I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 288: Transcendent Qing (25)

Even with two Transcendents, they couldn’t stand a chance. Sure, both had been taken down by cheap, despicable ambushes—but still.

So how could these nobodies, without a single Transcendent among them, possibly do any better?

The only one who could remotely wield a weapon properly was the fan master.

Judging by the sloppy flow of Daoist or Buddhist energy among the rest, maybe two were first-rate. A couple second-rate.

Can second-rate fighters even be considered martial artists? Honestly.

So yes, the fan master was decent.

Got it. This guy’s level—probably late-stage Peak.

So weak, I feel like killing him out of sheer boredom...

But Seol Iri had, for once, asked to take someone alive. I suppose I can sacrifice a bit of fun.

Not like I’m starving for slaughter anyway.

“Isn’t this breaking the agreement!?”

“What agreement? Did we sign a truce or something? I gave the hostage back. Kept my end.”

“That’s twisted logic!”

And indeed it was.

A hostage exchange usually implied some unspoken ceasefire—

A pause to check on the hostage’s condition, tend to urgent injuries, that sort of thing.

But if you act with righteous sincerity, you can fool people all the same.

In fact, honesty makes it easier to deceive.

“Enough talk! Hah! What a joke—martial artists wagging their tongues instead of their blades.”

Though if a top-tier master came rolling in right now and challenged her, Qing would probably argue until her tongue went blunt.

Or sharp, from overuse. One or the other.

Still, Qing was a newly minted Transcendent, and the fan master was just late Peak.

He had two first-rate fighters and a bunch of scrubs tagging along.

If the roles were reversed, Qing would’ve drawn her sword too.

So this wasn’t even unfair, really.

“Alright, here we go. My Moonlight Sword—Number Eight, by the way. Hmm... not especially hungry, but hey!”

With a strangely uninspired battle cry, Qing stomped down.

Rain slammed against her face, each drop thick enough to sting.

The rain wasn’t letting up—in fact, it was getting worse.

That she had the luxury of side thoughts showed just how lightly she was taking this.

And rightly so.

In the first exchange—snap—an axe handle was cleaved in two.

In the second—thud!—Qing’s palm strike, enhanced by minor demonic art, pierced a full inch into the fan master’s lower abdomen.

The venom of the One Hundred and Eight Asura Sword surged straight into his dantian, ripping through his energy meridians.

To the underlings watching, it just looked like he lost his weapon and got punched real hard in the gut—

Then he collapsed, wheezing and choking, like he couldn’t even breathe.

“Monster!”

Someone screamed.

Panic spread like wildfire—soon, every man turned his back and ran.

Even the Young Master, the one they were supposed to protect with their lives, ditched them and bolted.

Qing scratched the back of her head.

Ah—dammit. Should’ve retrieved my hairpins first.

So she took off running.

Her steps rang like temple bells, her blade slicing through bodies:

One with the Celadon Sword, one with Moonlight Sword Number Eight,

One with an axe head she picked off the ground—

Tch. Those two got lucky.

When everyone runs all at once, even a Transcendent can’t catch them all.

I don’t know clone techniques. I’ve only got one body. How am I supposed to split it five ways?

So the second- and third-rate fighters were just chopped, skewered, smashed, and torn apart on the spot. Executed swiftly.

That left the fan master, two first-rates, and some guy who’d been lying in the rain—

Huh? The Young Master’s bleeding stopped.

Oh no. At this rate, he might actually live.

Qing casually broke their arms and legs, grabbed them by the hair—two in each hand—and started dragging them back.

Honestly, hauling three guys by the hair in each hand gave Qing a deep sense of contentment.

Seol Iri’s going to love this.

No wonder dads come home carrying fried chicken. freewebnøvel.com

But when she returned, Seol Iri didn’t look good at all.

She lay limp, then slowly raised her eyelids at the sound of Qing’s approaching footsteps—

Only to cough violently, blood trailing from the corner of ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) her lips.

Qing dropped her trophies and ran over in alarm.

“Oh no! Miss Seol? Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

Okay, she’s fine.

Seol Iri was the kind of woman who’d admit if she wasn’t.

Too principled for her own good.

Useless, but principled. Hence her current state.

Qing let out a breath.

“Honestly, Miss Seol. You lost to a few bottom-tier bandits and ended up like this?”

Seol Iri’s forehead twitched with rage.

“There was a late-stage Peak among them.”

“So what? Just a late-stage Peak.”

“I’m... only early-stage.”

“Ah.”

Qing nodded.

Turns out you’re even more pathetic than I thought.

No wonder you didn’t show up for the Hidden Dragon Tournament.

How could you show your face in public with early-stage Peak skills?

Still—early-stage or not, you couldn’t take on one late-stage and two first-rates?

If it were me, I’d have taken out the fan master first with a sneak attack, then cooked the rest like side dishes.

“Here you go. I prepped the ingredients—cut and cleaned for your cooking pleasure. Even brought the fan master.”

At that, Seol Iri trembled, trying to rise.

She flipped herself over, tried to stand on all fours—

Fell flat on her face a couple times.

Qing watched.

Tch. What a pathetic sight.

Anyone looking would think she’d just barely survived a fight with a Transcendent.

She couldn’t even stay upright, but still kept writhing like a bug.

Clearly, she wasn’t mortally wounded—just beat up.

Only then did Qing let herself relax.

It’s over.

But the moment her adrenaline faded, the pain hit like fire.

Everything stung, burned, and ached.

Qing brushed her thigh and stared at the blood on her hand.

“Oh. I’m bleeding...”

Protective Qi isn’t invincible.

Only someone with elite-level body reinforcement—like an imperial guard—could shrug off hits entirely.

Qing had surpassed humanity, but not her own flesh.

Her muscles and bones were intact, but her skin hadn’t been spared.

She’d taken those hits head-on when ambushing Officer Hyukju.

It wasn’t gushing blood, but it was still damage.

And Qing hadn’t done it for fun.

She knew the risk of facing multiple enemies, including a Transcendent.

If she didn’t take out their leader before they coordinated, she’d be the one at risk.

Even for someone above Transcendent level, facing multiple blades at once wasn’t feasible.

So sacrificing a bit of skin to crush the enemy commander? A miracle of efficiency.

Taking down their strongest broke the enemy entirely.

If she’d fought clean, she probably would’ve had to trade a limb or two.

After all, Qing’s specialty was cowardly combat.

Her glorious victories were really just sneak attacks and enemies driven mad by despair.

“Ugh. That stings.”

Two slashes on her thigh. One at the waist. A few across her back.

Hope these don’t scar.

I mean, I can just apply Rebirth Paste if they do, but still... If Master sees this, she’ll blow a fuse.

Yes—if Ximen Surin saw these “glorious wounds,” she’d unleash a nuclear-grade rage.

At least if Tang Nana were here, she’d yell, “You reckless idiot!” and patch her up meticulously afterward.

But no.

The only companion she had was a useless, face-only beauty—

A mutt of a woman who drooled at food and was now more injured than Qing.

Still, that girl had one redeeming quality:

She had willpower.

“Hrrk.”

Inch by inch, Seol Iri crawled toward the fan master, groaning with effort—then suddenly lifted his frozen arm and brought it down hard.

Crack! It shattered like glass.

“Aaaaagh! Urgh, guh—”

While the fan master screamed, Seol Iri shoved jagged shards of his own arm into his mouth.

And so, with his own frozen flesh stuffed between his teeth, he gagged and flailed in a disgusting panic.

Whoa. Shattered ice! Human bingsu! Self-serve!

Qing’s eyes sparkled at the vivid, unforgettable execution. Something she’d likely never witness again.

But Seol Iri wasn’t done.

Wobbling and twitching, she shifted position and pressed both hands to his mangled leg.

Damn. That’s cold-blooded.

Turns out Miss Seol knows a thing or two.

A martial artist has to be ruthless. Always.

Clearly, the beating had left her with more than a few bones to grind.

From the fan master’s point of view, it was probably unjust.

He hadn’t gone full force.

He’d specifically told his men not to leave blade wounds because she was someone the Young Master fancied.

So she’d mostly been stomped on, struck with axe handles or the flat sides of blades.

If he hadn’t said that?

Seol Iri would’ve been diced and rotting in pieces by now.

But this is exactly why a martial artist must never hesitate.

Leave them half-alive, and this is what comes back to bite you.

Not that the fan master was in any state to reflect.

Still stunned by the shock of his “arm-shaved-ice” and the surreal taste of his own flesh, he could only gag and convulse.

And so, with his shoulders and thighs now frozen stiff, the man sat vomiting—the last remnant of what had once been a fearsome leader.

“Ah, Miss Seol. That one’s not your enemy. Leave the Young Master alone.”

Qing stopped her as she began crawling toward him.

Seol Iri obediently shifted directions and crept on all fours.

The remaining bandits were already "prepared" by Qing, their limbs bent at wrong angles.

As she approached, they could do nothing but shriek and writhe.

Well. Let her enjoy herself.

“Hmm. Young Master.”

“S-save me... please, please spare me.”

“Yeah, no. If I let you go, you’ll just come back with your mommy and daddy and a vengeance plot.”

“N-no! I swear I wouldn’t—!”

“Oh please. So, how do you want to die? I can use ice too, you know. Want to try it? Looked pretty clean. No blood, just snap.”

“No! Please, I’m begging you! Spare me!”

Hmm.

This isn’t it.

She was supposed to feel that heat, that rush—

That heart-pounding anticipation, that irresistible craving to spill blood.

But all she felt was... apathy.

Ugh. This is annoying.

Suddenly losing interest, Qing picked the Young Master up and hurled him hard toward a massive puddle outside the roof.

The sheer force sent him arcing high before landing splat! on the muddy ground.

A jagged bone pierced through his arm like a white twig.

He was probably screaming.

But the roar of the rain drowned it out.

He’ll die on his own. Whatever.

And then—

Seol Iri got to work, freezing and smashing all the limbs Qing had brought her:

The fan master’s and the two first-rates’ arms and legs turned to shards.

“Hmm. You’re not finishing them off?”

“No. It’s already over.”

“Ah. Natural thaw. If we toss them outside, maybe they’ll defrost faster?”

Seol Iri nodded.

Qing lifted the fan master like a sack of laundry.

Target locked. Fire!

The arc of his body landed squarely on the Young Master’s torso.

A tear-jerking reunion between broken men.

Qing threw the other two right after, smacking them into the same pile.

Seol Iri collapsed flat on her belly, totally spent.

“Miss Seol? Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t even hold yourself up.”

“Yes.”

“...Are you even hearing me?”

“Yes.”

Hmm. Normal...?

“We can’t stay here. We need a room and a bed. Time to head down. Hmm... wait.”

Then Qing realized the real problem.

“Miss Seol. Just checking... Can you drive the carriage?”

“I’ll do it.”

Not a yes.

Not a no.

Just “I’ll do it.”

Commendable willpower, but they’d have to descend a mountain in this torrential storm.

One slip, and the whole carriage could plunge to hell.

“Hmm. Actually, there must be a bed somewhere in this stronghold.

These bandit bastards always deck out their boss’s quarters like a damn palace.”

Now that she thought about it, there was no need to bolt through a monsoon.

Who the hell would come chasing them through this?

So Qing scooped Seol Iri into her arms.

“Ngghk!”

A sharp cry shot from Seol’s mouth, but she clamped down on it mid-scream.

“Miss Seol?”

“I’m fine. I’m... fine.”

“Okay. Just bear with it for a bit. Let’s see... over there.”

Then—

**KWA-RU-RUNG! KUGUGUGU...! **

A sound too massive to describe.

It wasn’t a nearby lightning strike—it didn’t stab through the ears.

It rolled in from afar, impossibly deep.

The kind of noise you didn’t just hear with your ears—

You felt it in your feet. In your bones.

And Qing thought—

What the hell was that? A landslide? Was that a goddamn landslide?!