Chapter 53: But That Wasn't the Case

By the time Yeom Sa-rae-dal stumbled back to base, gasping for breath, the remaining three rookies guarding the excavation site greeted him with beaming smiles, utterly oblivious to his foul mood.

He was just about to unleash a string of curses—

Until he heard what they said next.

"Boss! We found it! We found it!"

"It was at the ninetieth site!"

Yeom Sa-rae-dal felt like the sun had broken through the storm clouds in his mind.

Mission complete!

Even if the Vanguard Assault Unit had suffered catastrophic losses, at least now he had something to show for it.

After all, he had survived, and the vice-commander was supposed to take care of Wang Sun-man and return.

That was more than enough to save his own neck.

"The Bokshinjeok! Did you find Bokshinjeok?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if you fucking found it."

The rookies exchanged uneasy glances.

Yeom Sa-rae-dal spat out a curse.

"You dumb motherfuckers! You didn’t even check?!"

The rookies looked miserable.

"Where is it? Move your asses already!"

Yeom Sa-rae-dal was anxious.

The Daizheng Sect bastards could arrive any moment.

They’d soon realize the smoke wasn’t actually poison and would make their way up the mountain.

He had returned quickly because he knew the route, but those idiots would probably get lost for a bit—probably.

If he was unlucky, they’d find this place very soon.

Sensing his urgency, the rookies silently led him to the excavation site.

The tomb of the Celestial Empress wasn’t easy to find, even with the treasure map.

There wasn’t even a burial mound—just the remains of an ancient stone chamber hidden beneath the roots of gnarled trees.

Digging through that mess had been hell.

Hellish enough that they had resorted to kidnapping people to do the digging for them.

Not that the Vanguard Assault Unit particularly wanted to dig.

They were elite fighters, not grave robbers.

But orders were orders.

Now, after months of digging, the gray stone wall of the tomb had finally been uncovered.

Yeom Sa-rae-dal immediately realized something.

The entrance was never going to be at the exact dig site.

They had been searching for eight months.

Finding the tomb itself was already a damn miracle.

Under normal circumstances, the next step would be to dig sideways and find the actual entrance.

But there was no time.

Finding Bokshinjeok and returning to the Demon Sect was his only ticket to survival.

"Move aside."

Yeom Sa-rae-dal raised his iron mace.

If they didn’t have time to dig their way in—

They’d just have to break their way in.

He gathered every last bit of his inner qi and smashed the stone wall.

Thud!... Thud!... Thud!

Every thunderous impact sent a nervous jolt through his heart.

He was being loud.

Too fucking loud.

Yeom Sa-rae-dal grit his teeth and swung harder.

THUD!... THUD!... THUD!... THUD!...

How long had he been hammering away at it?

Finally—

Crash!

The stone bricks collapsed inward.

A gaping black void yawned open.

"Torches."

"Huh?"

"I said give me a fucking torch."

"O-oh! Right away!"

"You useless fucks! Did you not see me smashing down a fucking wall?! Why the fuck weren’t you ready?!"

The rookies flinched at his outburst.

But hey, if they didn’t like it, they should’ve leveled up and been the boss.

That was just how Murim worked.

One of them hurriedly lit a torch and tossed it inside.

The dim firelight flickered, revealing a chamber about the size of a single room.

Yeom Sa-rae-dal wasted no time—he leapt inside.

He just had to grab Bokshinjeok and get the hell out.

At least, that’s what he thought.

His face froze.

In his mind, there should’ve been a magnificent treasure chest sitting right in the center, just waiting to be opened.

Instead—

There was a stone coffin.

Because, well, duh.

This was a tomb.

And surrounding the chamber, lining the walls from floor to ceiling, were countless stone drawers.

Like some sort of fuck-you message from beyond the grave.

A final middle finger saying, Go ahead, try your luck.

"Son of a bitch…"

Yeom Sa-rae-dal grabbed his hair in frustration.

Qing knew the effects of their Blood-Toxin Body.

Complete immunity to poison.

Nice and simple.

In the original game—whatever the hell its title had been (not that they would’ve remembered anyway, considering their total playtime was zero)—

Poison was a huge mechanic.

Enemies used it all the time.

So the game devs had given players an easy way to counter it for a more enjoyable experience.

Then reality happened.

And Qing quickly realized that "poison immunity" wasn’t so simple after all.

Where exactly did the definition of poison begin and end?

Obviously, things labeled poison didn’t work on them.

But what about mold? Spoiled food?

What about alcohol?

Alcohol was a Grade A carcinogen that wrecked the body in countless ways.

Wasn’t that technically a poison?

The early days of Qing’s martial journey had been one long experiment.

Mushrooms? Fruits? Herbs?

All fine.

Bugs?

Also fine.

Not that she wanted to eat them, but hey.

Once you got past the horrible texture, the bitter, disgusting taste, and the sheer volume you had to consume to feel full—

It wasn’t that bad.

After all, people in the future were supposedly going to rely on them as a primary food source.

But seriously.

Was the future even livable if bugs were considered a staple diet?

And then—

Oh? Rotten food is fine too?

At that point, Qing stopped foraging in the mountains and just started raiding city dumpsters.

No risk of infection, either.

Even deep wounds healed perfectly fine as long as Qing simply wrapped them up tightly enough.

No need for disinfection. No risk of infection.

Maybe bacteria counted as poison too?

At some point, after gathering enough skill points to actually use a blade, Qing had started hunting down criminals—looting their corpses and occasionally cashing in bounties.

It was the beginning of a somewhat civilized life.

She had also realized that alcohol wasn’t harmful to her at all.

It just gave a pleasant buzz—never enough to make her lose control, never enough to cause a hangover.

No dependence. No side effects.

So, naturally, she got curious about other substances.

And sure enough—nothing worked.

By now, Qing was pretty confident.

Anything that had harmful effects inside their body seemed to be categorized as a toxin and automatically nullified.

But… just in case, she never got too cocky.

There was always the slim chance that one exception existed.

Which was exactly why, when someone shouted “Poison!” Qing didn’t hesitate to charge in.

Unlike those ambiguous gray areas—poison was something she knew wouldn’t work on her.

Qing burst through the smoke, light as air.

Using the Yue Maiden Footwork technique at full mastery, they barely even touched the ground, gliding through the battlefield with near-anti-gravity movements.

Scanning the scattered Vanguard Assault Unit members, Qing’s eyes locked onto a group of three moving together.

One is good. Two is better. Three? Perfect.

Only once they reached the depths of the forest did the enemies finally notice they were being chased.

They turned to face the threat—

Only to see a single girl bounding toward them.

They must have thought she looked harmless, because they immediately shifted into an offensive stance.

A hairpin whistled through the air—

Piercing straight through one guy’s wrist.

Another sharp chime rang out—

A second opponent crumpled to the ground.

The last remaining warrior looked at his fallen comrades in shock.

His expression read like an open book.

How the fuck did this happen?!

Qing grinned.

"Yeah, I thought something was missing. My Moonlight Blade…"

Her sword should be hungry.

But the enemy was already within reach.

Moonlight Swordplay, Eighth Form—Endless Lunar Step.

A technique combining five forward slashes with three returning cuts.

The final, ultimate move of Moonlight Swordplay.

Three strikes in a single instant.

And that instant repeated three times.

Nine cuts in total—

Forming a crescent moon so radiant that it seemed to bring light to the ground itself.

The enemy’s wrist was severed.

The returning blade sliced it again.

And as the crescent moon passed once more—

Another fragment was sheared off.

Thinly sliced flesh rained down like falling petals.

From the delicate skin of the wrist to the thick flesh of the forearm—

Beyond the joints, severing all the way up to the bicep.

The man staggered back, spraying blood in wide arcs.

At that moment, the first enemy—the one with the hairpin lodged in his hand—

Forced himself up, driving his blade toward Qing’s side.

Qing reached out.

A pale, delicate-looking hand grabbed the incoming sword.

With a casual clench of their fingers—

CRACK!

The blade shattered.

"W-what?! Barehanded Blade Break?!"

It was a technique that allowed martial artists to snap a sword with their bare hands.

However, it usually involved using a precise twisting motion—

Not just brute-force crushing the damn thing.

Had Qing known this, they would have laughed at their own ignorance.

But unfortunately—

Qing was also an idiot.

"Nah. This is Moonlight Palm."

The enemy hesitated.

Moonlight Palm? Not Moonlight Strike?

And in that brief moment of distraction—

He paid the price.

Squish.

Qing’s hand sank into his chest.

Up to the wrist.

Their fingers wrapped around his heart.

The organ pulsed against their palm, trembling with each frantic beat.

A rhythm of life, felt directly through flesh and bone.

Qing’s eyes widened in delight.

Whoa. I can do this too?

Should I squeeze?

"Guh… khhh…!"

A choked, gurgling sound escaped the enemy’s throat.

His eyes rolled back as froth bubbled from his lips.

The agony of having his heart crushed sent him into violent spasms.

Qing’s lips curled.

They yanked their hand free—

Holding a quivering lump of red and blue muscle in their grasp.

For a brief second, drool pooled in their mouth.

Without thinking, they lifted the heart toward their lips—

Then froze.

Immediately, they threw the organ aside.

What the fuck is wrong with me lately?!

Scowling, Qing retrieved their hairpin from the corpse and slipped it back into their hair.

Then, they turned.

The last remaining enemy—the one missing an arm—

Was still rolling on the ground, clutching at his severed limb.

Qing walked over and planted a foot on his head.

They pressed down lightly.

The skull resisted.

Oh? Holding up well?

They applied more force.

For a moment, the bone bent slightly—

Then CRACK!

The entire head caved in, crushed like a melon.

A delightful shudder ran from the sole of their foot all the way up their spine.

They were still relishing the sensation when—

"Y-you… y-you’re a witch…!"

Qing turned.

The guy who had been knocked out by their hairpin strike had woken up—

And was sitting there, frozen in terror.

His whole body trembled.

His wide eyes were filled with horror.

But when Qing met his gaze—

He flinched violently, as if he had seen a demon.

Qing cocked their head.

"Witch?"

They smiled.

"You wanna see what a witch can really do?"

Their voice dripped with amusement.

"You like talent shows? Should I pull out your guts and hang them around your neck?"

A sudden shiver ran through Qing’s body.

Their expression brightened.

"You know what? That actually sounds great. Let’s do that."

The man pissed himself.

Qing’s smile vanished.

"…Ew. Gross."

She curled their lip in disgust.

"What, am I that scary? Seriously?"

They let out a disappointed sigh.

"A real man should die with honor. If you’re gonna beg for your life, do it properly. At least say something dramatic, like ‘Even in death, I will never yield!’ Or, y’know, ‘I accept my fate with dignity!’"

Qing waved dismissively.

"Something respectable. Not this. Pissing yourself like a fucking baby. At this point, you might as well just chop your dick off."

Their voice turned mocking.

"If you’re gonna sit down to take a piss, why even bother having it down there?"