Chapter 75: The Heavenly Demon Cult Serial Murder Case: A Night of Murder Without a Culprit
Time passed—about an hour or so.
The limbless bastard lying on the ground finally went limp.
Gyeon Pohee wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve.
Her face was practically glowing with satisfaction, all shiny and radiant, like she'd just had the best meal of her life. And honestly? She had.
She tucked the nameplate of the house—well, what used to be a house—into her robes with the giddiness of a child stuffing candy in their pockets.
A bright, beaming smile stretched across her face, and she practically skipped down the hallway, clutching Qing in her arms.
"Ahhh, that was a feast! It’s been way too long since I had a proper meal. Oh! Wait a sec! Did I even introduce myself? Name’s Gyeon Pohee. And you must be my junior disciple!"
“…Huh? The hell are you talking about? I’m not your junior disciple.”
"……? But aren’t you Qing?"
"I am Qing."
"Then you’re my junior disciple……?"
"Why the fuck would I be your junior disciple?"
The two of them just stared at each other, dumbfounded.
Meanwhile, Qing’s mind was running in an entirely different direction.
—Huh. Her karma points went from 150 to 142?
But it’s not like my karma didn’t go up.
Is it because I half-killed that guy, and she just finished the job?
Come to think of it, evil bastards could technically be used for karma farming, huh?
But did that mean an evil person could turn into a good one just by committing "righteous" murder?
If you did bad things, didn’t you still deserve divine punishment?
Then again, Gyeon Pohee didn’t seem evil.
But if she wasn’t evil, why was she sucking bad guys dry like a goddamn leech?
This was a headache.
Can evil deeds be erased by good ones?
Then wouldn’t that mean there were people who deserved to be treated like they weren’t even human, even if they had karma points?
And who the hell was I to decide that?
Qing promptly abandoned the thought.
There were plenty of evil bastards just waiting to get dealt with.
No point stressing over the ones that had been through the wash cycle.
"But I swear I heard you officially joined Bliss Palace yesterday?"
Qing dropped the playful tone, her expression turning dead serious.
“The hell are you on about? Do you even know who my master is? You think she’d just let me join some Heavenly Demon Divine Cult branch? That’s a death wish.”
"Your master? Who is she?"
"She’s Ximen Surin —the Ximen Surin ."
"……? We got anyone like that in the palace?"
Qing stared at her, utterly speechless.
…Was she serious?
If her master was in Bliss Palace, wouldn’t that make her a cultist, too?
“Of course not, dumbass. That’s the whole point.”
"……?"
Gyeon Pohee looked completely lost.
But Qing? She was starting to piece things together.
Hadn’t that smug bastard from earlier—the so-called Supreme Leader —said something?
"Bring Ximen Qing to Bliss Palace. Treat her with the finest techniques and medicine—no expense spared."
That stone-faced, dimwitted brat must’ve taken that order way too literally and set this whole mess in motion.
Alright. Guess it was time to play along.
After all, free martial arts and high-grade medicine weren’t things you just turned down.
"Fine. Whatever. I’ll be your junior disciple for now."
"Knew it! Xi Junior! You can just call me Gyeon Senior."
…Excuse the fuck out of me?
Did this idiot just change my surname on the spot?!
Was there seriously someone in this world that ignorant about the Ximen Surname?!
Qing was so baffled, she nearly laughed.
She’d been suspecting it for a while, but yeah—this girl was not the sharpest sword in the armory.
Still, at least she seemed kind of… kind?
…Nah. She was a little dense and an asshole.
Qing's opinion of Gyeon Pohee dropped several notches.
At this rate, "senior disciple" didn’t suit her.
She’d make a much better footstool.
Qing decided to just rank Gyeon Pohee as Footstool No. 2.
…Wait. Where the hell was Footstool No. 1?
There were a lot of things she needed to ask that old man.
Honestly, Qing never really understood why people were so obsessed with rejecting demonic arts.
Her master always said that all demonic arts inherently corrupt the heart, turning people into twisted monsters.
And yet, there were righteous sects using absurdly brutal techniques without issue, while certain arts—ones that weren’t even that cruel—got slapped with the “demonic” label.
But after mastering several techniques under the most infamous of all demonic arts—the Heavenly Slaughtering Star—Qing had a different take.
Yeah, sure. She could admit it. The Heavenly Slaughtering Star and the Black Slaying Demonic Palm had an exceptional feel to them.
It was satisfying, in a way.
Seeing scumbags? It made her want to do more than just kill them.
She wanted to flay their skin open with a flick of her fingers. She wanted to hear their bones shatter under the force of her palm strikes. She wanted to tear their flesh apart with the sheer impact of her blows.
But then again… wasn’t killing bastards fun no matter what?
They were going to die anyway—so what was wrong with playing with them a little first?
It was fun. And hey, it gave them a chance to deeply regret their choices in life.
So where exactly was the part that made this evil?
In fact, if we were talking side effects, that ridiculous Daoist art, the Maiden’s Blissful Art, was way worse.
Who the hell thought an internal energy technique that made you too happy to function was a good idea?
If Qing hadn’t been sitting comfortably on her makeshift footstool (a.k.a. Gyeon Pohee), she might’ve ended up rolling on the ground mid-fight like a dumbass.
Maybe I just need to get used to it.
Her mind drifted back to that moment.
Hehe… that felt nice…
She caught herself smiling.
And immediately slapped the expression off her face.
The problem wasn’t the technique itself.
The problem was controlling it.
Seriously, why the fuck was this thing training itself?
It wasn’t like she was doing anything.
But the Maiden’s Blissful Art? It didn’t give a shit. Awake, asleep, eating, standing still—hell, even when she was in someone’s arms, it just kept refining itself, growing stronger in the background.
And now? Even her Purple Lightning Demonic Arts had joined in on the chaos.
Technically, the sequence went like this:
- The Purple Lightning Demonic Arts would start circulating on its own, sending energy rampaging through her meridians.
- Then, like an overexcited puppy, the Maiden’s Blissful Art would start chasing after it.
The result?
Her internal energy was skyrocketing, and her mastery was increasing without her even trying.
Normally, internal energy techniques worked by absorbing and refining qi.
Follow the proper mental formulas, accumulate qi in the dantian, and keep refining it. As long as someone lived long enough, they could theoretically build up an infinite reserve.
Basic foundation techniques helped shape the dantian and meridians.
Once officially accepted as disciples, people received advanced techniques to refine and circulate their qi.
Then, once they reached a certain level—usually elite disciples or direct students of elders—they’d finally gain access to their sect’s truly high-level internal arts.
That high-level art would then absorb and merge the refined qi from the previous techniques.
Or, in some cases, different internal energies could exist separately and flow in harmony.
But Qing?
Yeah. Nope. Not happening.
Her weird-ass status window had merged with the martial arts world’s system in the worst possible way.
Instead of just cultivating qi, her techniques had turned into a grindfest.
The more she used them, the more proficiency she gained.
Every level-up boosted her stats, and internal energy techniques increased her maximum reserves.
When she reached Great Mastery, there’d be one last big jump. And then? That was it.
Qing knew she was different.
But every time she checked her status window, she still felt the overwhelming urge to punch something.
It was like the world itself was telling her—you don’t belong here.
…Anyway.
The Maiden’s Blissful Art wasn’t an absorption technique.
It didn’t just suck up other people’s qi—it refined and purified it into a single, harmonious flow.
A true Daoist art, through and through.
If she had to describe it in metaphorical terms, it went something like this:
The Maiden’s Blissful Qi saw all other Daoist qi as friendly roommates. They could live together in perfect harmony, no problem.
But the Purple Lightning Demonic Qi?
That thing was the problem child—the delinquent of the dantian. No way was the Maiden’s Blissful Qi going to let that thing roam free.
No, it had to be cleansed. Purified. Made into a good little boy.
Naturally, this was fucking terrifying for the Purple Lightning Demonic Qi.
Faced with the crisis of literal existential erasure, it did the only thing it could—it ran.
And the Maiden’s Blissful Qi chased after it.
Cheering them on from the sidelines? The Moon Maiden Qi, clapping its metaphorical hands like a little shit, egging them both on.
The Moon Maiden Qi was an extreme separatist. If it decided the Purple Lightning Demonic Qi was too dangerous, it would forcibly pull the two apart.
But at its core, it was still a Daoist technique—so it didn’t really stop the Maiden’s Blissful Qi from its holy mission of beating the evil out of the Purple Lightning Demonic Qi.
The result?
An uncontrollable, automatic cultivation loop.
Of course, Qing had no fucking clue about any of this.
All she knew was that something was very, very wrong.
Too much of anything was a problem.
Except internal energy.
But too much pleasure? That was an issue.
If she couldn’t even stand properly, that was a huge problem.
And this was just at One-Star Mastery.
If she leveled it up any further, she’d start passing out every time she threw a punch.
That was not going to work.
Which led Qing to a new train of thought.
If there were arts that heightened sensitivity…
Then there had to be arts that did the opposite, right?
Fortunately, she had someone she could ask.
And that someone had just shown up for lunch.
The king of profanity himself—Footstool No. 1.
…Though, come to think of it, why did this old man like her so much?
His karma was so bad, he was practically the Demon King of Evil Bastards.
His interest in her was unsettling.
“Hey, old man, is there a technique that numbs your senses?”
“There is, but…”
“Oh, nice. So what is it?”
“Tsk. You dumb brat. Do you even realize what learning something like that would do to you? You’d end up all dull and lifeless. Like a goddamn corpse.”
“Who the fuck asked for your opinion? I asked what it was.”
“Tch. Even when I worry about you, you act like a little shit.”
“Who told you to worry? Mind your own business.”
“Tsk. The Ice Arts tend to have that effect.”
“…Ice Arts?”
“You ignorant brat.”
“…Yeah, yeah, I’m a dumbass. So educate me, old man. Enlighten me.”
“Tch.”
Choi Leeong clicked his tongue but still gave an explanation.
Some martial arts simply took the natural concepts of Yin and Yang and applied them in their purest form.
Yin was cold. Yang was hot.
And thus, there were techniques that channeled Yin into frost-based attacks.
And techniques that channeled Yang into flame-based attacks.
Of course, they were terrible.
If Ice Arts or Flame Arts were actually that powerful, then every martial artist in the Central Plains would’ve picked one or the other.
That said… between the two, Flame Arts were way better.
Comparing Ice Arts to Flame Arts was like comparing a street rat to a dragon.
If Ice Arts had feelings, they’d probably be offended by the comparison.
If something was hot, it’d burn you instantly.
If something was cold, you could just go, “Shit, that’s cold,” and pull your hand away. No big deal.
That’s why the Ice Masters of North Sea Ice Palace stayed buried in that frozen wasteland.
Ice Arts were only useful in a place like the North Sea.
It was already an ungodly level of cold—so adding even more ice made a noticeable difference.
But take an Ice Master out of that hellscape and drop them in the Central Plains?
They’d basically be treated like a walking icebox.
Sure, it was useful for keeping expensive ice stones from melting, so they weren’t exactly disrespected… but still.
Qing’s eyes lit up.
“Wait, does that mean I could use it to chill my Longjing Tea?”
“GAH!!! The fuck did you just say? Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”
“Hey, what? Sometimes you just want some iced Longjing tea.”
“You little shit… I—no. No, I refuse. I take back every ounce of effort I’ve ever wasted worrying about you. Just… just stop.”
Choi Leeong looked at her like she was the single most pitiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.
…Was it really that bad?
Why?
Why the fuck were these uncultured, tea-boiling savages so opposed to iced tea?
Sure, the Central Plains technically had cold teas, but they were always fruity, over-sweetened garbage or made from barley, rice, or corn.
And honestly? Those were just drinks.
Real tea was made by steaming, roasting, or drying tea leaves, then brewing them in hot water.
Period.
“I’m fine, you ancient fossil. Now quit whining and tell me—what’s the strongest Ice Art?”
Choi Leeong didn’t even hesitate.
“The Snow White Divine Arts.”
Qing blinked.
“The Snow White Divine Arts?”
“Kid, even a seven-year-old knows that one—”
“If you call me an idiot one more time, I swear to every fucked-up god in existence, I will end you.”
Qing opened her Martial Arts Window.
- [Snow White Divine Palm]
- [Snow White Divine Art]
- [Snow White Divine Sword]
Three purple-ranked techniques hovered at the top of the list.
Fucking hell. That was the problem with purple-tier arts. They were always split into multiple techniques.
Trying to get all three through karma point exchanges? Impossible.
But just the Snow White Divine Art on its own… hmm.
Still, wasn’t that kind of a waste?
If Choi Leeong’s explanation was right, it wasn’t really some godlike technique—it was basically just a fancy refrigeration unit.
But then again, this was an emergency.
She had to do something about the Maiden’s Blissful Art’s side effects.
Qing was still debating when—
“What, you interested in Ice Arts all of a sudden, brat?”
“Why, you know any?”
“Hah. That bastard Seol Ganom practiced the Heavenly Ice Sura Demonic Arts.”
…Another demonic art?
Qing glanced at her Martial Arts Window, which was still open.
- [Heavenly Ice Sura Demonic Arts]
Just a red-tier technique.
The name made it sound badass—but red? Seriously?
That was barely mid-tier.
But that wasn’t the issue right now.
“If I learn it, will it numb my senses?”
“Numb your senses? Hah. Kid, you won’t feel a damn thing. You’ll turn into a goddamn block of wood. There’s a reason it’s considered a Demonic Art.”
Perfect.
And since it was a Demonic Art, that meant whoever practiced it had probably already become a Demonic Human.
Qing’s eyes gleamed.
“So, where’s this ‘Seol Ganom’ guy live?”
