Chapter 51: But That Wasn’t the Case

A temporary shelter made of thick fabric is called a war tent.

As the entrance flap of the war tent was pushed aside, a man stepped inside.

"Boss. The eighty-seventh candidate site..."

"Oh, Dabuli. You dug it all up? Anything?"

The boss, who had been lying on a makeshift bed picking his nose, immediately sat up and asked.

Dabuli shook his head with a regretful expression.

The boss cursed.

"Fucking hell! This damn Treasure Map is a complete scam! We’ve been digging for eight damn months, and for what? Nothing!"

Treasure Map—a map said to mark buried riches.

"At this rate, we’ll finish digging up Sites Eighty-Eight, Eighty-Nine, and Ninety by tomorrow. Let’s just stop at an even hundred and head back. No one can blame us then."

"Fuck this shit."

The boss flopped back down with a sigh.

And then—

"Boss!"

Another subordinate burst into the war tent, panting.

The boss barely reacted, just lazily looking over.

"What is it?"

"Daizheng Sect bastards! They’re coming at us in full force!"

"What? That bastard Wang Sun-man… he spilled everything, huh? Fucking hell. This is why you can’t trust those righteous sect fuckers. No goddamn loyalty."

Dabuli, however, corrected him.

"Would someone who practiced Heart-Devouring Art really betray us? He must have just gotten caught due to his own incompetence."

They had given him a rare Black Heart and passed down the Heart-Devouring Art for a reason.

If he got caught, he’d instantly become a public enemy of Murim.

But if Wang Sun-man had taken over Daizheng Sect, the entire sect would have fallen into their hands.

"Same shit. Whether he got caught or betrayed us, it means he wasn’t good enough. Weaklings are as good as traitors. Anyway… ugh. Fuck."

The boss clicked his tongue and sat up, looking at the panting subordinate.

"So Daizheng Sect is coming? How many?"

"About fifty or so."

"Fifty, huh… Dabuli, what was their combat strength again?"

"They have two early peak-stage masters and seven first-rate level."

"Pfft. That’s it?"

The boss licked his lips.

"They’re practically walking to their own deaths. I was getting bored anyway. Should we just massacre them all?"

"Boss. Our mission is—"

"Agh, fuck. I know."

The boss cut Dabuli off.

"But we’ve already been exposed. The best move now is to wipe them out and retreat. Or should we just announce to the whole damn world that we’re treasure hunting? No, right? We’re doing our best here. Hmm… let’s see…"

The boss stroked his chin.

"Finish up the digging first. We might as well see if we find anything. And get ready to bury the workers."

"Understood."

Dabuli turned to leave, but the boss grabbed his arm.

"Wait. We need to deal with Wang Sun-man too. You handle it, then regroup separately. If those Daizheng bastards are all heading here, his house should be empty. Have someone else handle the cleanup."

"Understood, Boss."

Dabuli gave a respectful nod before disappearing out of the war tent.

The boss then turned to the remaining subordinates.

"Gather the Vanguard Assault Unit—everyone except the ones finishing the dig. It’s been a while since we’ve cut some people down."

Mount Subyeol was just one of the many mountains scattered across Murim.

Its terrain wasn’t particularly treacherous, nor was it a place of scenic beauty.

Since there was a highway nearby, there was no reason to venture into it, aside from the occasional herb gatherer with a woven basket.

It was also the location Wang Sun-man had confessed to sending the missing people.

When Daizheng Sect’s rescue team reached the base of the mountain, where the fields met the rising terrain—

A man stood in their way.

His disheveled hair was greasy, and his face was covered in filth, but his single eye gleamed with a vicious glint.

"Daizheng Sect, huh? I’ve been waiting for you."

Sect Leader Wang Gae-yuk glanced at the his sects Guardian Elder.

It would be improper for him to speak directly.

The Guardian Elder infused his voice with inner energy and shouted,

"Who are you? State your identity!"

"Me?"

The man sneered.

"The name’s Yeom Sa-rae-dal."

"The Second Coming of Anliang,Yeom Sa-rae-dal!"

The Guardian Elder exclaimed in shock.

A murmur spread among the Daizheng Sect disciples.

Qing, standing nearby, leaned toward Pang Daesan.

"Yeom Sa-rae-dal? What kind of name is that? Is his surname Yeom? Yeom Sa?"

"It’s Yeom."

"Then his name is Sa-rae-dal? That’s even weirder. Who the hell names their kid that—"

"It's a name used in the western regions. But… forget it. You being ignorant isn’t new."

"Well, if I don’t know, I can just learn. So, is he famous? Is he strong?"

"Yeom Sa-rae-dal of An Liang. He’s a known late-peak stage expert. Looks like this is all a plot by the demonic cult bastards."

The Second Coming of Anliang, Yeom Sa-rae-dal.

He was a demonic leader with a subtle level of skill, just like his subtle nickname, which meant the incarnation of Anliang.

But he wasn’t feared just for his personal combat ability.

He was infamous as the leader of the Vanguard Assault Unit, an elite battle unit under the Demonic Cult's External Affairs Division.

The way his troops charged recklessly into battle, reminiscent of the unstoppable forces of An Liang, earned him his moniker. [^Could be a reference to Yan Liang, a prominent general under the warlord Yuan Shao during the late Eastern Han dynasty of China, known for his formidable might and aggressive charges on the battlefield.]

"The Demon Sect? The one where all the bad guys hang out?"

"Yeah."

At that moment—

Something stirred.

For the first time in a while, the mission system made its presence known.

Another Omen Mission.

No, what the fuck? I've already met the final boss, so why the hell was this just a premonition?

Qing let out a metallic-sounding groan.

"Ah, fuck. Hey, San. If I chew poppy right now, it’d be too late for the effects to kick in, right?"

"I’ve told you before. The side effects aren’t mild, so unless it’s absolutely necessary, just endure it."

"I’m fine, though…"

Qing liked alcohol.

They had always enjoyed drinking, even before stepping onto the martial path, though never to the point of reckless indulgence.

Now? They could drink strong liquor like it was water.

Why? Because they fucking could.

To Qing, alcohol was just a pleasant beverage.

No matter how much she drank, she would remained in a comfortable, tipsy state.

And ever since they had she their martial journey, she hadn’t experienced a single hangover.

The exact reason was unclear, but she figured it was due to their chosen constitution.

Blood-Toxin Constitution.

Any beneficial effects from substances remained, while all negative effects were completely nullified.

The same applied to poppy.

They had been given severe warnings about its side effects—how it could leave someone writhing in withdrawal like a broken wreck.

Yet Qing had never felt a single hint of that.

To her, poppy was just a convenient little remedy to keep both body and mind relaxed.

Strategy Guide, it’s you again. I’d love to meet you someday.

Qing silently expressed their gratitude to the unknown person who had, somewhere out in the universe, compiled the guide they had relied on.

"But isn’t that guy supposed to be late-peak stage? Why does he look so damn cocky? Like he’s some Transcendent Realm master or something."

"He’s not alone. Look—just like that."

The black-clad figures emerged from the terrain, one after another.

"Hey, Daizheng Sect Leader. You’ve barely scraped into peak stage, haven’t you? And the old man next to you—what, another one? I’ll take you both on myself. How about it?"

Wang Gae-yuk and the Guardian Elder exchanged glances.

They had built the sect together, grown old side by side.

At this point, they were closer than brothers—just a single look was enough to communicate.

Does he not know?

He definitely doesn’t know.

Qing and Chang-bin were both late-peak stage.

Pang Dae-san was at mid-peak stage, and Namgung Shin-jae was at early-peak stage.

"You two old men better give it your all if you want to take me down. Because as time drags on, your weak little disciples will keep dropping like flies."

Wang Gae-yuk and the Guardian Elder met eyes with Qing’s group and gave a slight nod.

Then, putting on deliberately solemn expressions, they unsheathed their swords and shouted,

"This wicked foe shall be dealt with by Guardian Elder Ki and myself! The rest of you—slaughter these vile Demon Sect bastards!"

Yeom Sa-rae-dal burst into laughter, oblivious to the trap.

"That’s more like it! Come at me, old geezers!"

In his mind, he had already envisioned the tragic downfall of the righteous sect.

Two old men, struggling to even hold him back, while their disciples were cut down, their screams ringing through the battlefield.

Helpless elders watching in despair as their sect was torn apart, consumed by guilt and hopelessness.

And finally, once only the two of them remained, he’d toy with them.

He would savor their bitter, broken expressions.

Everyone has a plan, or so they think.

But Sun Tzu had once emphasized: Know yourself, know your enemy.

This principle applied across all worlds, regardless of whether Sun Tzu existed in them or not.

If you didn’t know your enemy, you were in for a beating.

And ignorance? That was something best beaten out of you.

"Forward! We shall vanquish these demons and restore justice to Murim!"

Wang Gae-yuk’s voice boomed as he charged.

A resounding battle cry followed.

The battle had begun.

Qing was thrilled.

Holy shit. Legal slaughter! Free killing! Unlimited refills!

Mortal law forbade murder.

But martial artists are above the law!

Murim didn’t give a single fuck about martial artists killing each other—in fact, they encouraged it.

So calling this legal slaughter wasn’t exactly wrong.

An enemy stepped into Qing’s path.

They must have thought the small, light-footed girl was easy prey.

The moment their swords clashed, he felt something was terribly wrong as he saw the girl's sword digging into his blade.

Finally, his blade was cut off. The fingers of his left hand, which he instinctively put out, were cut off one by one from the top.

And then, a stab. A terrible pain surged in.

Qing enjoyed the sensation on the tip of her sword.

Qing's sword, honed to a razor's edge, found purchase just beneath the sternum. The blade, angled slightly upward, slid through the skin and muscle with minimal resistance, parting the layers of tissue.

It then pierced the peritoneum, the membrane lining the abdominal cavity, and came to rest against the distended wall of the stomach.

A subtle rotation of the wrist caused the sword's edge to slice through the stomach lining, rupturing it.

Gastric acid, corrosive and potent, flooded the abdominal cavity.

By the time Qing’s sword withdrew, all that remained was a small, cute puncture wound beneath the sternum.

But the real agony was just beginning.

The victim’s own gastric acid would melt their organs from the inside.

The pain of being digested alive—no human could endure that.

The Vanguard Assault Unit member collapsed, convulsing, unable to even scream.

"Hehe. Looks like that one really hurts."

Qing giggled as she looked down at her handiwork.