Chapter 155: For Whom Does the Hammer Toll?

Qing waved her veil left and right as she greeted the visitors.

“Well, well. Isn’t it our friends?”

“……?”

“So, what brings you all the way out here? What business could you have at this run-down old metal shop?”

The thugs flinched.

What the? Does she know us? Why’s she acting so friendly?

Is she one of ours? Maybe from the Unorthodox Path?

“Um, who might you be……”

“Would you know me if I told you? Come on, spill it. Why are you here? I just got to this town, so I have no idea what’s going on.”

Truth be told, even thugs like these had something of a script prepared for when their targets resisted forcefully.

If Qing had bellowed something like, ‘You bastards, what are you doing to this innocent citizen!’—the typical outcry of an Orthodox Murim warrior—the thugs had a rehearsed response ready.

We are the virtuous experts of the Namen Sect!

Touch us, and the Namen Sect won’t stand for it! If the Namen Sect doesn't stand for it, none of the city’s Unorthodox Faction will stand for it! And if the entire city’s Unorthodox Faction doesn't stand for it, the government officials lining their pockets with our bribes won’t stand for it either!

They were prepared to rattle off something along those lines, laced with curses and delivered in a rough tone.

But this? Swaggering confidently and acting chummy?

This was often the attitude high-ranking, notorious Demonic Adepts showed towards promising young ‘saplings’ of the Unorthodox Faction.

Of course, Demonic Adepts weren't friendly to their juniors out of affection.

Usually, it was because they planned to exploit them.

This was the nature of relationships between seniors and juniors in the Unorthodox Faction.

That was precisely why the thugs grew even more tense.

“Uh, we’re martial artists from the Namen Sect.”

“Namen? Ramen? Little brother, care to explain?”

“The Namen Sect. They gained influence about ten years ago. I heard their leader is a leper. His realm is said to be Transcendent, I believe.”

“Ah. That Namen? Ahh, now I want ramen.”

Zhuge Ihyeon scratched his chin.

No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t recall ever hearing of a dish called ramen.

However, the Central Plains were vast, and if one tried to list all the local delicacies, they could talk from birth until death and still not name them all.

And Zhuge Ihyeon wasn't one to suppress his curiosity.

More accurately, he couldn’t suppress his curiosity.

“Sister, this little brother has never heard of a dish called ramen. Which region does it come from?”

“Hm. Around here, they call it Napmyeon.”

“Ah, a dialect term. I understand.”

Seeing Zhuge Ihyeon, the Namen Sect martial artists froze up even more.

It was often the case that the less skilled a martial artist, the more fixated they were on their opponent's level of External Arts.

Of course, since the standard by which low-level martial artists judged External Arts was sheer size and muscle mass, a giant, muscular man was practically a supreme master in their eyes.

And this woman was the older sister of such a supreme master!

“So. What’s the deal?”

“Well, that old geezer dared to defy the Namen Sect’s orders, so we came to teach him a lesson……”

“Teach him a lesson? Tell me more details.”

Overwhelmed by Zhuge Ihyeon, the Namen Sect martial artists obediently confessed their purpose.

Qing’s somewhat friendly demeanor also played a part.

Old Man Ban was the best craftsman in Zhumadian.

Actually, calling him the best in Zhumadian was an understatement; even if you broadened the scope to the entire Henan Province, he would still rank among the top few master craftsmen.

However, this master craftsman’s specialty was limited to things like farming tools.

No matter how skilled an ironsmith, if their field was different, they couldn't create a masterpiece outside it.

If a master of swordsmanship picked up a half-sword, they could swing it adequately, but you couldn’t call them a master of the half-sword, could you?

The problem was, a sword Old Man Ban had forged in his youth had recently been discovered.

And it was said to be a truly fine sword.

In other words, Old Man Ban wasn't unable to make swords—he refused to!

Skilled sword craftsmen were highly sought-after figures whom sects vied to recruit.

If two martial artists of perfectly equal skill clashed, the superiority of their weapon could decide the outcome.

Even without that, the interest martial artists had in better weapons was something even masters of the fist couldn't hide.

And the most outstanding sword craftsman in Zhumadian rightfully belonged to the Namen Sect, the leaders of the city's Unorthodox Faction.

“So you decided to take Old Man Ban away?”

“No, we gave up on that long ago. You have no idea how stubborn that old geezer is……”

Old Man Ban had sworn an oath never to forge weapons again.

Craftsmen who had the ability but refused to make weapons were surprisingly common throughout the Central Plains.

Toss a single silver coin to any street storyteller, and you could listen to tragic tales about them all day long.

Despite coaxing, threats, and all sorts of methods, Old Man Ban remained resolute, insisting he'd rather die than forge a sword.

He didn’t even yield when they kidnapped his grandson to pressure him.

Thus, the Namen Sect leader had an idea.

If I can't have him, I'll break him.

How can I make an example of him?

Right, let’s starve him out.

If the others see the bastard who dared defy the Namen Sect starving to death, they won’t get any funny ideas.

“Ahh. So you come here every time a customer shows up to chase them away, is that it?”

“Yes, well, that’s how it turned out……”

The Namen Sect martial artists answered, glancing around half-anxiously.

However, Qing’s next words made their expressions relax considerably.

“Wow, you guys have it rough. Really rough. Does that mean you’ve been watching this metal shop all day long, monitoring whether he lights the forge or not?”

“That’s right. We take turns making sure nobody gives the old man food. But then some dog-like bastard sneaks food in anyway, so the old geezer just won’t die. And the higher-ups just chew us out, asking why we aren’t blocking them properly……”

Such was the life of a low-ranking martial artist.

Especially for those in the Unorthodox Faction, it was bound to be miserable.

“Life looks tough for you guys. Should I help you out a bit?”

“W-Well, if you’re thinking of putting in a word with the higher-ups, we’re fine, you really don’t have to……”

“No. You need to eliminate the root cause.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is living hard? Then just don’t live. Why keep living a life where you deliberately choose to do bad things?”

“……?”

Qing thrust out her left hand.

But feeling nothing placed in it, she shot Zhuge Ihyeon a sharp glare.

“Zhuge-ie, shouldn’t you know the drill by now? This is when you slap the Bokshinjeok right here! Didn’t you see what my Sworn Sister did earlier?”

“Ah, apologies, Sister. How rude of me.”

Qing grasped the Bokshinjeok.

Immediately, an absurd amount of energy erupted from the Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron staff.

At some point, Tang Nanah had positioned herself behind them, blocking the metal shop entrance, poison whip in hand. Gyeon Pohee stood beside her, her fist held up adorably at shoulder height, three fingers extended.

Blocked from front and back, the Namen Sect martial artist’s face turned deathly pale as he spoke politely.

“Uh, if perhaps we have offended you in some way, wouldn’t you prefer to resolve this through dialogue?”

“Dialogue? With vermin from the Unorthodox Faction? I’m from the Divine Maiden Sect. He’s from the Zhuge clan. That wicked face over there is Tang Clan. And next to her is… um… Seol Family Trading Company?”

At this, Gyeon Pohee looked crestfallen.

But it wasn’t as if she could announce herself as being from the Bliss Palace or the Demonic Cult, could she?

Qing thought for a moment, then corrected herself.

“Scratch the Seol Family Trading Company for her. She’s my Sworn Sister.”

Gyeon Pohee’s expression brightened again.

She seemed satisfied.

The Namen Sect martial artists, however, were not satisfied.

Because, aside from the Seol Family Trading Company, these were names known to every martial artist under heaven.

“Damn it all! Attack!”

Even among grunts, there’s a hierarchy. The one who seemed highest-ranking yelled the order.

Simultaneously, he darted sideways.

One thug charged Qing as commanded, while another leaped backward, attempting to break through towards the entrance.

Qing calmly watched the Namen Sect martial artist rushing towards her.

He charged with his sword raised high above his head—whether he looked like a martial artist or a samurai, his torso was wide open.

It was a gap practically begging, ‘Please stab me in the torso.’

So, Qing simply extended the Bokshinjeok forward.

The staff, imbued with ferocious power, pierced his upper abdomen and angled upwards, reaching his heart in one go.

“Urk.”

The wicked Unorthodox Faction member dropped his sword with a clang before he could even swing it down.

“Uh, uh……”

In the Central Plains, there exists a weapon called the Blood Hammer—a hollow awl with holes.

If the heart is pierced with this, blood flows through the holes and gushes out in a spectacular fountain.

That was what was happening now in Qing's hand.

From each wind hole of the Bokshinjeok, blood spurted rhythmically with each heartbeat—pchik, pchik.

It had been too long since she felt this stickiness coating her hand.

The blood felt so hot against her palm, always cold from her Demonic Arts, that it seemed to scald her.

Qing couldn't control her expression, a murderous smile stretching from ear to ear.

It was fortunate she was wearing a veil.

Zhuge Ihyeon frowned at the sight.

“Ugh, Sister. Isn’t it unpleasant to get blood inside the flute?”

“So what? I can just wash it well. A martial artist shouldn’t be picky about their weapons.”

“You can try to pass it off with cool words, but the Bokshinjeok isn’t even a weapon to begin with! However!”

Zhuge Ihyeon suddenly sputtered, spraying saliva.

“As expected, your splendid and bewitching eloquence remains unchanged! To make the enemy spill information without any form of torture or persuasion! This dull-witted younger brother is moved! Moved again! Lately, I was beginning to suspect you might actually just be a foolish woman, but you have shattered my foolish thoughts entirely!”

“What the? Why does that sound like a compliment, but feel so weird?”

In any case, Qing was thoroughly satisfied after getting a real taste of action again after so long.

Piercing soft skin and then firm heart muscle, she savored both weak and tough textures simultaneously.

Plus, stabbing with the Bokshinjeok made the blood gush out—oh, it was a complete rediscovery of the flute's potential.

It was a discovery that would make Ban Chi weep tears of blood in the afterlife.

The group's combined martial prowess was far too excessive for dealing with mere neighborhood Unorthodox Faction riffraff.

The one who ran for the door had his head punctured by Gyeon Pohee’s finger-pointing technique, some of its contents leaking out.

The one who tried to escape alone was in slightly better condition, relatively speaking; Tang Nanah's poison whip was wrapped around his neck, while he foamed at the mouth with his eyes rolled back.

“Why’d he pass out?”

“Fire ant poison entered his artery. He probably felt like his whole body was on fire.”

“Hm.”

Or maybe he’s the most pitiful one after all.

Just then.

“You son of a bitch!”

Old Man Ban suddenly charged forward with bloodshot eyes, brandishing a giant hammer high in a familiar stance Qing had just witnessed.

His target was the foaming martial artist lying on the ground, the whip coiled around his neck like a scarf.

Qing executed the ultimate technique of the Moon Maiden Step, the Spatial Leap, landing lightly to block the old man’s path.

“Hold on, Grandfather.”

“Get out of my way! I’m going to smash that bastard’s skull! That damned bastard!”

“I understand how you feel, but is a man who refuses to forge swords going to start killing people with a hammer?”

“But that bastard, that bastard…!”

“Ahh. Can’t be helped. Be satisfied with this.”

Qing planted the sole of her shoe squarely on the fallen Unorthodox Faction martial artist’s head.

Her knee trembled slightly as she applied pressure, and finally, crunch.

Truthfully, from the moment Qing said, ‘Can’t be helped,’ her face behind the veil was blooming with a beaming smile.

She seemed to lose her balance for a moment, swaying slightly.

To her companions, it looked as if she was shocked by the sensation.

Of course, she was shocked.

Wow… That felt incredible. How long has it been?

Hmm, maybe it was too stimulating after such a long time.

How many pairs of spare underwear did I pack?

One could say that Choi Leeong’s foresight in preparing the veil was now shining so brightly it rivaled the sun.

But good feelings aside, the sticky sole of her shoe felt doubly unpleasant.

Qing found a clean patch of ground and scraped her shoe back and forth.

Witnessing the gruesome death of the Namen Sect martial artist, Old Man Ban stared down blankly at the corpse, offering no comment.

Then, he hawked up a thick wad of phlegm—kaaak—and spat it onto the crushed remains.

Seeing this, Qing spoke again.

“Grandfather, don’t we have something to talk about too?”

At that, Old Man Ban cautiously averted his gaze.

Qing tilted her head, pressing him further.

“This wasn’t just a one or two-day thing, was it? You must have known perfectly well these guys would storm in the moment you lit the forge.”