be famous—no, wait. Crawling and running on all fours? No matter how strong it is, who would even try to learn something like that?”

“That’s right.”

“Hmm.”

Lord Jang strokes their beard.

Truthfully, it wasn’t that there was no way to drive out the Plague Wretch.

All they had to do was go out to the interior and buy a Sword-Freak—meaning a roaming martial artist—and bring them back. With Lord Jang’s wealth as Geonpyeong’s ruler, it wouldn’t be hard.

“Everyone’s throwing a fit, demanding I go to the interior and invite an expert, but those idiots... we can’t do that, can we.”

They couldn’t even handle a single Plague Wretch—so if they invited an expert who could beat a Plague Wretch, and that expert decided to settle down in the town, what then?

Someone about Instructor Kang’s level was perfect—someone they could treat well and coexist with on equal footing.

Bring in a true expert, and they might just end up handing Geonpyeong over in one gulp.

Lord Jang clears their throat—ahem—then says,

“So, listen. In a way, isn’t the Plague Wretch also one of our Geonpyeong people? And she probably doesn’t want to keep living like a beggar, either. So if you soothe her properly... she’s still an expert, so it’s not like just anyone can step up, you see.”

Meaning: You go yourself and try to coax her over.

From Instructor Kang’s point of view, it wasn’t a bad proposal.

He knew his own skill well—if he was nothing but a second-rate martial artist, where else would he be treated like a proper expert if not here?

If they brought in a stronger expert from the interior?

He’d be finished.

But the Plague Wretch—if he just got used to Ground-Crawling Fist, he was in a position where he felt confident he could bring her down.

Because Instructor Kang never even imagined, not for a moment, that the Plague Wretch was some peerless master.

Of course.

Even if you were only first-rate, you’d be blasting out inner force nonstop, but the Plague Wretch hadn’t shown anything like that.

More than anything, what kind of master would wear such a hideous getup and disgrace themselves like that, with not a shred of dignity to be found?

Lord Jang’s face blooms bright.

They’d brought it up carefully, worried they might be poking at a martial artist’s pride—yet he was agreeing so readily. How could they not be pleased?

“Just as I thought—there’s only Instructor Kang. The only one I can trust with my affairs. Try and soothe her properly. Hmm?”

*****

Geonpyeong business was almost finished now.

Except for one thing.

“Bring me food!”

“I-I will, I will!”

“What’s that? You resisting now? You didn’t get hit enough? What did I tell you to call me?”

“G-Great Beggar Venerable.”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Qing nods, satisfied.

Then she plunks a foot right up onto the table, shoves the chair back, and sprawls.

If Qing’s people back home saw her put her foot on a dining table, they might explode in rage—what kind of ill-mannered bullshit was that?

But to people here?

Same thing, of course—they’d get angry.

Because the table is a serious matter.

And if you’re doing this in the very middle of a tavern, it’s a sight that’s unbearably unpleasant to other customers.

Even more so because Qing isn’t the Heavenly Flower Sword right now—she’s the solemn pinnacle of Geonpyeong’s martial world, the Beggar Venerable.

Meaning: she looks like a beggar.

A beggar bitch in the middle of the tavern, hogging the most visible seat?

Laying back with her filthy bare feet shoved up on the table like she’s showing them off?

A customer would walk in and immediately turn around and leave—an absurd sight, a filthy sight, a dangerous sight.

A perfect way to ruin a tavern’s business.

You’d wonder what kind of deranged owner would allow a situation like this to go on.

That owner is right next to Qing right now.

Qing gently strokes the Proprietor’s smooth scalp as he kneels beside her.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Y-Yes! Please speak! Great Beggar Venerable.”

“Back in the day, there was this very, very stingy tavern owner, right? In a successful tavern, you get a big barrel of leftovers every day, you know?”

Taverns produce the most food waste—so-called slop—of any business.

The hosting culture here is ninety percent swagger, and there’s this bizarre rule: if the person being treated scrapes the plates clean and eats everything without holding back, the one paying gets embarrassed.

If you don’t leave food behind, it means the amount wasn’t enough—so the host ‘saved money’ and left the guest wanting, or whatever.

Most of these hostings end up as drinking parties, and an upscale tavern is, naturally, the stage for that kind of entertaining.

Meaning: every customer leaves food behind.

“But that owner wouldn’t put it out right away—he’d keep it for days, let it ferment and spoil, then put it out. Why do you think he did that? Was he mad the beggar bastards were eating tasty food?”

“Hahaha...”

The Proprietor laughs awkwardly.

Qing goes, “Hmm,” like she’s thinking.

“And then one day, even that spoiled slop stopped coming out. Maybe he decided to raise pigs and use it as feed?”

“H-Haha...”

“Using leftovers as pig feed is actually a great idea. What’s the point of leaving food behind? If you throw it away, it stinks, it draws bugs—environmental pollution, right? But if you feed pigs, you raise pigs and protect the environment. Killing two birds with one stone. The best. Right?”

“Yes, that’s right, Great Beggar Venerable.”

Qing strokes his bald head a few more times, then flicks her wrist—

SMACK!

“But using that as an excuse to get rid of the slop barrel entirely—isn’t that a bit much? Turns out those pigs... you weren’t even raising them. You just had a promise with the Jang family over there—if their sow has ten piglets, you get one pig. That’s all.”

“Haha....”

“Then where did the missing slop barrel go? Some cold-blooded tavern owner didn’t want to feed beggar bastards and tossed it in the river?”

“Hahaha....”

“If you leave it, the beggars scrape it clean, then you splash water once and it’s clean again—yet you hauled that heavy slop barrel all the way downstream and dumped it. Why? Did you hate seeing beggar bastards who don’t work and just laze around eating for free? You didn’t even want to give them garbage you were going to throw away anyway—so much that you paid someone to haul it far away and toss it?”

“H-Haha...”

“What’s with the cold sweat? You got something on your conscience?”

“N-No, Great Beggar Venerable.”

“Hmm. Well, fine. I get it. In the interior there are guys like that sometimes—no, a lot of the time. The type who thinks giving a customer even a little more is some huge loss. So what would it be like with beggar bastards.”

Even in Qing’s hometown, where commerce was developed, there were owners like that.

So in an era even more backward than that, what would it be like?

Truthfully, it wasn’t about loss—it was more emotional than that.

Not ‘my loss’—just hating the idea that someone else might gain.

And if it’s a beggar bastard who isn’t even a customer, how disgusting would that feel to them?

“But then, what about the beggars who were eating that garbage?”

In Geonpyeong—where the average human warmth was far below the norm—even that major food source suddenly vanished.

So what happens?

The weaker beggars start dying of hunger first, from the bottom up—and the beggar bastards who were already vicious evolve into starving beggars, turning into something savage beyond measure.

“What, why aren’t you answering? If you’ve got nothing to say, what did I tell you to do?”

“H-H-Haha...”

“Yeah, look how nice it is when you laugh. Laughing brings good fortune.”

Qing pats the Proprietor’s bald head—pat, pat.

“Still, I guess it’s not wrong, right? The owner can feed the slop to pigs, dump it in the river... hell, eat it themselves. It’s their call. It’s not like it’s a crime, not like it’s something evil, right?”

“T-That’s right, Great Beggar Venerable.”

“Mm. Yeah. That’s it. Right.”

Did that owner commit a crime?

No. It was just petty spite.

A fair number of beggars died because of that petty spite—but that was just beggar bastards killing other beggars to protect their own bowls.

That wasn’t the tavern owner’s crime.

So I’m just giving it back with petty spite.

Anyway, Geonpyeong Tower—the best-selling tavern in Geonpyeong—won’t take some catastrophic blow just because business stops for a few days.

If you take pains to screw someone over, then you can also learn the lesson that it can happen to you, too.

Qing lets her arm dangle.

From the kitchen comes CLANG-CLANG—pots being worked hard. That salty smell unique to this place—salty and greasy at the same time.

And then, a little later—

“...I’ve been thinking.”

“Please speak, Great Beggar Venerable.”

“Back in the day, there was this very, very stingy tavern owner, right? In a successful—”

How many times was that now?!

Saying the same thing again and again and again—without a single syllable changed.

It was enough to make your ears bleed.

The Proprietor squeezed his eyes shut.

He shouldn’t have gotten rid of the slop barrel!

No—before that, he should’ve mixed rat poison into it and wiped out those beggar bastards at the root!

Of course, by Qing’s doctrine, regret is never repentance.

If it’s repentance, it should be realizing how stingy your heart was and deeply repenting.

Regret is just, while you’re taking a beating—put in crude terms—getting completely dicked and thinking, I shouldn’t have done that, nothing more than lingering attachment.

But.

In truth, the Proprietor hadn’t been completely dicked yet.

Qing was just planning to torment him for a few days and then leave.

Missing a few days of business doesn’t mean you go bankrupt or die.

That’s petty spite, right?

But because he didn’t know Qing’s plan, the Proprietor could only think this:

This bitch isn’t satisfied with ruining my business—she’s going to dry me out and kill me!

Now there was only one hope left for the Proprietor.

That Lord Jang would bring in a true expert from the interior and deal with this rebellious, lawless beggar bitch.

If he could just endure until then!

...That’s what the Proprietor thought, but—

“Ahem. Listen, Beggar Venerable.”

Instructor Kang plops down into the chair across from Qing.

“Huh? What? A rematch? I don’t care, but we eat first, yeah? You eat yet? Food’s coming soon—if you haven’t eaten, eat with me?”

“No, not that. Ahem. I’ll be direct. It seems Lord Jang was impressed by your achievements, and in all my years I’ve found Lord Jang to be a generous person. Their treatment won’t be lacking.”

“Oh. Like that?”

Qing sags, utterly unimpressed.

“Tell them there’s no need. I’ve got nothing tied up with Lord Jang, and if they wanted to treat me well, they should’ve done it when I was the Plague Wretch. Let’s go back to how it was—like a cow looking at a chicken, and a chicken looking at a cow.”

There was no real grudge with Lord Jang.

Not even enough for petty revenge.

What could possibly entangle Geonpyeong’s top power figure with the weakest beggar of the time?

“Mm. Sure. Still—if you change your mind, knock on the door of the Jang Family Manor anytime.”

From Instructor Kang’s perspective, it was a sufficiently satisfying conversation.

First—hadn’t he confirmed that she was someone you could actually talk to?

She wasn’t some lunatic who’d gone insane from learning bizarre martial arts—she was just a martial artist who’d come to repay old grudges from her beggar days... even if she was still a beggar now, anyway.

A crazy bitch is scary. Terrifying.

Because you don’t know what she’ll do—because she can do anything, she’s scary.

But a revenge-crazed bitch?

If you didn’t earn her grudge, was there any reason to fear her?

Instructor Kang looks around the empty tavern.

The Jang Proprietor had hated beggars more than anyone in Geonpyeong for ages.

There’s an old saying in the martial world: beware beggars.

He ignored it and paid in blood.

A pity, but—what you sow, you reap.

If you’re going to hate them, you should’ve at least made sure no future trouble remained.

That was all Instructor Kang thought.

But the Jang Proprietor didn’t feel that way.

For him, it was the moment his insides collapsed and his vision went black.

Lord Jang—no, the Jang family, that crazy old bastard—doesn’t have the slightest intention of driving the Plague Wretch out!

I can’t live like this.

I have to do something, no matter what.

But how?

“Damn, where was I? I got cut off and forgot. Mm. Can’t be helped. So—what I’ve been thinking is—”

“Haha. Hahaha...”

“Yeah, when you laugh, it makes me laugh too. So, back in the day, there was this very stingy tavern owner—”

“Haha...”

The Proprietor hardens his resolve.

I have to do something! Right now!

*****

The Proprietor was desperate, and so he did it.

When you’re thirsty, you dig a well.

With even Lord Jang turning away now, how could he not move on his own—even if it was only a thread of hope?

The next morning.

“What? Where’d the Proprietor go? Hey, Waiter—where’d your owner go? What? Go tell your owner to come out! Not coming? You’re not doing business?”

At that, the Waiter scurries over and throws himself flat on the floor to report.

“Th-The Proprietor... went to the interior to place orders, Great Beggar Venerable.”

“Orders? What orders?”

The day the Mongol raiders came to plunder—to collect offerings—was not far off.

And those plundered goods weren’t limited to what you could obtain in Geonpyeong, so for the rest you had to go out to the interior and buy them.

That was why Geonpyeong periodically sent people out to purchase the goods that would be taken.

And that departure was this morning.

“H-He said... while he was at it, he should present you with delicacies from land and sea, so he went to order high-grade ingredients. Great Beggar Venerable.”

It was obvious bullshit to anyone with ears.

Qing’s brow split straight down the middle.

So in summary?

“This bastard ran.”

I was thinking maybe I’d leave around tomorrow—three days, yesterday-today-tomorrow, just three days of shutting the place down, that’s petty—then he runs after one day?

This asshole just earned himself an extra charge.

If the Proprietor could’ve heard Qing’s thoughts, he might’ve felt truly wronged.

If he’d known it was only three days, he wouldn’t have forced himself into the offering-procurement run out to the interior.

But Qing never intended to tell him, not for even an instant.

Because he has to not know for his heart to burn.

She didn’t tell him on purpose, so there was never any wrong to be done to him in the first place.

So what happened to the Proprietor of Geonpyeong Tower?

“Waaah, waaah, please help us! Chivalrous heroes of the martial world, please—hear me out! A bandit broke in and is trying to dry us out and kill us! Please, take pity on us!”

In the plaza of Joyang County, the Proprietor’s whole family kneels on the ground, wailing as they beg for help.

If Qing saw it, she’d probably scoff—That’s the best plan you could come up with?

But in fact, to people living in big cities, it wasn’t such a rare sight.

Country folk who knew nothing about the martial world would come up crying and begging for help from chivalrous heroes often enough.

It was a scene you could see a few times a year.

Because in the stories country folk knew, chivalrous heroes couldn’t pass by the weak and the suffering.

Still, the result was usually obvious.

Most of the time, they’d come up begging like that, realize the martial world was a truly cold place, realize chivalrous heroes were fictional things that existed only in stories... and then go back.

Nine times out of ten—no, ninety-nine times out of a hundred—it ended like that.

But on the rarest occasions, it could end differently.

If you were very, very lucky, you might meet a real chivalrous hero... or a martial artist whose heart wasn’t yet stained... or else a powerful expert who was simply very bored.

Like this.

“Ahem. For what reason are you begging so desperately for help?”

A handsome face, expensive martial clothes, a flashy scabbard glittering with gold.

A chivalrous hero straight out of a story was right here.

Ah—Heaven is helping me!

Tears slid down the Proprietor’s face.

If Qing knew, she’d find it absurd—why the hell would Heaven help someone like you?

Anyway.