Chapter 919: A Strange Bitch, A Strange Guy, A Strange Guy (4)

The rebound from striking Kim Heojung sent Qing drifting up lightly—only for the stern law of gravity to drag her back down.

Tap.

Maybe it was the height, because when her feet met the ground her knees flexed with spring, dropping into a crouch and distributing the impact through her whole body.

Except her knee snapped up and slammed straight into the padding in front of her ribs.

She’d basically knee-kicked her own chest.

A sharp, completely unexpected agony ripped out of her—“Kgh—!”—and tears leaked despite her, leaving her lashes wet. Ugh. This might bruise...

But pain was secondary.

Because the feel of her palm on that freak’s head had been wrong.

Normally she should have felt bone under skin—something cracking, something sinking.

Instead it felt like she’d slapped an unyielding bar of metal.

He’d definitely wrapped that bizarre ice shield around himself in the split second of impact.

Qing started to turn—

Then stopped short.

He was an opponent she couldn’t handle. Running was the correct move.

But... was it?

She’d poked some monster buried in this remote borderland. Had she effectively woken something that would’ve stayed quietly secluded otherwise?

If she ran and that monster started rampaging—tearing up Joseon out of spite, or chasing her into the Central Plains—innocent people would absolutely get hurt.

With the way he behaved, he’d go on a Central Plains killing spree and cause a catastrophe.

A grim resolve settled into Qing’s eyes.

Better to kill him now.

Objectively, what sin did Qing have? What responsibility was this supposed to be?

She hadn’t been rude. She’d come politely and stated her purpose.

Kim Heojung was the one who’d misunderstood everything, spun his own delusions, then screamed about betrayal.

His simple dream: five pretty daughters, all obsessed with their father, plus one wife—six women in constant tension he’d be “mediating”... or “enjoying”... for the rest of his life.

If you had to title that fantasy, it’d be something like Six Clouds Dream—About How My Wife and Five Daughters Are Obsessed With Me and It’s Hard.

A desire Qing didn’t know about—and was lucky not to know about.

Anyway.

Qing carefully organized her thoughts.

How do you fight a master clearly above you?

It was what she’d been doing this whole time.

Shake them. Make them lose the thread of reason. No matter how strong a master was, they couldn’t avoid showing openings.

And fortunately, Kim Heojung’s mental cultivation looked laughably shallow for someone with that kind of power—so all she had to do was point out his astonishing ugliness and he’d blow up again.

Or, in the worst case—he seemed crazed about women, so... that.

Ugh. Taking off her clothes.

As a fellow man—no. As someone with dignity—she’d sworn she wouldn’t use that.

But life mattered more than dignity.

And if we were being honest, she’d already thrown dignity away back when she’d been the Plague Wretch for a year.

So. First scheme: the provocation tactic (Formless Poison)!

Just poke lightly: Hey, you rotten pancake-looking bastard—if you stuck a split watermelon on your head, it’d still be more handsome than you.

Yeah. Something like that.

Qing inhaled—drawing breath to make her voice boom, inflating her already-bursting chest even more—

And Kim Heojung’s urgent voice cut her off before the venom could fire.

“Wait! Young lady—no, miss! It’s a misunderstanding—everything is a misunderstanding! I think there’s been a misunderstanding! I apologize!”

Qing’s fully inflated insult deflated with a sad little hiss and shrank down into a single syllable.

“Huh?”

*****

Even though outside was the brutal cold of the Gaema Plateau, the room was packed with warmth—without even bringing in a brazier.

This was the era’s strongest, most efficient heating structure. A scientific architectural style.

The power of ondol!

While Kim Heojung—who’d switched back into “polite gentleman” mode—had stepped out to boil water for tea, the Plunderer Demon sat on the heated floor so hot it felt like lava and spoke with a grave expression.

“I’m saying we should at least hear him out, but... wouldn’t it be better to just leave? The best move is to avoid a lunatic. Nothing good comes from dealing with one.”

“If we leave and that guy comes out into the world, how are we supposed to deal with that? He’s not just ‘hates Central Plains people’—he’s basically made of it. What if he starts running around hunting Central Plains people?”

“Hmph. Why do you care? Life and death are Heaven’s decree—if someone’s born or dies, it’s their own luck. If some lunatic comes and beats them to death, then the dead one was unlucky. You have zero reason to care. If you go and get yourself killed playing at chivalry like some phantom hero, then what happens to our agreement?”

A vein popped on Qing’s forehead.

Since when did your one-sided declaration—“I’m taking a martial art from you once a month”—become our agreement?

“This isn’t chivalry. Say it with me. Re-spon-si-bil-i-ty.”

“Hah. Funny. So that responsibility doesn’t matter for our agreement? Does responsibility pick who it applies to?”

Another vein rose on Qing’s forehead.

Someone might think she’d deposited a martial art with him like it was in storage.

Begging a robber—who swore he’d come every day—to only come once a month... what kind of agreement was that?

Since when did “responsibility” mean preparing valuables because the robber promised to show up and rob you?

But instead of snapping back, Qing pressed her lips together.

Because the Plunderer Demon was a Transcendent Realm monster.

She could resist a little, but not too much.

Bold and vicious and cruel in front of the weak, then shrinking into nothing in front of the strong—cowardly to the bone.

That was Seomun Cheong.

Anyway, Qing clamped her mouth shut, which was also a hard declaration of intent: I’m finishing this with that hunchback monster.

The Plunderer Demon went, “Ahem.”

“Well. If you’re truly set on it... I’ve been replaying it in my head, and if you and I combine our strength, it feels like we might be able to kill him.”

“Mm.”

Qing’s gaze was unbelievably insolent.

Translated, it was basically: Elder, you were the one who grabbed my neck and dragged me while yelling he’s a sorcerer, we can’t win, run—so why are you talking about ‘killing him’ now?

“Cursing with your eyes” was exactly for a look like this.

But the Plunderer Demon stayed shamelessly confident.

“At the time, we had no idea what he could do—especially with sorcery. But if we observe his methods more, analyze his power and what kinds of wicked arts he can wield... then we can finally face him properly.”

The most famous line in Sun Tzu.

Know the enemy and know yourself, and you won’t be imperiled in a hundred battles.

A Transcendent Realm martial artist already knew themselves completely—so if you learned the enemy, you could handle it. That was the idea.

“But that means staying engaged with him for a long time, analyzing him. Easy to say—are you even daring to try that? It’s difficult, grueling, exhausting. It may even cost your life. And if you insist... then I should be paid a proper price for taking that risk.”

The logic was starting to feel a little... suspicious.

Qing stared at him, doubtful, but the Plunderer Demon’s face remained brazenly confident.

And sure enough—

“Your Tathagata Divine Palm was truly lofty.”

“...Seriously? In this situation you’re still trying to squeeze a martial art out of me? And no, Tathagata Divine Palm is not happening. Even if you learned it, how would you use it? If the world’s number one master plus the One Hundred Eight Arhats come pouring out to kill you, can you handle that?”

“Then how about Ripple-Wave Footwork? I’d heard rumors of its divine power, but seeing it with my own eyes... even my eyes can’t believe it.”

But Qing stayed firm.

“Whether it turns into porridge or rice, I’ll handle it myself—so how about you just go back now?”

“Tsk. I’m saying this out of concern for you. If it’s obviously going to become porridge and not rice, how could I just stand by and watch?”

Not concern for me. Concern for the martial arts I have.

But at the same time, Qing’s instinct—sharp as a needle—whispered:

He really is obsessed with stealing martial arts.

Which means when things get dangerous, he’ll probably help on his own anyway.

So do I even need to accept some deal like this?

And also—why is he like this?

The Transcendent Realm was only the point where you completed your own martial path. After that was refining your achieved enlightenment to perfection.

So why would a Transcendent Realm martial artist crave someone else’s martial art?

No matter what he learned, it would never surpass his Hundred-Refinements Saber Art—not some past founder’s Hundred-Refinements, but the Plunderer Demon’s.

Well. People say there are more eccentrics than there are normal people.

And what’s an eccentric?

An odd person.

And among those—an extremely odd bastard.

The Plunderer Demon was one.

Kim Heojung was another.

That already made two strange bastards in one place.

“Shh. He’s coming.”

The Plunderer Demon—who’d been blocking sound with an aura barrier—warned that the hunchback ugly man, shortened to “hunchback man,” was approaching.

A moment later, the door—pasted thick with paper—opened, and Kim Heojung appeared carrying a tray.

Whether he knew or didn’t know they’d just been plotting his murder, he simply set the tray down carefully.

Then he bent at the waist toward Qing—his bare crown on full display.

Not even smoothly bald—more like awkward soot left behind, making it look even more miserable.

“I’m sorry. I ended up making a fool of myself without intending to. The resentment I’ve accumulated toward Central Plains people is deep, and I lost my reason without realizing it. I attacked innocent guests and exposed my immature cultivation. This is entirely because my mind-training is lacking. It is my fault without excuse.”

His diction was crisp, his voice heavy—an extremely formal apology with no lightness to it.

“Shamefully, after venting my temper once, I also feel... relieved. So I apologize again. And thank you sincerely for stopping my rampage. Therefore, as a sign of apology, if there is anything you want, I will assist you with all sincerity.”

It was even a well-structured apology.

He stated what he did wrong and why, without using it as an excuse.

He expressed reflection, and even offered compensation.

Which made Qing feel... slightly uncomfortable.

Because she’d been working very hard just now on how to dispose of him.

And now he did this, and it made her feel a little guilty.

“Mm...”

Next to her, the Plunderer Demon let out an irritated, low groan.

He’d been planning to pry a martial art out of her as the price for “handling” Kim Heojung together, so of course he didn’t like how this was going.

And just like that—

The mood slammed into a sudden, rapid reconciliation arc.

Still...

Something felt off.

His eyes looked glossy. Too glossy.

It gave her a chill.

Probably just her imagination... right?