Chapter 49: Searching for Someone

From an intelligence-gathering perspective, torture was highly inefficient.

Torture was an act that only provoked hostility.

I mean, think about it. You torture someone, they're not exactly gonna be singing your praises, are they? It's more like they'll be cursing your name and every living relative you've ever had.

Besides, the poor bastard getting tortured is just trying to survive the moment. They'll say whatever they think you want to hear, even if it's a load of bull.

But hey, Qing didn't actually give a shit.

Even if Qing had known the truth, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Deep down, she was a twisted little soul.

A powerful impulse that constantly whispered, persistently.

Blood and blood. And even more blood.

Screams. The wails of agony. The rattling wheeze of blood-choked breath. The fragile, barely clinging gasp of life. The suppressed sobs, swallowed down forcefully.

Eyes, glazed and unfocused, trembling violently as they struggled to hold their gaze, expanding into void and disbelief in the face of death—each carrying a different, fascinating charm.

All those moments of pain were simply too beautiful.

A shudder ran through Qing’s body, breath growing rapid, unable to suppress the overwhelming sensation—every nerve, every joint, every muscle burning with a terrifying pleasure.

Ah. So this was why artists lived in madness.

This is why they poison themselves with mercury fumes while painting, why they cough up blood from tuberculosis while writing.

Their short lives were not misfortunes.

They must have lived and died in absolute bliss.

Thus, Qing's approach was different from mere torture.

It was closer to a pursuit of truth, or even a religious ritual.

With careful precision, Qing carved through flesh and turned over muscle, gauging the subject’s suffering through their groans, screams, and breath.

It was a study—a study in how to keep a living thing alive while disassembling it.

To ensure they survived, so that even greater pain could be inflicted.

And so, Qing's touch was delicate and cautious.

After all, this was a rare and precious specimen.

Suddenly, Qing’s hand stilled.

Ah. Wouldn’t tampering further here be dangerous?

An unfounded instinct.

Damn, and just when things were getting good.

Clicking their tongue, Qing withdrew.

"Please… please… just kill me…"

Wang Son-man, now a blood-soaked mess, could only beg.

His vocal cords, raw from screaming, produced a grating sound. His lungs, strained and exhausted, barely functioned.

"You've been a naughty boy, haven't you?"

Qing giggled.

"We’re secret friends, right? Why don’t you whisper it just to me? What does it take to rack up three hundred negative karma points?"

Right. This should have been figured out first.

She had just gone ahead and chopped off his head without thinking.

Had she been living too thoughtlessly?

Perhaps. Time for some introspection.

But really, wasn’t it the world that was at fault?

For kidnapping someone who was just living their life.

"I… I deceived people…"

"Oh. The missing people?"

Qing tilted their head.

"Nah, that can't be it. You wouldn't get minus 300 points just for that. Is lying to people really that bad?"

"I knew… I knew they wouldn't be coming back…"

"Ah. So you knowingly sent them to their deaths? That makes more sense. How many?"

"Two… three per week. For over six months…"

"What? Then let’s see. Two-point-five per week. Ten per month. That’s over sixty people in six months? Hmm… hmm. Yeah, that sounds about right."

Qing nodded.

If at least sixty people had been sent to their deaths, that probably did add up to three hundred karma points.

Wait, no. Or did it?

Killing bad people was good karma, though?

"Is that all?"

"I… I also practiced demonic arts…"

"Demonic arts? Which one?"

"Soul-Devouring Art…"

Qing didn’t know martial arts anyway.

But just from the name, they could guess.

Heart-Devouring Art—wasn’t that the one where you consumed hearts?

It was actually worse than Qing had imagined.

The Heart-Devouring Art was a corrupted esoteric technique, one that refined hearts through alchemical processes to cultivate inner power.

For it to be completed, the practitioner had to transplant a child’s vital qi energy into a heart, a process that involved unimaginable agony.

Moreover, unlike other martial arts, the technique’s advancement was solely dependent on the number of hearts consumed, regardless of the practitioner's talent or constitution.

Even at its peak, it didn’t grant an overwhelming increase in internal qi.

The real issue was its horrifying method of cultivation and the fact that it could rapidly produce martial masters.

That's why the Heart-Devouring Art was known throughout the land as a terrifying demonic art.

"So… you’ve eaten hearts?"

"Those people… they brought them to me…"

"Those people?"

"I don’t know who they are… I swear… I really don’t know…"

Didn’t seem like a lie.

Qing massaged the back of their neck.

"But why? Why go that far for strangers? Why cultivate a demonic art by consuming human hearts? Well, though I suppose that might taste a little good… do you get them fresh?"

"What…"

Qing slapped their own cheek.

"No, wait—shit. Cannibalism is a no-go. My bad, my mind’s all over the place. Anyway, why? Why bother?"

"To… to become the Sect Leader…"

The more she heard, the more this bastard seemed like a real piece of shit.

This group had been secretly abducting civilians for some unknown operation, and once it was finished, they were planning an attack on Daizheng Sect.

At that moment, the eldest son, Wang Sun-seok, would be gravely injured, while the second son, Wang Sun-man, would heroically drive away the enemies.

Only then did a sense of joy bloom in Qing’s heart.

Ah, so karma really does balance itself out?

They were bastards anyway—good riddance.

It was satisfying to confirm that their little hobby had, in fact, contributed to world peace.

The realization filled Qing with a renewed sense of fulfillment.

"Then now that I've told you everything… you'll let me live?"

"Huh? Weren’t you begging to die earlier?"

"P-Please…"

Nothing was more terrifying than someone who didn’t operate by normal logic.

That was the kind of state Qing was in—completely immersed in an intense focus on the mysteries of the human body.

But now that a conversation had been established, a tiny sprout of hope for survival had begun to emerge.

"Well, fine. You did help clear up some questions I had."

"You’ll spare me…?"

Even with the skin peeled from his face, a faint glimmer of hope appeared in his expression.

The human will to live was truly remarkable.

Of course, the people he had sold out probably felt the same way.

Which was precisely why he couldn’t be allowed to die just yet.

Qing had taken great care to keep him alive, ensuring that he wouldn’t die too soon. Killing him now would make all that effort pointless.

"Alright then. I’ll let it slide this time. So be grateful, got it?"

And with that, the fun came to an end.

Why did the good times always pass so quickly?

Qing sighed wistfully, then casually tossed Wang Sun-seok onto a blanket and dragged him outside.

It wasn’t exactly the way Wang Sun-seok had envisioned it, but technically, he had ended up lying on a blanket after all.

So, in a way, his goal had been partially achieved.

Qing pushed open the iron door and stepped outside.

The sun was already high in the sky.

Now that Qing thought about it, the moment this bastard had led them to a suspicious underground chamber under the pretense of "a place where no sound would escape," it was obvious he was no good.

This must have been where he secretly consumed hearts and met with his unknown associates.

Surprisingly, Qing looked relatively clean.

Of course, their sleeves were soaked, and dried blood crusted the face and neck where it had been wiped away by hand.

But compared to their usual state, Qing was practically spotless.

Since the underground chamber wasn’t far from Daizheng Sect, Qing soon encountered the sect’s disciples.

Daizheng Sect was already in chaos from the early hours.

A distinguished guest had gone missing, and to make matters worse, the second son had disappeared as well.

The sect, wary of offending their guest, had sent disciples to search for them.

However, the Sect Leader, Wang Gae-yuk, wasn’t particularly worried.

He simply assumed they had gone out early for some business.

The young masters from the Hidden Dragon Society were concerned, but the city of Huangquan wasn’t exactly known for its dangers.

Wang Gae-yuk firmly believed that.

Which was why he nearly collapsed when he saw the guest dragging along a bloodied mess that claimed to be Wang Sun-man.

People were always vulnerable to unexpected shocks.

But that was only the beginning.

After hastily sending the second son to the infirmary, the guest spoke.

"That guy tricked the missing people and handed them over. I heard it straight from him. He was working with criminals to kill his own brother and take the successor's position."

"That’s absurd! What kind of… is there any evidence? That brat may be ill-tempered, but he wouldn’t scheme something so vile…"

"He practiced the Heart-Devouring Art. You can bring in an martial expert to confirm it."

"The Soul-Devouring Art!"

Wang Gae-yuk gasped, staggering.

Wang Sun-seok quickly stepped forward to support him.

"No… no…"

If Wang Sun-man had really practiced demonic arts, verifying it wouldn’t be difficult.

And why would anyone lie about something so easily proven?

It was indisputable evidence that backed the entire situation.

At that moment, Qing clapped their hands, drawing everyone’s attention.

"Alright, next. I also found out where the group that took those people is hiding."

Qing locked eyes with Wang Gae-yuk and continued.

"You do realize Daizheng Sect bears responsibility for this, right? So, shouldn’t you come along?"

The ones who had been abducted were the kind of people no one would care about if they disappeared—those at rock bottom, trapped in life’s filth.

So there wasn’t exactly an urgent sense of "We must rescue them!"

If they happened to be alive, maybe they’d be saved.

But honestly, Qing had no desire to put in the effort to rescue someone who had sold his wife to pay off gambling debts.

But what about the ones left behind?

Qing recalled the old woman’s face—the desperate look in her eyes as she pleaded for someone to find her child.

Even if she didn’t have much time left, she still had a life to live.

She shouldn’t have to spend her remaining days clinging to wandering swordsmen, begging for their help.

Maybe Yi Ha-sam really would wash his hands of everything and live peacefully with his wife.

Or maybe he’d end up just like those gamblers in hell, selling off his family again.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, the people left behind shouldn’t be shackled to regret because of someone like him.