Chapter 70: Who’s Holding a Blade…

Qing thought to herself.

Finally! No need to play nice anymore!

Why? Because I’m a big deal now, that’s why!

The Heavenly Demon Divine Cult seriously underestimated me.

Clearly, they need the Bokshinjeok for something.

Thanks to Central Plains’ primitive yet oddly impressive “blow-to-unlock” feature, there’s no one else who can replace me.

So, what happens if I say no?

Well, they can wait a few decades. Not my problem.

Which means I’ve decided to just screw around.

As long as I don’t end up like that pathetic bastard who lost everything except his arms and mouth, I’m good.

What? Do they only need my hands and mouth anyway? Fine, take my legs and eyes while you’re at it.

If that happens, I’ll just throw a tantrum so big they’ll wish I was dead instead.

Besides, my legs are recovering nicely.

Judging by their reactions, they’re practically ready to throw me a parade for walking again.

So, I’ll just stall and wait for the right moment.

That’s the plan.

I didn’t bash that bastard’s skull in out of boredom.

I wanted to test the waters—see if this kind of shit flies or not.

It was a bold move on my part.

What if it backfires and they decide to torture me?

Well, I’m ready to cry my eyes out while blowing 108 tunes on the flute if it comes to that.

But… nothing happened?

So here’s the conclusion: turns out they need me more than I thought.

Guess I’ll push my luck even further.

Not gonna lie, it’s kinda fun too.

The Black Slaying Demonic Palm is technically a palm technique, but it’s nothing like Buddha’s techniques.

It focuses on slapping the hell out of people—literally.

Its biggest perk? That satisfying feeling when you shatter someone’s skull into pieces.

The downside? The creepy black hand thing.

It’s not just black—it’s pitch black. Like pure, unfiltered darkness. Not brown or gray or anything remotely normal—just straight-up black as hell.

Qing stared at her jet-black skin that had now spread down to her knuckles thanks to her cultivation progress.

“Whew…”

She exhaled as the blackness seeped back into her skin like it was never there.

One of the quirks of White Hand Demonic Arts is the indestructible blade-like arms below the elbows.

The clean skin and slender hands are just side effects of the process.

To use the Black Slaying Demonic Palm, though, you’ve gotta break through that indestructible state and gather demonic energy to activate the black palm technique.

It’s way harder than it sounds.

The White Hand Demonic Arts have already solidified their position in her blood pathways.

To use the Black Slaying Demonic Palm, she had to twist those pathways—and not just twist them; She had to convert perfectly fine qi into demonic energy in the process. It’s a delicate operation!

Qing had been keeping this little trick—her ability to switch hand colors like waving a glow stick—hidden from those cult bastards.

They probably think she hasn’t run away because of her creepy hands.

Her mind kept spinning in all sorts of shady directions.

Maybe it’s because of Heavenly Slaughtering Star’s influence—or maybe Qing was just born this way.

Either way, her obsessive focus on maintaining the Black Slaying Demonic Palm was paying off big time in terms of cultivation progress.

That’s why Qing’s mastery of the Black Slaying Demonic Palm was advancing so quickly.

Anyway, time kept ticking away.

It’d been about two months now.

I’m bored!

During that time, she’d killed quite a few assassins.

Which meant no one dared come near her anymore.

In truth, the Outer Hall's Covert Operations Division was made up of some seriously loyal psychos hand-picked by the cult itself.

Living in peaceful Central Plains while staying loyal to the cult wasn’t something ordinary mental fortitude could handle.

These assassins were fueled by an endless hatred for Central Plains, primarily tasked with gathering intel but moonlighting as human traffickers and murderers to fund the cult. Valuable assets, really.

In other words, Qing killing them off was a huge waste for the cult.

So they put an outright ban on approaching her.

Even Ji Seungju—the little punk—had started avoiding Qing altogether.

He’d been my only source of entertainment lately… Guess I’ll just kill him instead.

Little bastard already has enough bad karma piled up anyway.

Just as Qing made up her mind about Ji Seungju's fate…

The carriage door swung open without so much as a knock.

An old man—skin stretched tight over his bones like he’d never heard of meat—glared down at Qing with disapproval written all over his face.

“Oh. Is it mealtime?”

Qing obediently stretched out her arms like she was waiting to be picked up.

The old man grumbled as he lifted her up effortlessly.

“Damn brat. The world must be spinning backward for someone like you to exist—hell itself would send you on a sightseeing tour.”

“Well yeah, whose fault is it my legs got wrecked?”

Qing received care from the old geezer—not gave care; received care.

That’s what he meant by “the world spinning backward.”

This skeletal old man was Choi Leeong—a.k.a., Black Slaying Demonic Warlord —a super martial artist or whatever they call him these days.

Despite looking like he could drop dead if you sneezed on him too hard, he was actually a high-level master in the transcendent Realm with enough bad karma stacked up for ten lifetimes.

As more masters returning to the cult joined Qing's escort party along their journey back to headquarters, she now had four transcendent masters and one Unrestrained Realm expert watching her every move.

Transcendent masters were practically everywhere now—it was ridiculous how many had shown up for this stupid escort mission alone!

Turns out Heavenly Demon Divine Cult wasn’t just some loudmouth group dreaming about conquering Central Plains—they actually had some serious firepower backing them up after all.

For what it’s worth… Her legs fully healed three days ago anyway.

But her fake sick act had reached god-tier levels by then—no point in stopping now!

Just when she thought maybe it was time to make a break for it… boom! More masters showed up outta nowhere! So here she am still stuck playing nice while plotting her escape quietly in my head…

By the way… Leeong? What kind of name is that?

I keep thinking about it—it sounds kinda badass though, doesn’t it?

“At least one good thing came outta this mess—you’re crippled now! His Excellency really showed some divine insight there.”

“My legs hurt, so of course I’m acting out. If I were fine, I wouldn’t be throwing a fit.”

“You’re such a rude little brat. If it weren’t for the Bokshinjeok, I’d have dunked you in shit water and fried you to death ages ago.”

“Ugh, gross. We’re on our way to eat, and you’re talking about shit? Can’t you at least say mud or oil? Why does it have to be shit water?”

Choi Leeong glared at Qing with his sunken, hollow eyes.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me feel attached.”

His glare grew even more menacing.

When you’re at the Unrestrained Realm, even your eyes are no joke.

Feeling the pressure, Qing quickly looked away and pretended to be interested in something else.

“…You’re the kind of brat who deserves to have every last bit of flesh peeled off.”

Translation: he was threatening to strip her flesh from her bones.

Qing, slightly unnerved, glanced around aimlessly.

The scene before her was a vast plain dotted with massive tents. This wasn’t the Central Plains she once knew.

As they entered one of the larger tents, a lavishly set table surrounded by a chaotic mix of villains came into view.

“Ah, Elder Purple Lightning Demonic Warlord has arrived!”

The cult’s rogues greeted Choi Leeong with exaggerated politeness.

Qing had noticed something peculiar: these so-called villains were surprisingly well-mannered.

And she knew why.

They’d all seen what happened to that drunk idiot who acted out—his head got smashed in on the spot.

In this place, no manners meant no life. Simple as that.

“Elder Purple Lightning Demonic Warlord, why do you pamper that crazy girl so much? You could just drag her around by her hair.”

One of the cultists tried sucking up but immediately shut his mouth and lowered his gaze.

Why? Because purple lightning bolts started crackling all over Choi Leeong’s body.

It was the signature energy of Purple Lightning Demonic Arts - Lightning Qi.

Naturally, Qing caught a few stray bolts herself for no reason.

Now seated at the table, Qing indulged in her one true joy in life: food.

She stuffed her cheeks full like a chipmunk hoarding nuts, eating with reckless abandon when someone finally took a seat across from her.

“Oh, it’s the little shrimp.”

Qing grinned through her bulging cheeks.

After avoiding her for days, Ji Seungju had suddenly decided to show up today—of all days—right in front of her.

Fine. I’ll let it slide for now since there are too many masters around. But just wait.

Her smile turned icy.

Without so much as a greeting, Ji Seungju opened his mouth.

“About that time…”

“Huh?”

“That time you asked me about ‘the law of the strong.’”

Qing swallowed her food in one gulp.

“What? You’ve been thinking about that this whole time?”

“I’ve thought long and hard about it. What you did wasn’t ‘the law of the strong.’ It was just slaughter.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Because I’m not part of your cult? You guys can do it, but I can’t?”

“No. When a strong person takes the life of a weak one, it must be necessary. At the very least, it should serve as nourishment for their higher cultivation—a meaningful death.”

Wow. Someone’s been doing some deep thinking.

But Qing wasn’t just anyone. She was once a proud laborer who rose from nothing—a legend in her own right!

In a society where humanities majors either starved or scraped by on short-term contracts, she’d managed to claw her way up to success! A true miracle worker!

“So you’re saying it’s natural selection? Survival of the fittest? A well-fed predator doesn’t hunt? The food chain proves some grand cycle of nature?”

“…!”

Ji Seungju looked like he’d just been struck by lightning.

“Well, if you say so.”

Qing lost interest immediately.

No point arguing seriously with someone spouting nonsense.

Honestly, what a joke. How many predators hunt just for fun?

You don’t even have to look far—just check out those street rats messing around in every alleyway.

“But…”

Ji Seungju spoke again.

Qing turned to him, wondering what kind of bullshit he’d spout this time. He had no expression as usual but somehow looked smug as hell.

What now?

Does he think he won because I stopped arguing?

Is that what’s going through his head?

Fine then. Time for my ultimate move—the forbidden art of nitpicking and personal attacks!

Qing mentally prepared herself to unleash verbal hell when—

“Your hand.”

“Huh?”

“Last time… The blackness had spread past your wrist and up your forearm.”

Qing froze.

The truth was, maintaining the Black Slaying Demonic Palm became increasingly difficult as her cultivation progressed.

“I’ve been watching closely… During meals, that blackness seems to recede.”

Well duh! Who has time to focus on cultivation while eating?

Can’t I just enjoy my damn meal in peace? Even dogs don’t get disturbed while eating!

“Haha… Maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you, little shrimp?”

“You can hide the Black Slaying Demonic Palm… can’t you?”

Though phrased as a question, his tone left no room for denial—it was more like an accusation he already believed to be true.

No point denying it now; he wouldn’t believe me anyway.

Qing let out a long sigh.

Damn perceptive little bastard. Should’ve killed him sooner.

Even now that I’ve decided to get rid of him… He’s not like those low-level lackeys I’ve been offing left and right.

This guy—annoying as he is—is someone even these high-level masters tread carefully around.

“Busted?”

Despite being entirely her fault for slipping up, Qing had the audacity to shrug it off with a casual “Busted?” like it wasn’t a big deal.

Her hand reverted back to its normal white color—a clean and beautiful hand.

The contrast between its former grotesque blackness and its current elegance made it seem even more stunning—a hand befitting a true beauty.

Ji Seungju smirked faintly as if he’d expected this all along—a rare break from his usual blank expression.

Meanwhile, across the table, one of the masters choked on his food mid-bite and launched chewed meat across the room in shock.