Chapter 916: A Strange Bitch, A Strange Guy, A Strange Guy (1)

From the middle of the Pyeongan Province border all the way to half of the Hamgyeong Province border, blood winds blew through countless counties with untimely popular fury.

If you measured it by Qing’s hometown standards, you could even call it a burst of rage a full hundred years ahead of the uprising a ruined gentry man with the surname Hong (not Hong Gil-dong) would have sparked in this region.

But for the Joseon court, there was a somewhat ambiguous point in defining it as a popular uprising.

The people weren’t gathering into one mass to march on the capital, nor were they forming an independent military force—so there was no need to insist it was a popular uprising.

And if they wanted to crush a county as an example, the scale and number of incidents were too large.

On top of that, if the parties involved claimed they knew nothing about it—that a Central-Plain bandit named Seomun Cheong came charging in on a black horse, immediately killed the officials and local clerks, looted the granaries, and scattered the grain among the people—

“Got it? Like the Divine One said—Central-Plain bandit Seomun Cheong. You absolutely can’t say Divine One or Master. If you do, they’ll just wipe out every last one of us in a sweep.”

“I don’t know if that’s okay. They’re a Divine One, our benefactor—how can we do that?”

“The Divine One said they’d open a path for us to live, didn’t they? Even if we only give thanks in our hearts, the Divine One will know.”

“Ah, but still...”

“If that’s really how you feel, what—should we build a shrine and make offerings? They are a Divine One, after all.”

It was the moment a new folk faith sprouted in northern Joseon.

Of course, “faith” in this era wasn’t anything grand.

Heaven, Buddha, Maitreya, the Mountain Spirit, the ancestors—those were already on the list, and now Tripitaka or Lord Seomun simply got added as one more item.

Meanwhile, in the slash-and-burn settler villages that had been living hidden, avoiding the government office, this kind of corrupt-official punishment didn’t happen.

But in a time when everyone was hungry and uneasy—

It wasn’t only people who were hungry.

So each of them held deep gratitude for the Divine One who beat down the rampaging tigers and gave them the meat and bones.

Going forward, those stories would become folktales and spread on and on—and if others said, “What, you too? Us too. Truly a Divine One,” and joined up, they might even become one great current that flowed together.

Or maybe not.

Or maybe it wouldn’t matter either way.

Anyway.

The liberator of eight counties, the savior of fifteen slash-and-burn villages, the Divine One who came to shine light on dark Joseon, the foe of monsters wearing human skin, finally learned Master Singwi’s whereabouts—

A fairly solid lead that Master Singwi was in seclusion beneath magnificent mountain ridges to the southeast of Baekdu Mountain’s Heavenly Lake.

The only regrettable thing was that it was just seven days—still a concept that didn’t exist in the Central Plain, but by Qing’s hometown standards, exactly one week—too late.

If she’d known just one week earlier...

Then the martial-arts robber wouldn’t have had to tear away Life-Stealing True Heart—no, Self-Determination Self-Reliance Heart Art......

Of course, even if she hadn’t stirred up this side of Joseon and instead had wandered Changbai Mountain right away, there was no guarantee she would’ve found it before April.

Right.

Today was the first day of April.

Anyway, the promised April had come at last—so the Plunderer Demon had been raising hell, demanding they go the instant the first day dawned.

And so, an innocent site of nature’s destruction.

After pouring out martial arts, splitting trees, smashing rocks, and leaving the ground pocked with deep holes—

“Come on, Elder. Why do you look so sulky? I taught you properly, didn’t I? This is a real divine art, you know?”

Life-Stealing Blade Art—no, Self-Determination Self-Reliance Blade Art—might have been a red-border-only, so-so (no, it wasn’t) martial art, but Life-Stealing True Heart—Self-Determination Self-Reliance Heart Art—was golden.

A golden-border internal-art manual was more than worthy of being called a divine art.

If word got out that Self-Determination Self-Reliance Heart Art had surfaced, blood could blow through the martial world the way it had with the Essence-Siphoning Demon Art.

Even so.

“I can tell just by hearing it. That it’s a divine art. No matter what, I’ve eaten martial-world rice far longer than you. No—my leftovers are more than the rice you’ve eaten, mm... no, wait. You don’t eat normally, so factoring that in... mm. Maybe it’s about the same.”

“Then why’s your face like that?”

But the Plunderer Demon’s expression was bitter.

Like someone chewing seasoned dried pollock only to have the sharp bitterness of seasoned bellflower root linger in their mouth—like someone taking a bite thinking it was sweet-and-sour pork, only to get stuck with the soggy texture of sweet-and-sour shiitake.

“I told you last time. I’m not switching internal arts after reaching this realm, so I’m not learning it. But I did slap the name ‘disciple’ on you, so I have to toss you some meat chunks so a master can save face. Damn it. I finally landed something decent, and it’s something I can’t even eat.”

That was why Qing, too, could pass it on with an easier heart than some other martial technique or weapon art.

“But what are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“That Master Singwi, or ghost, or whatever—this Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner. If you find them, do you think they’ll hand over their martial arts willingly?”

“Mm. If we beat them around a little and coax them, won’t they spit it out?”

“Hah. If you could tear martial arts out that easily, I would’ve taken countless divine arts and advanced long ago.”

“When you’re hungry, you dig a well—”

“If you’re hungry, why dig a well? If you’re thirsty, maybe.”

“Just get the gist. Anyway, you’re the same, aren’t you? You don’t really expect it, but you need it, so you’re desperate, so you try.”

At that, the Plunderer Demon let out a deep sigh.

“I’m saying don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work. Maybe if they’re around Supreme Peak, sure—but if they’re already in Demon Deviation, neither talk nor torture will work.”

“Mm.”

“Well, like you said, it’s not something a guy called the Plunderer Demon should be saying, but—yeah. If you’re desperate, you still have to try. With your skill, even if they’re at the edge of Demon Deviation, you can probably win without killing them. There’s no way some bastard making a name in a border-mountain slope is a Transcendent Demon realm absolute master.”

Qing’s face instantly soured.

“Hey. Tsk. Want to say something unlucky? Words become seeds, you know. I had thoughts like that and ran into you, didn’t I? ‘Like there’d ever be a Transcendent Realm expert jumping me somewhere’—and then.”

“Even if the Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner is a Transcendent Demon expert, so what? You won’t lose to a Transcendent Realm demon practitioner.”

“Oh, really?”

“I’ll help with everything I’ve got, so don’t worry. Just give me one useful martial art.”

“How is that helping? That’s just—hired muscle with a sword.”

“Where in the world is anything free?”

“You’re a martial-arts ghost. A martial-arts ghost.”

Qing clicked her tongue.

Of course, it wasn’t as if some real Transcendent Demon monster was going to be sitting there waiting.

Transcendent Demon was a monster among monsters, half a step ahead of the Transcendent Realm.

She didn’t know whether power made light, but in this primitive, ancient, counterfeit martial-world era, power made money and made authority.

If an expert had reached Transcendent Demon, they could plant their territory on gold-rich land in the Central Plain, live loud on tribute pouring in.

If they were someone who had gone into demon practitionerhood and come out, their head would’ve been “dark” from the root—so they wouldn’t even bother watching anyone’s face as they sucked people dry.

So would a master like that really hide so tightly in training that people would only ever hear “a suspicious figure on Changbai Mountain”?

A demonic-arts practitioner would really do that, sure.

The fact that they were hiding in this borderland Changbai Mountain in the first place meant, at best, Demon Deviation.

It was more reasonable to think they’d learned one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts—Heaven-Sundering Reverse-Blood Heart-Needle Pointing Art—and holed up because they’d become a public enemy of the martial world.

And Demon Deviation, sure.

Before the transcendent Heavenly Flower Sword, it was nothing but a candle before the wind, a burial mound beneath Mount Tai.

So Changbai Mountain’s suspicious figure?

What was there to fear?

Just snort and laugh.

*****

Baekdu Mountain—Changbai Mountain—was, unexpectedly, one of the world’s greatest volcanoes.

There were plenty of mountains larger and wider than Baekdu, but among volcanoes, only two were bigger than Baekdu.

And even then, one of them was half-submerged in seawater, so if you only counted the part above the waterline, Baekdu Mountain could even rank second.

But if you argued like that, Baekdu Mountain’s volcanic “size” was an aggregate sum that included surrounding peaks, so it looked pretty pathetic to insist on it.

Fine, then. Third place.

Third place is still high, damn it.

Anyway, Baekdu Mountain was enormous and tall—a striking sight with its peak frozen white all year round, with what the technical term called “permanent snow.”

In other words, early April was not exactly a good time to climb Baekdu Mountain.

The air was cold, the wind whipped hard, and the snow started melting in a half-assed way.

It was still just as cold, but the earth turned to mud and swallowed your feet—so you could say the misery doubled.

Especially in this primitive era, with primitive shoes that couldn’t keep water out—pour cold into wet feet and it was the perfect season for frostbite, for chopping off toes one by one.

Of course, Qing didn’t care.

This level of cold couldn’t dare invade her body, and someone riding a horse had no reason to care whether the ground was mud or a dung field.

The Plunderer Demon could endure it.

At the level of a Transcendent Realm expert, you could easily endure Changbai Mountain in April.

Was the Transcendent Realm called monstrous for nothing?

Gongryang Sayoon, too—despite a forced march that alternated between revolution and sleeping in the open—stayed calm and never once showed fatigue, so from Qing’s perspective, between that and how she spoke Joseon so naturally, she even wondered if she was originally from around here.

Lu Bu had gotten pretty thin.

Still, it seemed he was enduring as a half-breed and a “famous horse,” but... mm.

Maybe they really did need to go down and rest for his sake.

So even on a forced march through snowy mountains and snowy forests, three superhumans—Qing didn’t know it, but two superhumans and one corpse zombie—wandered around without any real health issues.

And then, at last.

In a snow-covered forest on the southeastern edge of Baekdu Mountain, at the end of the Gaema Plateau, they discovered a crudely built house.

It was the moment they came face to face, in the howling forest cold, with a figure lifting an axe to split firewood in front of the hut.

Awkward looks crossed in an instant.

It was the startled gaze of an unexpected encounter, and also the wariness of studying strangers.

The first thing that stood out was the black lines carved across his exposed face—like cracked rice paddies, so grotesque it was nauseating.

But whether he was the Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner was uncertain.

The Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner’s hallmark was bulging black veins, but the man’s skin looked more like black lines flowing under the skin—not protruding outward.

But then... mm, but then, mmm, but then—

Qing thought.

It was a truly nasty thought, but... mm.

Ugly.

Even in this cold, he wore no hat, and the crown of his head gleamed—his side hair was unexpectedly thick, so it was like his forehead had expanded past the crown.

Above his eyelids, around his brows, fat had thickened and bulged out, and below that his eyes were narrow and flat, with drooping outer corners.

His nostrils were bean-sized but his nose was fist-sized.

And his jaw was a severe jut—so far forward you wondered whether his upper and lower teeth could even meet.

If he were comically ugly, you might feel affection.

But with an ugly face this grotesque and creepy, and skin like that, wasn’t he at the level where anyone with a weak stomach couldn’t even look at him?

And on top of that—

Thunk.

The man planted the axe into the chopping block, and his head dropped by about four handspans—yet his height only shrank by one.

Because his back rose like a mountain.

A hunchback.

Qing became certain.

Look at that twisted form!

A face warped entirely by blood channels flowing in reverse!

Reverse-Blood Demon Practitioner—found at last!

And then—

“Oh, pardon me. I am called Kim Heojung. I have left the sword world and am cultivating in training, but... for what reason has a high-born young lady come all the way to this harsh Changbai?”

“Huh?”

“Haha, there’s no need to be startled. I merely inferred it by taking a quick look—my small talent.”

The hunchback continued.

A polite way of speaking that didn’t match his appearance.

“In general, the master rides the horse and the servant follows. The horse’s figure is somewhat thin, but it is a famous horse unseen in this age. You have a guard—a warrior wrapped in countless weapons—and you have a maid attending you, so how could you not be a high-born, precious young lady?”

Suddenly, the atmosphere turned into “detective appears.”

The title would be something like Hunchback Detective Kim Heojung.

A title you really didn’t want to read, but still.

Anyway, his voice was truly deep.

His eyes shone clear with no muddy part—if anything, they were a bit greasy, like he was intentionally lowering them to put on some charm.

Qing felt a bit of remorse.

Maybe it was too early to judge by looks alone.

His evil karma was eighty-seven—still within the human passing line—so demon practitionerhood and demonic masterhood were separate; maybe he was a demon practitioner living a relatively solid life.

So Qing tried to show manners, for now.

“I heard there’s someone called Master Singwi on Changbai Mountain, so I came.”

“Ahh. Then you’ve come to the right place. There were those who called me Master Singwi.”

And before Qing could even respond, he swiftly kept talking.

“With my small talent, if I infer—if you’ve wandered a harsh place like this, it means you need a capable warrior; you must have circumstances that prevent you from seeking one in the secular world. And is it not that you yourself have come to strike down an opponent too difficult to face? What is it? A family enemy? Or is the court making filthy demands of you? I, Kim Heojung, would stake my life for you, young lady. Yes—I will become your strength. I will become your blade.”

Qing’s face filled with sheer disbelief.

She hadn’t asked, and he was already beating the drum and clashing the cymbals, volunteering himself with eager enthusiasm.

No—she hadn’t even asked for help. What help was he talking about giving?