Chapter 906: A Lucky Day (6)

Life-Stealing Blade Art.

True to its grandiose name—a blade art meant to break free of fate and overcome it—it carried a heavy scent of orthodox Daoist tradition.

At the same time, it was the martial art of Odaesan the Life-Stealing Blade, ranked sixth among the Ten Great Masters of the World certified by the Martial Alliance.

For the record, Odaesan’s sobriquet—Life-Stealing Blade—used different characters than the “life-stealing” in Life-Stealing Blade Art. His title meant a saber-wielding man who takes lives.

In other words: a killer.

For a peerless master’s nickname, it sounded almost insulting.

A master at that level had more than enough power to shove a blade under someone’s throat and make them change any nickname they pleased.

But there was no noise about it, and Odaesan himself apparently said “Life-Stealing Blade” out loud without a second thought.

Maybe, true to a demonic master of the unorthodox side, he just thought that kind of vicious title was cool.

Qing had obtained the art as spoils once—after cutting down a young master whose father had been Transcendent Realm.

Back then, it had been fine.

Back then, she’d been anonymous.

It all went to hell because of Eon Yeonyeong, but she’d still managed—one way or another—to shove it under the Blood Cult’s name.

But now was different.

If Qing was the only one who knew the art and kept her mouth shut, that was the end of it.

But the moment she taught it to someone else, it could become a problem.

Still... if she had to hand something over, wasn’t Life-Stealing Blade Art the right choice?

It was originally the martial art of a major unorthodox butcher. If she passed a big killer’s art to another big killer—an outright martial-arts robber—then, on paper, it almost felt like the story lined up.

Almost.

She couldn’t just hand it over as-is.

Because if something went wrong later—if a master on Odaesan’s level found out his art had leaked and went berserk hunting down the Plunderer Demon—

And when Odaesan cornered the Plunderer Demon and demanded to know the source, if the answer was, Oh, that? Heavenly Flower Sword taught it to me. Your art’s good, by the way—

Wouldn’t that be... kind of a disaster?

Her master had once told her that when a problem like that happened, she should slap on a steel face and pretend she didn’t know anything.

And honestly...

She could do that.

Qing had already unleashed all kinds of vicious demonic arts on the Plunderer Demon—demonic arts that even belonged among the world’s ten great demonic arts—because, in the end, she could always just deny it.

If a notorious martial-arts robber suddenly claimed that the righteous holy sword, Heavenly Flower Sword, was collecting demonic arts... who would believe that?

Sure, unorthodox bastards might believe it, but—so what if they did?

Her righteous “family” wouldn’t.

But unorthodox bastards might believe it.

So she needed to make Life-Stealing Blade Art into “not Life-Stealing Blade Art.”

Meaning—she needed to change the name.

But the name of a martial art wasn’t just a label. It was the image at its root—the core thought that held it together.

If she changed it, she had to change it into words that could be interpreted with the same meaning, carrying the same image.

Because the Plunderer Demon wasn’t some random mid-level thug. A Transcendent Realm master would notice a mismatch between a martial art’s name and its core thought in an instant.

Qing’s mind spun hard.

All right. The “life-stealing” in Life-Stealing Blade Art... isn’t “steal life” the way his sobriquet is. It’s “escape fate.” Predestined fate. Mortal fate. Breaking free of the life assigned to you, surpassing it, becoming your true self.

Breaking free of fate... true self... fate... a life ordained by Heaven... shackles... oppression... and then wanting to tear free...

While Qing considered it, the Plunderer Demon waited quietly, wearing a fairly pleased expression.

The martial arts she’d listed so far were the kind that even a neighborhood training hall could dig up variations for—common enough.

But if she kept her mouth shut and agonized for a long time, that meant the art she was about to give up was one she hated to part with.

So the Plunderer Demon waited, expectations rising, for Qing to finally speak.

Meanwhile, Qing’s true intention was simply to change the art’s name—and maybe also change the opening passage and the technique names—just to be extra slippery.

At last, she suddenly held out her hand.

“Could I borrow a saber? A Willow-Leaf Saber would fit best, but even so, it’s better to demonstrate this with a saber than with a sword.”

“Hey. One of you—got a Willow-Leaf Saber? Bring it here!”

From the rear slope, one black-clad man with his face hidden behind a dark mask sprang out, dropped to one knee, and respectfully offered up his weapon with both hands.

Qing’s eyes narrowed.

Hiding your face? It’s always the guys with something dirty to hide—the sneaky bastards who can’t show their looks in public—who cover up like that.

Look at that evil karma. Absolute piece of trash.

Of course he’s the type to hide his face. If you’re clean, why hide it? If you’re proud, you’d show it and walk around openly.

Qing—who loved face veils, who was a master craftsman of human-skin masks, and who always hid her own face—cursed him in her head.

Qing only cursed him in her head because she was brave to the weak and meek to the strong.

She couldn’t help it. She was in front of a Transcendent Realm master.

Slowly, Qing demonstrated Life-Stealing Blade Art.

It was a martial art built on the principle of domination—crushing the opponent down with force—so her entire arm drew bold, sweeping lines from shoulder to fist.

And yet, the real key was the wrist.

In an instant, she folded her wrist, drew the blade tight to her arm, then snapped it upright again in a slicing motion—

That movement was Life-Stealing Blade Art’s defining cut.

To the person facing it, even after lifting their weapon to block, it would feel as if the enemy’s blade suddenly passed straight through their weapon and came in anyway.

As Qing finished the demonstration, the Plunderer Demon stood before her with a deeply satisfied smile spread across his face.

“As expected. The depth is different. This is clearly a famous divine art. What is its name?”

Huh. So he doesn’t know Life-Stealing Blade Art.

Qing had demonstrated first to probe him—just in case he recognized it—before she gave him the renamed title.

Then she answered in a perfectly casual tone.

“It’s called Self-Determination Self-Reliance Blade Art.”

“Self-Determination Self-Reliance Blade Art!”

“Huh. You know it?”

“I’ve never heard of it. But now that I’ve heard the name... my chest swells for some reason. I even feel like I should applaud.”

“Uh... right. In the opening passage: Self-determination is the great spirit of challenge by which humans refuse to simply submit to nature and environment. Self-reliance is the instinct of life that seeks to escape subjugation. People say human fate hangs on Heaven and accept birth, aging, sickness, and death as what Heaven decreed—but that posture is no different from a slave’s. To break free of that fate, this art conveys the will of self-determination and self-reliance.”

“Mm. Good.”

Good my ass. You think “self-determination self-reliance” is good?

Is that your ideal talent profile or something?

*****

Anyway, Qing handed over Self-Determination Self-Reliance Blade Art.

She had no desire to play stupid games and end up in a death match with a Transcendent Realm master.

She’d only changed the name. The contents were still a perfectly intact Life-Stealing Blade Art.

The Plunderer Demon’s expression softened into a smile so warm it practically bloomed.

The pure embodiment of satisfaction.

“Uh, then... can I go now?”

“Mm? Go where?”

“Where do you mean, where? I taught you the martial art. Now we go our separate ways.”

The Plunderer Demon shook his head.

“Haven’t you rested enough? Then you should come at me again. When else will you ever get a chance to freely unleash killing moves against a Transcendent Realm master—without your life being at risk?”

Annoyingly... it was correct.

Qing had been beaten into the ground through countless sparring sessions with her master, but even then she couldn’t truly unleash killing moves.

This was a ridiculous opportunity: to throw killing moves at someone stronger than her while staying safe—something you could never do inside “sparring.”

If you only listened to the words, it almost sounded like the Plunderer Demon was being considerate.

Qing’s eyes narrowed.

“And if I lose again, I have to hand over another martial art?”

“Of course.”

“Are you serious? I’m not some martial-arts sack. You’re going to strip me down to the last scrap?”

The Plunderer Demon’s smile gained an edge of killing intent.

“If you don’t want to die, yes.”

Ah, right. This bastard was a martial-arts robber.

Qing’s irritation flared hard.

The problem was that she’d fought while throwing out every martial art she had, trying to carve out even one angle to kill him.

Now he knew she didn’t just have one or two.

She’d basically pulled out a fat wallet in front of a robber and flashed it open.

If you hand a robber a couple large bills, do you think they’ll politely feel satisfied and leave?

But Qing wasn’t a normal victim.

Qing flopped straight onto her back.

“Damn it. Whatever. I’ll just die. Cut me open.”

“...Mm?”

“I’m taking my martial arts with me to the underworld. Maybe if I bribe the reaper with a divine art, I can slip into a nicer place. Wow, lying down feels great. The ground’s cold too.”

At Qing’s shameless display, the Plunderer Demon couldn’t hide his bewilderment.

“You think I’m only talking?”

“If I’m going to die either way, what’s the point of handing my martial arts to an enemy before I go?”

“You keep saying you’ll die—if you hand them over obediently, I’ll spare you.”

“You know what? There’s a story from Joseon. An old rice-cake grandmother goes to the market to sell rice cakes, and a tiger pops out—ROAR—and threatens her. Give me one rice cake and I won’t eat you!”

At the sudden tiger story, the Plunderer Demon’s face stayed stuck in the same dumbfounded look.

“So the grandmother tosses a rice cake. The tiger grabs it, gets all excited, and disappears. The grandmother calms her heart and heads for the market again, but three steps later, the tiger blocks her path again. ROAR! Give me one rice cake and I won’t eat you!”

The “give me one rice cake and I won’t eat you” tiger chased her until her rice cakes were gone.

And when her rice cakes finally ran out, the tiger laughed and ate her.

Because she had no rice cake left to give.

“Hmm.”

“What’s different here? We keep fighting, and when I run out of martial arts to hand over, you’ll kill me, right? If that’s the case, I might as well throw the rice cakes away and get eaten immediately. I shouldn’t have taught you Self-Determination Self-Reliance Blade Art either.”

“Ahem. I never decided to kill you. If you truly have nothing more to offer, I intended to withdraw.”

“Why would I believe that? You said you’d let me go if I taught you, and then you immediately changed your tune.”

“Ahem.”

Qing’s skill at walking the line had been near world-class since before she ever stepped into the martial world.

And Qing’s instincts whispered.

You can push back.

The desperate one wasn’t her. And the Plunderer Demon wouldn’t be able to cut open the belly of Qing—the treasure Plague Wretch, the golden goose that laid eggs, the walking sack of martial arts.

Of course, her instincts also said he wasn’t the type to give up.

So Qing sat up—and began giving that wicked tongue some spring.

“Hey. For stuff like this, doesn’t trust matter? What if I teach you a few martial arts, then tell you I’ve got nothing else? Would you really believe me and leave? Like, oh, she really has nothing—and just go?”

As she listened, Gongryang Sayoon had a thought.

What, exactly, was “stuff like this,” where trust was needed—between a robber and their victim?

“Hmm.”

“So you can’t betray the trust we’ve built—even if it’s only been a short time—with shallow tricks and instant betrayal. I trusted you and taught you martial arts, and you trusted me and accepted it as a proper oral formula, didn’t you?”

“Mm. That is true.”

“And if you’re going to keep stripping me, you should at least give me time to catch my breath. If the moment I hand something over you say give me more, what do you think goes through my head?”

“That is also true.”

The Plunderer Demon seemed to think for a moment.

“Then I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“Damn it. Are you joking? Martial arts aren’t coins you pick up off the road. And even coins are hard to pick up one per day in this world. Let’s meet next year. Next spring—right? Spring’s nice. Let’s meet when the flowers bloom.”

“A year is absurd. What if, by then, you hide yourself among those righteous masters? How would I find you? I’ll come in five days. How about that?”

“Learning martial arts is easy? Then make it half a year. We met in spring, so let’s meet in autumn.”

“Ten days.”

“Damn, you negotiate like a guillotine. I cut it in half and you just—”

“I doubled it.”

“That’s not what I mean! It’s not about how many times—if I cut it from a year to half a year, that’s more than one hundred and eighty days—”

“Fifteen days.”

“Tsk...”

Qing pretended to hesitate.

The Plunderer Demon’s expression turned smug.

But the result was that—what had been a situation where he could strip her continuously in a row—had become “robbery once every fifteen days.”

The truth was, the Plunderer Demon could’ve just threatened her with a blade and Qing would’ve had no choice.

So regardless of how proud he felt, what was happening here was simply one-sided concessions.

This was one of the cheap tricks of bargaining.

When you demand, start by asking for something absurdly huge—then slash it down hard.

The other side will quickly fall into the illusion that they’re an incredible negotiator.

“Mm. Then let’s meet once per season. We can meet in summer.”

“...Twenty days.”

“Then a month. Let’s do a month! Exactly one month—right now it’s early in the second month, so we meet early in the third month! How about it! If you go lower than that, I’ll just die. Seriously. I can’t!”

“Haa.”

The Plunderer Demon let out a deep sigh and spread both hands in a half-open gesture.

A black-clad man hurriedly scurried around, rehanging and retying the Plunderer Demon’s weapons—the ones he’d taken off earlier—onto his back and waist.

Meaning: he had no intention of fighting further.

Martial-arts thief versus martial-arts robber—an instant agreement!

Robbery reduced to once a month!

No one could possibly understand what this “agreement” even was, but anyway—