Chapter 233: Wanderers Have Their Own Code of Honor

The ultimate beauty, according to Gyeongdamgan, was despair. The sight of eyes, once filled with firm resolve born from disappointment and frustration with humanity, now fallen into an endless abyss—that, he believed, was the very reason for human existence.

However, true beauty was always rare.

The despair of a weakling who crumbled at the slightest torment was merely fleeting amusement. Even that held little excitement for him now, his threshold raised by years of artistic experience.

Yes. Just like that one now.

If not for the operation, this material—utterly lowest-grade—would have been discarded long ago. But when hobby and work intertwine, the hobby must eventually yield. So, he let it be.

But then, a specimen surpassing high-grade, no, reaching the supreme grade, had arrived. How should he carve this one to witness an even more splendid despair?

That was the only thought consuming Gyeongdamgan's mind.

He had already decided on the finale.

A woman usually broke before the brutal violence that violated her chastity.

What kind of reaction would that child show if he had the very wanderers she sought to protect defile her all day long?

People crumble in different ways. Would the Divine Maiden Sect disciple weep? Or would she let out a desperate scream? Perhaps she would simply give up, like a living corpse with vacant eyes. That would be fine too.

“Kheheuk.”

Gyeongdamgan couldn't suppress a strange chuckle, thrilled by the mere thought.

So, how should he torment her before that?

She was a stubborn one, enduring the Gu Poison that made anyone collapse from the nerve-shredding pain. Did that mean physical torment wouldn't break her?

Then, how should he slowly shatter her spirit? Offer a fragile thread of hope to keep her from giving up, while ensuring her soul slowly sickened…

Just as Gyeongdamgan had thrown off his pants and was indulging in pleasant fantasies, the door burst open, and a subordinate rushed in.

“Vice Lord! You need to come out now, heok!”

Confronted with a visually induced cosmic horror, the subordinate couldn't finish his report.

“…You bastard!”

Gyeongdamgan flew across the room and seized the subordinate's throat. The crime of interrupting his most pleasant moment, combined with witnessing his superior's disgraceful state, naturally warranted death.

“Keok…”

As the subordinate lost consciousness, his thoughts raced.

Damn it, with the hand he’s strangling me with, damn it, damn it, so dirty, damn it, that impotent bastard whose cock doesn’t even get hard, he should have just used a sword…

After tossing aside the corpse that was once his subordinate, Gyeongdamgan locked the door completely.

Though it was the fault of the one who started that sort of thing without even locking the door in the first place.

Thanks to him, only the Blood Cult martial artists were left in a bind.

“When is the Vice Lord coming?”

“We sent the youngest, so he should be here soon.”

“When did the youngest leave? Why isn't he back yet?!”

The youngest sent to fetch the Vice Lord hadn't returned, and there was no word from the Vice Lord either.

“Aargh!”

The Blood Cult martial artists could only stomp their feet, unsure what to do as they watched the situation unfold.

It all started with breakfast.

“Wench, wake up!” the guard called out.

“Ugh. My whole body aches from sleeping on the cold floor. Oof, couldn't even sleep properly. What is it?” Qing grumbled, having slept soundly through the night without waking once. The guard who had watched over the cell, forced to listen to her soft, even breathing and occasional cute snores all night, was dumbfounded.

“Here. Breakfast,” the guard said.

“Oh. Breakfast as soon as I open my eyes. I like this part, at least. So, what is it? Anything tasty?” Qing asked, polite to the person giving her food. Because if you were rude to the one serving your meals, you never knew what kind of tricks they might play with your food next time.

“Quite carefree, aren’t you? Acting like scum like us are beneath your notice. Here. Rice balls. Take it,” the guard said.

“Rice balls…” Qing eyed the guard. The size of the large rice ball in the guard's hand was generous enough, which she appreciated, but he held nothing else.

No soup in the morning…?

Still, getting breakfast at all was something.

“Thank you for the meal.”

Qing bowed politely and reached her hand through the bars. Just as her beautiful, long fingers were about to touch the rice ball…

Thump.

With a clearly intentional nudge, the rice ball was dropped. The roundly packed rice ball fell to the cold underground floor and splattered flat.

“Huh?” Qing reacted.

“Kekeke, did you think this was some kind of restaurant? Look. This is your future,” the guard sneered, stomping firmly on the rice ball.

The poor rice ball was reduced to mashed food waste on the floor.

“This is all you get to eat,” the guard continued mockingly as Qing reached for the flattened rice ball. “Keuhe, looking at you like this, you truly are the greatest beauty under heaven. When will it be my turn, keuhat, you’re going to eat that?”

Qing’s hand, slowly extending towards the rice ball, suddenly blurred, leaving an afterimage as it whipped out and clamped onto the guard's ankle.

“Huh? What the—?” the guard exclaimed, stunned.

While the guard was stunned, Qing shot out her other hand and grabbed his other ankle just as firmly.

“This bastard is playing games first thing in the morning,” Qing muttered. “The thing I hate most is people playing with food.”

“Let go, let go! How are you so strong—!” The panicked guard tried to pull away, but his firmly held ankles wouldn’t budge, as if rooted to the ground.

Well, considering Qing’s strength, what could he do?

“Excuse me?” Qing asked sweetly. “What do you think will happen if I pull really hard right now?”

Qing was sitting on the floor, leaning forward with both arms extended, holding the guard's feet. Between her arms stood a solid iron bar.

The moment the color drained from the guard's face and he reached for the sword at his waist—

Qing straightened her back and leaned all the way back, practically lying down.

The guard's legs flew into the cell like cannonballs until, finally, the space between his legs slammed against the iron bar. CRACK! The sound of bone colliding with metal.

The guard's eyes rolled back as he foamed at the mouth.

But that was only the beginning.

Qing began to knead the guard's legs as if giving a massage, moving up towards his thighs. Crack, crunch. Bones crunched and pulverized until his legs hung limp like squid tentacles.

“Kuaaaaargh!”

Qing shivered at the sensation of meticulously crushing raw bone.

Wow. It’s been so long. This is, really, truly, more than I thought, more than I remembered, wow, this is living.

Qing laughed fiercely, putting on an act.

“Shh. Honored guest. Your legs seem quite stiff. If I don't loosen them up properly, you'll just keep wanting to walk or run around, you know. Shouldn't people lie down or sit? Why wander about on your feet?”

“Aaaaaargh!!!”

Finally, once the guard’s leg bones were ground as fine as sand, Qing twisted his legs together into a knot.

“Gaaaaaaah!!!”

Not even fifteen minutes had passed, yet the guard’s throat was already raw as he continued to scream.

His desperate cries drew the other Blood Cult martial artists running.

“Wh-what are you doing! Let him go, let—Aargh!” A startled Blood Cult member who tried to pull the guard away had his wrist seized.

Soon after, his head slammed hard against the iron bars. Then, his arm, softened by Qing’s bone massage, was wrapped twice around the bars before being pulled inside and crudely tied.

The remaining Blood Cult members didn't dare approach the cell. One of them kicked the youngest member—who was second from the bottom in rank—in the shin, ordering him to fetch the Vice Lord immediately. The youngest scrambled away and disappeared.

And now, the present.

“Do you wish to retrieve your hostages?” Qing asked. “Then I shall convey the young lady’s demands. One plate of stir-fry with plenty of meat, two bowls of freshly cooked white rice. And for the soup, hmm, shall we go with something light and clear? What is the chef here good at?”

“Shut up! Right now…” a Blood Cult member shouted.

“My, the service in this establishment is quite poor,” Qing interrupted. “Very well, a clear soup, then. One bowl of refreshing soup made with thoroughly boiled freshwater fish. Then I shall return the hostages. That is all. Let me repeat: one plate generously filled with meat, two bowls of white rice, one bowl of clear fish soup.”

Qing could almost hear two distinct phantom sounds.

The sound of the Blood Cult bastards being utterly flabbergasted.

And the sound of their insides boiling with frustration.

“That, crazy, where did they even capture such a crazy wench, where is the Vice Lord?” one demanded.

“About that, the youngest’s corpse is in front of the door…” the martial artist, now the new youngest, reported.

“Is that the problem now!?” the senior member roared. “Why haven’t you brought him here! What are you doing! Get moving, now!”

Damn son of a bitch. It’s easy for you to say since you’re not the one going, the youngest martial artist thought, swallowing his curses as he ran out again. However, he had no intention of knocking on the door. He planned to stand in front of it and wait for it to open on its own, then report.

Thus, there was no news from the second youngest either.

“Oh my. It’s been quite some time since I ordered,” Qing called out. “Has the cook gone off to plant rice seedlings? Am I going to turn into an old woman waiting here?”

“Just, shut up!” came the response.

“Ah. How terrifying,” Qing said sarcastically. “I’m so scared my hands and feet are trembling, and my fists might just start flying. Wow, look at my hand shaking.”

As Qing said this, she grabbed the hair of the martial artist whose arm was tied and slammed his head against the iron bars. Thump, thump, thump.

“Ack! Ack! Ack!” the martial artist screamed.

It was quite amusing how his screams punctuated the thudding sounds. Then, feeling a faint crack, Qing thought, Oops, and let go.

The iron bars gleamed red under the lamplight.

“Wh-what should we do? The Vice Lord…!” one of the remaining members stammered.

“Damn it! Give her what she wants! Just bring it to her!” the apparent leader finally ordered.

And so, finally, she managed to secure a satisfactory breakfast.

Placing the tray that came through the meal slot neatly inside, Qing approached the two Blood Cult martial artists tied to the bars.

“Still, thanks to you two, it was fun,” she said calmly. “You should really live virtuous lives in your next incarnation to avoid such painful ends.”

Qing’s hand turned black, and then, SPLAT! The head of the martial artist tied by the arm exploded like a watermelon.

The headless corpse slumped down, held up only by the arm bound to the bars.

The crippled, legless guard, half-propped up against him, flinched violently with a strangled gasp, then writhed, unable even to scream from the pain in his legs, his mouth just gaping open.

“St-Stop! You clearly said you’d release the hostages!” shouted one of the onlookers.

“Did I?” Qing tilted her head. “I merely asked if you wished to retrieve them.”

Qing said this, then crouched down and raised her hand, imbued with the black energy of the Black Slaying Demonic Palm.

The Blood Cult martial artist with the tangled legs met her eyes and pleaded.

“Save me, please save me…”

“Three hundred fifty points,” Qing stated flatly.

“What does that—”

SPLAT! Similarly headless, the corpse’s upper body slumped forward, its legs still wrapped around the bars.

Qing started to wipe her face, then paused her hand, instead using the inside of her elbow sleeve to wipe away the splattered matter.

“Aah. So refreshing, first thing in the morning,” she declared brightly. “You really need to exercise to work up an appetite. Waking up and eating right away is just not the same.”

She then approached the neatly placed tray inside and began her breakfast.

Even amidst this, the Ximen Surin-style bearing of a beauty shone through. The sight of the peerless beauty sitting gracefully and eating was, admittedly, quite beautiful.

The Blood Cult martial artists could only stare blankly at Qing’s form.

Dumbfounded, incredulous, and yet, she was undeniably beautiful.

Gyeongdamgan appeared just as Qing was finishing her meal.

The moment he showed his face, instead of a greeting, he unleashed the Gu Poison. Qing, who had been reaching her chopsticks towards the last piece of meat she’d saved, scowled deeply, the effects of the alcohol she'd consumed earlier surging.

Tsk. Even dogs don't mess with someone while they're eating.

Qing quickly chewed and swallowed the food in her mouth, then lay down sideways and rolled to the opposite side of the tray.

“Ahheuk…!”

It was a slightly unnatural sight.

Gyeongdamgan felt a strange sense of incongruity, something off, but the captivating moan that tickled his ears quickly made him lose the thought.

“Stoop, stoooop…” Qing pleaded pitifully.

At her plea, Gyeongdamgan satisfyingly ceased channeling the Gu Poison, stopping the injection of toxins.

“Causing such a ruckus since morning, hmm?” Gyeongdamgan sneered. “Should a virtuous expert of the Righteous Faction be so cruel?”

“Don’t you remember I said I was a Wanderer?” Qing retorted, then gasped as if in pain. “Is grandpa getting dementia already? Wait! Stop the Gu Poison! Stop it, I said. Just a bit. Heuuu…”

Qing was gradually getting tired of pretending to be in pain.

They say real pain often leaves you unable to scream anyway, she thought. From now on, I’ll just keep quiet, bury my face, and tremble.

(t/n 😭🤣😂 what a crazy bitch haha)