Chapter 157: For Whom Does the Hammer Toll?

Usually, there was one guard on each side of the main gate, so the remaining one yelled furiously.

“What do you think you’re doing! How dare you—”

“You wanna fly too? Or would you rather run inside and deliver the message? Tell them to hand over Old Man Ban’s kid.”

Qing cut the guard off.

Zhuge Ihyeon chimed in, adding to Qing’s words.

“His grandson, Elder Sister.”

“Damn it, why do I keep saying son? Anyway, you can tell just by looking that I’m stronger than you, right? Wanna be a glorious martyr for resisting?”

“Kugh, you wench won’t die prettily— Hup.”

The Namen Sect martial artist tried to spew curses out of some misplaced pride, but he clamped his mouth shut the instant something pressed against his Adam's apple as Qing closed the distance in a flash.

“Gonna say something nasty? You should show respect to your superiors.”

The moment a fight seemed likely, her filter disappeared completely. In these moments, it was as if Qing’s words bypassed her brain, coming straight from her spine.

However, the strong could say whatever they wanted, and the weak had to obey.

“No, ma’am. I must have lost my mind.”

“Right. Go tell them to bring Old Man Ban from the metal shop’s grandson. While you’re at it, take your friend who failed at flying with you.”

“Uh, if you could just move this…”

Qing obediently moved the Bokshinjeok away.

The Namen Sect martial artist nervously glanced around, then cautiously picked up his colleague and scrambled inside the main gate.

And just when he seemed to have put some distance between them…

“You dog-like bitch! Did you really think you could provoke the great Namen Sect and live! Just how ugly are you that you have to cover your face…”

“Nanah. Isn’t he being a bit loud?” Qing asked Tang Nanah casually.

“…I’ll rip your crotch apart, you damned wench! I’ll immediately— Ack!”

The Namen Sect martial artist, suddenly shouting a slogan reminiscent of some marine landing unit, clutched himself between the legs.

Ugh.

Qing frowned and looked at Tang Nanah, a silent rebuke in her eyes. Even if his mouth was foul, wasn’t that going a bit too far?

For reference, the soldiers of the Sichuan Chengdu Thousand-man unit had given Qing a nickname: Absolute Witch, the witch who severed family lines.

“He was saying dirty things, so I stopped him,” Tang Nanah explained.

This was precisely why people needed to watch their mouths. He tried to tear someone else’s crotch and ended up getting his own torn.

“What! What’s happening! An attack! Ring the bell!”

Having a courtyard behind the main gate is common sense, East or West. Witnessing their comrade become effectively eunuch-ized in the middle of said courtyard, the startled martial artists scrambled, grabbing weapons and running around chaotically.

Clang clang clang clang!

The frantic, ear-splitting sound of beaten tin echoed wildly. An alarm signaling an enemy attack is designed to be intensely grating, making it unbearable.

“Nanah, now we have to fight because of you,” Qing sighed. “If you’d just let him deliver the message quietly, we could have grabbed Old Man Ban’s grandson and left peacefully.”

“Huh? I just, well, he was cursing at you…” Tang Nanah mumbled.

“Alright. Get ready,” Qing instructed. “Zhuge-ah and my sworn sister, take down anyone rushing out the front gate and be ready to bolt anytime. Nanah, stay behind me— No, if you stick that close, how am I supposed to fight?”

“Ah. Sorry.”

It was a cute mistake born from her lack of real combat experience.

Qing blocked the main gate, swapping her Bokshinjeok for the Moonlight Sword (No. 8). A large chip was missing from the middle of the blade, but the core wasn't damaged, so it didn't matter.

As Qing faced the enemies rushing towards her, she resembled Zhang Fei holding back the enemy at Changban Bridge… or so Qing thought.

Hmm, was it Changban? Changpan? Was that the name?

Didn’t he hold a bridge? Jangpan Bridge? Pan Bridge?

Their panicked, scrambling rush out the gate looked like an ant nest flooded with water.

The Namen Sect martial artists formed a semicircle around the main gate. A middle-aged man among them, radiating a particularly imposing aura, stepped forward and shouted.

“Who are you people to be so discourteous!”

“Your evil deeds end here!” Qing retorted loudly. “Release the grandson of craftsman Ban from the metal shop, whom you kidnapped!!”

Qing glanced behind her. Amidst the chaotic clanging that sounded like someone beating a pot, a crowd of onlookers had gathered outside the Namen Sect’s gates.

Seeing this, the middle-aged man seemed to grasp the situation outside the gate as well.

“Ahem, how dare you level such baseless accusations against the great Namen Sect? Though we are a sect belonging to the Unorthodox Path, we are righteous virtuous experts who proudly uphold the National Law.”

Qing smirked. This guy didn’t even know the basics of manipulating public opinion. He should be emphasizing the important words loudly for everyone to hear.

“Now you resort to lies!! Old Man Ban from the metal shop clearly knelt!! And wept!! Pleading that you villains kidnapped his grandson!! And threatened him to make weapons!! Did you not?!”

At this, the middle-aged man gave a sly smile.

“How strange. But there are many who slander our sect, so people are quite used to such shouting. Wouldn’t it be better to speak nicely instead of straining your voice?”

He was sneering, implying that the onlookers already knew the situation anyway. Did she really think her rabble-rousing would make them grab brooms and attack?

A vein throbbed slightly at the corner of Qing’s forehead. This shameless bastard is basically saying, ‘So what?’

Qing’s brain, which only worked overtime when messing with others, started spinning rapidly. Should I go with Operation ‘Leverage My Connections’?

If I reveal I'm a top disciple, name-drop my Master, the Zhuge Clan since we’re doing a group project anyway, the Sichuan Tang Clan… maybe hide the Demonic Cult part… they’d probably turn pale and start bowing immediately.

But that wouldn’t be any fun.

Besides, these guys had remarkably high Bad Karma for a neighborhood Unorthodox Faction group, which was suspicious.

Qing called Tang Nanah in a low voice.

“Hey. Nanah.”

“Yeah?”

“That Poison Bomb, is it potent? Can’t you throw it now?”

“Huh? This one is really strong…”

“They’re bastards who kidnapped a kid and tried to starve an old man to death. They deserve to die from something strong.”

“Really? Let’s see, the wind direction… it’s fine! Okay, which one should I throw?”

Tang Nanah seemed oddly excited. Qing could fully understand the feeling. No matter how many practice blue grenades you threw, it couldn’t compare to the thrill of throwing a real one.

“You have more than one?” Qing asked, surprised.

“I brought two just in case. One’s spicy smoke, the other’s extreme poison…”

“Perfect. Extreme poison, got it,” Qing decided. “Keep the spicy one for when we need to escape later.”

“Hee hee. I actually get to throw this,” Tang Nanah giggled. “My brothers told me only to use it if I was about to die because it could make me a Public Enemy of the Murim if I misuse it.”

And just like that, a round object flew through the air.

“It’s a Thunder Bomb!”

“Take cover!”

Someone shouted, causing everyone to leap dramatically, dive to the ground, and generally create chaos.

Thanks to this, the Poison Bomb landed unimpeded, hit the ground with a thud, rolled a bit, and stopped.

The Namen Sect martial artists, who had been practically swimming on the ground, blinked in bewilderment.

Qing whispered, her voice low, “What? Was it a dud?”

“Uh, I heard it’s supposed to be like that?” Tang Nanah replied uncertainly. “They said the truly scary poisons are invisible…”

However, even her voice lacked conviction.

Just then, the middle-aged man picked himself up. He had been in the center, but somehow he’d managed to dive quite far away – truly astonishing reflexes.

“You wet-behind-the-ears brats, how dare you mock your elders!” he roared.

He was utterly humiliated, having thrown himself to the ground in panic over a mere metal ball. His shout was filled with rage, vowing to find the bastard who yelled “Thunder Bomb” and beat him senseless after this was over.

“Hmm. Is being old something to brag about?” Qing shot back. “There’s an order to dying too, you know. When you see a Thunder Bomb, doesn’t it occur to you that the old guy should jump on it to protect his subordinates?”

He asked if she was mocking him, so she obliged.

It was super effective!

“Y-You! You willingly ignore the offered cup and choose the penalty!” the man sputtered.

“Penalty shot time!!” Qing exclaimed dramatically. “The number one thing old bastards say!! Why the hell are old farts always obsessed with forcing drinks on people?! It’s a mystery!! Anyone willing to take the penalty shot for me?! Looking for a Black Knight, no, a Black Warrior!!!”

Snickers erupted from behind her. Even among the Namen Sect members, some couldn’t help but let out a choked snort before quickly covering their mouths.

“Y-You! What are you all doing!” the middle-aged man shrieked, losing control. “Cut off that wench’s arms and legs and make her kneel before me!”

It was then.

Thump. One of the Namen Sect martial artists collapsed.

Then he began convulsing, thrashing violently on the ground. The common curse phrase "throwing a fit" (jiral) actually originates from the term for seizures (jiral-byeong), describing someone foaming at the mouth and convulsing uncontrollably.

He was, quite literally, throwing a fit.

And the fit was contagious. One after another, people collapsed, their eyes rolling back. Blood wept from their eyes, noses bled, ears bled, and red saliva mixed with blood drooled from their mouths.

The technical term was bleeding from all seven orifices. Two eye sockets, two nostrils, two ear holes, and one mouth – seven openings, hence seven orifices.

“Poison, it’s poison!”

A pandemonium even greater than before unfolded. Like insects scattering from under a rock, they fled chaotically in all directions. Some, completely disoriented, even ran out the main gate.

Qing’s left arm, holding the Moonlight Sword, hung loosely at her side.

The sword of Namgung was the sword of the Emperor. The Emperor sits on the jade throne atop the Son of Heaven’s steps, overlooking the world. A point of his finger moves a million troops; the most powerful sword under heaven reaches everywhere.

Space seemed to split diagonally before Qing. An enemy’s sword, caught in that trajectory, met the immense force obliquely and was pushed outwards. The weapon meant to protect his body was knocked away along with the enemy’s sword, leaving his torso defenseless.

His lower body crumpled to its knees, while his upper body flew through the air, tumbling across the ground.

Following through, Qing flicked her sword with sharp precision. Swish. A long streak of blood painted the ground.

Letting her sword hang loosely again, Qing smiled. I knew I liked this sword style the moment it entered my head.

It was a swordsmanship that reacted to the enemy's attack, drawing the straightest possible line to minimize the angle of contact between weapons. It pushed aside the opponent's weapon while simultaneously cutting them down—a principle where defense became offense.

Easier said than done. Reacting to the enemy’s attack inherently meant conceding the first move, putting oneself at a disadvantage. Now I kind of understood why that sword friend stubbornly used only the sword.

Divide the front into eight directions, divide each into eight more for sixty-four, then split those sixty-four a hundred times into six thousand four hundred straight lines. It was a sword art that demanded finding the single correct answer among them. Was there any time to be distracted by other weapons?

But, um, sword friend. Sorry for stealing the Emperor Sword Form.

But hey, I didn’t choose it, okay?

If you want to blame someone, blame my Master.

“Alright. Next.”

Qing declared, letting her sword hang loosely once more. She stood magnificently, blocking the main gate. Truly, her heroic spirit soared; it was a moment exploding with coolness.

“Poison, it’s poison!”

“Antidote Powder, no, the physician, no, detoxify first!”

“Brother, snap out of it, snap out of it!”

“Idiot, get away! You’ll get poisoned too!”

Unfortunately, the Namen Sect martial artists, felled by the colorless, odorless extreme poison, were in no state whatsoever to notice her coolness.

Tang Nanah: 1 win.