Chapter 160: For Whom Does the Hammer Toll?

As Qing took a step forward, Dan Unsak scrambled backward, crawling awkwardly with one arm and one leg.

Ignoring him, Qing picked up Dan Unsak’s fallen sword and swung it a few times.

The center of gravity was excellent, the blue blade sharp without a single nick. Even the blood that coated it beaded up and clung, proving it was truly a masterpiece of a sword…

Blood?

Qing bent her elbow and examined her forearm.

Blood streamed steadily from a gash, split open about a finger-joint deep.

No wonder it was stinging and throbbing.

But perhaps there was a strange addiction to the pain? This much wasn't so bad.

Letting blood drip from her fingertips, Qing looked down at Dan Unsak again and spoke.

"Give me the scabbard."

"I-I will!" he stammered.

"I need it. Give it here, quick. Maybe it's the blood loss, but I'm feeling dizzy."

After accepting the scabbard, Qing spoke again.

"Seriously, why bully an old blacksmith when you have a fine sword like this? What, are you a dual-wielder? Is that stereotype about dual-wielders being psychos true in the martial arts world too? I heard it's a sign of social anxiety disorder."

"N-no, that's not it," Dan Unsak pleaded. "Any sect would covet such a metal shop…"

"What? Covet?" Qing scoffed. "This bastard's hilarious. Is kidnapping his grandson to sell him off and cutting off his work so he starves to death also natural?"

"That's…"

"Living like that, getting cut down and dying is only natural too, right? If you commit a sin, you naturally have to pay the price. Even if you get your head cut off here, it'll be considered death by natural causes. So when you get to the underworld and Yama, the King of Hell asks why you died, tell him you died naturally because you were a guy who deserved to die naturally. Got it?"

”Wait…!”

Qing strode forward decisively.

Dan Unsak crawled desperately, but the mobility contest between two legs versus one arm and one leg was as lopsided as a race between an insomniac rabbit and a tortoise.

In no time, Qing thrust the sword right under his chin.

"Stop acting pathetic and offer your neck quietly."

"Please, spare me, hiiik!"

Qing raised the sword high.

Dan Unsak covered his face with his palms, but that was a defense only Qing, who had learned the White Hand Demonic Arts, could manage.

And slice!

"Aaargh!"

A man with his throat cut can't scream.

But Dan Unsak, sliced vertically from palm to below the shoulder, split into two flaps, could certainly scream.

"You could have died cleanly," Qing tutted. "Why mess with my arm? Acting like that, you deserve this."

His right arm was gone below the elbow, his left arm was now split in two, and one leg was crippled.

He looked like he would die within half a shichen(hour), no, even just a quarter-hour.

Yet, trying to survive, he dragged himself away with one leg. But unless Heaven was moved by his efforts and a celestial being descended on a cloud to save him, his survival was already doomed.

Qing turned away without a second thought.

Her arm was injured, but she'd picked up Moonlight Sword (No. 9), so call it even.

Moonlight Sword (No. 9) was longer and thicker than Moonlight Sword (No. 8), about half again as heavy, and she liked the weight immensely.

The metal shop the Divine Maiden Sect sourced their weapons from made lighter swords, suitable for women.

Moonlight Sword (No. 8) was similarly lighter than a man's sword.

For the monstrously strong Qing, swinging it felt like nothing, making her wonder if this was how those practitioners in movies felt holding lightsabers.

"What are you all doing? Kneel."

Qing addressed the Namen Sect members, who were just watching nervously.

In fact, for members of the Unorthodox Faction, kneeling was part of the basic training learned right after joining, so when the moment came, it was an ingrained reaction.

Seeing the members kneel without hesitation, Qing clicked her tongue and muttered loud enough for them to hear.

"Tsk. So obedient. I thought I'd have to cut down at least two before they listened. Disappointing."

A chill ran down the spines of the listening members.

She hadn't spoken loudly by accident; with that one line, Qing had successfully intimidated them.

Just then, Tang Nanah, upset about Qing getting hurt again, smacked her on the back in admonishment.

Then, producing some cloth from somewhere, she started wrapping Qing's arm tightly, saying something about how this was the best she could do since she wasn't confident about sticking a needle into muscles that could block Sword Force.

She wrapped so much bandage that Qing's arm visibly thickened in real-time. Losing interest, Qing shouted again.

"If the one who sold off Old Man Ban's grandson is among you, raise your hand. I won't harm you, so come out quietly. I swear on my Master's name."

A pledge made on a Master's name by an Orthodox Murim member was unconditionally verified truth.

It didn't work as well for Unorthodox Murim members, where master-disciple relationships could sometimes be adversarial.

Though their methods were excessive, their words were those of righteous experts, so perhaps because of that, one man hesitantly raised his hand.

"Alright," Qing declared. "Everyone destroys their dantian. Now. Right, anyone who considers themselves a Peak Realm martial artist is excused."

At that, one middle-aged man and two old men stood up with relieved expressions and quietly moved to the side.

Their slightly smug looks were a bonus.

"The rest of you can give up either your dantian or your head," Qing continued. "If you don't break it in ten seconds, I'll personally crack your skull. One. Two. Where do you think you're going?!"

Kneeling signifies respect or submission, not a position to gain momentum for escape.

Doing so meant having no excuse even if a hairpin flew through your neck.

Furthermore, Tang Nanah, who had been wrapping the bandage, reacted simultaneously, lodging two extra daggers into him as well.

Krrk…

However, the fatal wound was to the neck. The member who dared attempt escape with momentum gurgled blood and crawled on the floor.

"Four. No… I don't understand." Qing counted on. "Five. Does breaking your dantian kill you? Six. Making a fuss even when I offer to spare you. Seven."

Even if the dantian was broken, unless one practiced a special martial art, the muscles, bones, and cleared meridians remained. They would still be martial artists capable of easily handling common folk ignorant of martial arts.

Better than a Third-Rate who knew nothing proper, but worse than a Second-Rate who could handle even a little qi. If forced to classify, perhaps a two-and-a-half, or in Central Plains terms, a second-rate-and-a-half warrior.

"Eight. Nine. Time's up. Let's see."

Qing's eyes gleamed as she scanned the kneeling warriors.

Each had faint traces of blood around their mouths; it seemed every single one had indeed shattered their dantian.

Just then.

"This bastard bit his tongue and pretended to break his dantian!" someone shouted.

Apparently, seeing someone fake it while they had genuinely crippled themselves provoked resentment. A public informant emerged.

After delivering appropriate punishment, Qing took out a gold piece from her pouch, broke off half, and tossed it to the informant.

"There. You are now free. Go. You've got a nice sum, so leave carefully."

The informant blinked, then shouted "Thank you!" loudly before hastily exiting the manor.

Qing didn't stop him.

A public informant deserved a proper reward and protection.

She then held up the remaining half gold piece.

"Anyone need gold? Report any sneaky bastard trying to get away without breaking their dantian, and you get half a gold piece. You've lost your internal energy, you'll need living expenses for a while."

And just like that, astonishingly, two more sneaky individuals were exposed.

More precious gold was spent, and two informants left the manor, each holding half a gold piece.

"Um. What about us…?" one of the excused Peak Realm masters asked hesitantly.

"You're experts, so I can't just let you go carelessly," Qing mused. "Maybe handing you over to the Government Office is better. Nanah, could you seal their Acupoints?"

"Acupoints?" Tang Nanah questioned. "Even a First-Rate can block those…"

"Should I break their dantians first then?" Qing suggested brightly.

At that, the three Peak Realm masters shouted in unison.

"We won't block them!"

"We'll let our Acupoints be sealed and go quietly to the Government Office!"

"See?" Qing said to Nanah. "Just let them be."

Thus, the three Peak Realm martial artists had their Acupoints sealed and collapsed heavily to the ground.

Just then, Zhuge Ihyeon whispered quietly.

"Sister, the Authorities in Zhumadian are all in cahoots. Handing them over won't do much; they'll be released quickly."

"I know that too," Qing whispered back. "But don't I need the excuse of the Authorities to get them to quietly let their Acupoints be sealed?"

Certain vital points had mysterious effects: stopping bleeding, paralyzing the body, silencing the mouth, or inducing sleep when pressed with internal energy.

Ximen Surin had insisted she experience each one at least once, personally pressing her disciple's points. For Qing, the most dreadful was the sleep-inducing acupoint, Suhyeol.

Waking up afterwards brought a horrific headache.

If not for that side effect, insomnia wouldn't exist in the Central Plains.

"Indeed, Sister," Zhuge Ihyeon declared, his voice dripping with overly formal admiration. "You are truly masterful at deceiving others. Your vile stratagems utilizing human psychology leave me admiring you again and again, capable only of continuous admiration."

"Why does that compliment feel kind of insulting?" Qing asked flatly. "Next time, could you maybe just think it internally?"

"My apologies, Sister. But as a budding intellectual, how could I possibly restrain my exclamations of admiration?"

Basically, he meant he'd keep doing it.

What the? Did I do something to offend Zhuge-ie?

Qing tilted her head.

"Alright. Everyone except the kid who sold Old Man Ban's grandson, disperse. The party's over, time to go home."

Qing waved her hand, shooing the second-rate-and-a-half warriors out.

"Uh, Great Expert," the remaining man stammered. "What should I do…?"

"You're coming with us to find Old Man Ban's grandson," Qing stated. "I'll let you go when the job's done, so don't worry."

"Ah, yes…"

"Now. Let's go," Qing said, turning to Pohee. "Sworn Sister, could you handle these guys and then meet us at the metal shop? Is that okay? You don't have to if you don't want to."

Qing gestured towards the three Acupoint-sealed Peak Realm experts.

Understanding her meaning, Gyeon Pohee nodded with a dazzlingly bright smile.

"Ah! Yes! Okay!"

It's a bit wasteful to just kill off Peak Realm experts like that.

I need to feed my frail Sworn Sister some living elixirs so she can grow up strong.

Returning to the Ban Family Metal Shop, they found Old Man Ban waiting, a rope slung over a beam.

"What's with the depressing interior decoration?" Qing asked dryly.

"None of your business," the old man grumbled. "Still, you managed to come back alive."

"The Namen Sect is gone now. I killed their leader."

At that, the old man's eyes flickered, then suddenly turned urgent as he grabbed Qing.

"My grandson? Did you find him?"

"He said he sold him to the black market," Qing explained. "The guy who sold him is here, so we're going to get a refund. Hmm? Is refund the right word here? Zhuge-ah, what do you call it when you undo a sale?"

"Wouldn't it be something like retrieving him via repurchase?" Zhuge Ihyeon supplied.

There were still two months until the Murim conference opened in May anyway.

Going there to eat, play, and wait was fine, but using the remaining time efficiently wasn't a bad idea either.

"So, take down that hideous rope and wait here," Qing instructed the old man. "And tell me what your grandson looks like."

Life returned to Old Man Ban's fish-like eyes.

"Find my grandson, Jagwon. If you find my grandson, I'll do anything. I'll make you a sword, anything, no, I wouldn't refuse the position of weapon craftsman either…"

"It's fine," Qing cut him off. "What would I do with a weapon craftsman?"

"You don't think you need one?" the old man insisted. "You say that because you don't know, but the masterpiece I created in my youth is none other than the Xiqing Sword. How many sword craftsmen like me do you think exist under heaven?"

"The Xiqing Sword!"

Zhuge Ihyeon cried out sharply.

Qing smirked and said,

"Judging by Zhuge-ah's shout, it must be some incredible famous sword. But why would an old man who swore he'd die before making another weapon offer now? There must be a reason you were so stubborn about not making them."

"That's…" the old man faltered.

"Whether it's threats or favors, if you use them to force someone to do something they hate, how are you any different?" Qing pointed out. "The sect leader wasn't wrong about that, was he? Is there any reason to become the same kind of person?"

The old man stared blankly, mouth agape.

Qing chuckled and continued.

"If the refund—no, repurchase—doesn't work out, I'll at least raise some hell. So just take care of your health, old man. What good is finding your grandson if you're dead when he gets back? No one can take responsibility for that."