Chapter 77: The Heavenly Demon Cult Serial Murder Case: A Night of Murder Without a Culprit

Of course, the fundamental nature of things hadn’t changed.

Gyeon Pohee’s nature remained the same—Crutch No. 2.

The Heavenly Demon Divine City was divided into nine districts.

As was common in cities across the Central Plains, the district names were straightforward—Central District, East, West, South, North, and the rest with equally predictable labels.

Bliss Palace sat at the far end of the Eastern District, right at the edge of the red-light district’s main street.

“So, junior sister, where should we start sightseeing? Anywhere specific you wanna go? Want to check out some accessories? Maybe I should grab a few throwing hairpins while I’m at it.”

“Do what you want. I heard there’s a place called Stove Alley in the Northwest District.”

“Huh? That place is dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How?”

“It’s where the non-believers live. The patrols don’t even go there. It’s a total lawless zone.”

Qing didn’t get it.

As far as she was concerned, the entire Heavenly Demon Divine Cult was already a lawless hellhole where only the strong survived.

Though, there was one thing that caught her attention.

“Patrols? Guards? You mean there’s some kind of authority here?”

If that was the case, it meant they might be patrolling at night, which would be a pain.

Qing had been caught a few times before.

Most South Koreans never really grasped the concept that you weren’t supposed to be out at night.

Honestly, Qing still didn’t get it.

And it wasn’t just her—once martial artists reached a certain level, they simply stopped understanding why night walks were considered dangerous.

“Guards? Authority? Oh, right. You’re from the Central Plains, huh? We don’t have any of that! The patrols here are from the cult itself. But yeah, I heard those ‘guards’ in the Central Plains extort money, kidnap kids, and eat them or something. We need to liberate the Central Plains from the oppression of the—”

“Enough.”

Qing shut down Gyeon Pohee’s nonsense before she could go off on another one of her tangents.

“Are there a lot of these patrols? Do they grab people wandering around at night?”

“At night? Why? Patrols go home at sunset.”

“…?”

Qing was momentarily dumbfounded.

Weren’t patrols supposed to operate at night?

In the daytime, all that happened were minor scuffles between martial artists. The guards didn’t really have a job.

So, at least in the Central Plains, maintaining public order meant watching over the streets at night.

But for Qing, who was planning some nighttime activities, this was fantastic news.

“Whatever. Let’s just go to Stove Alley. You’ve got a top-tier martial artist with you, what’s there to worry about?”

And that night—

Qing, her face wrapped up tight, vaulted over a wall.

The zero-gravity steps of the Yue Maiden Cultivation Technique shone brilliantly.

A narrow courtyard. A modest two-room house.

Qing grabbed the hinge, crushed it with her bare hand, and carefully removed the fallen door.

And as she stepped inside—

Something snagged her ankle.

A nearly invisible thin wire.

A trap!

Qing instinctively launched herself backward.

…But nothing happened.

No arrows flew at her, no hidden needles, no alarms blaring to announce an intruder.

What the hell?

A trap with no trigger?

That’s annoying.

Feeling slightly disgusted, Qing stood up.

And then—

“Who’s there.”

A sliding door creaked open, and a middle-aged man appeared.

He was an odd sight.

His hair was dripping wet, and water dribbled from his face.

He didn’t seem particularly hostile.

Qing, naturally, asked the most important question.

“Uh, were you washing your face or something?”

“You pulled the string, didn’t you?”

The middle-aged man pointed inside with the dagger in his hand.

On a table, awkwardly placed right next to the bed, lay a toppled-over water bottle.

“So, pulling the string just dumps water on you?”

“That’s right. Now then, who are you, showing up at this hour?”

“I heard you had some decent martial arts, so I came to ask for a little donation. By any chance, are you the one they call Seol Ganom?”

The man responded.

“You probably heard ‘that bastard Seol Ganom.’ My surname is Seol, and my name is Ganom. It’s a proper North Sea name, though rare.”

“Oh, so your actual name is Seol Ganom…”

Interesting, but Qing didn’t particularly care about the name of some villain.

“Anyway, Divine Ice Cold Demonic Arts or whatever—if you hand it over quietly, we can avoid a bloodbath.”

“It’s Heavenly Ice Sura Demonic Arts. You’re a rather clueless robber, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just hand it over before things get painful.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Why? If you want to learn, why not just become my disciple?”

“I already have a master.”

“Hmm? Aren’t you a cultist? Cultists don’t give a damn about lineage. If someone offers them martial arts, they’d sell out their own parents for it.”

“Oh. That’s actually a fair point. But I’m not like that.”

“I see.”

Seol Ganom nodded as if that somehow made sense.

Qing couldn’t believe it.

“Uh, excuse me? Shouldn’t you be a little more… tense? A top-tier martial artist just broke into your house. Aren’t you supposed to be at peak mid-stage?”

“Would being tense make you spare me?”

“Probably not.”

“Then why bother?”

“…Yeah, fair point.”

Qing agreed.

“Anyway, just hand over the technique, whether it’s the manual or the formulas. Otherwise, this is gonna hurt.”

“That’s unfortunate. Torture won’t work on me.”

“Oh, trust me. Once it starts, you’ll realize just how effective torture actually is.”

“See for yourself.”

Seol Ganom lifted his bangs.

A seared brand was etched into his forehead.

“The cult bastards burned this into me while I was asleep. I only noticed the next morning. So, I set up the water bottle. My body doesn’t feel pain.”

“Wait, seriously?”

He doesn’t feel pain?

Well, shit. That’s a dealbreaker.

“When a person can’t feel pain, this is what happens. Without pain, there’s no fear. Do I look normal to you?”

“Nope.”

“Exactly. And yet, you still want the Heavenly Ice Sura Demonic Arts? Once you start cultivating it, there’s no turning back. The more you refine it, the duller your senses become—until you end up like this.”

That was the biggest flaw of the technique.

Qi refinement was a lifelong habit for martial artists.

Eventually, all sensation would be lost.

For Qing, it wasnt a problem.

She just needed to max it out, squeeze out all its abilities, and move on.

Honestly, she was more worried that the red-bordered Heavenly Ice Sura Demonic Arts wouldn’t be as broken as the gold-tier Maiden’s Blissful Art.

“That’s my concern. Just hand it over.”

“Alright.”

Seol Ganom cut her off and agreed without hesitation.

“…Seriously?”

“But on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Spare me.”

Seol Ganom requested mercy with the utmost dignity.

Qing was the one caught off guard.

“Didn’t you just say you were numb and indifferent? You were acting like you wouldn’t care if you died.”

“If I truly didn’t care, I wouldn’t have crawled all the way to this godforsaken cult just to survive.”

Surprisingly logical for a demonic cultivator.

“Hmm…”

Qing enjoyed killing or torturing villains.

Because, well, villains deserved it.

But she wasn’t some obsessive psycho who had to do it.

She wasn’t some bloodthirsty addict who couldn’t control herself.

She just… didn’t bother holding back.

“In that case, instead of you, why don’t you point me toward some other scumbag? Preferably someone weak, disposable, and with some convenient martial arts.”

“There’s an assassin named Face-Slaying Ghost living next door. No way some guy who just barely stepped into peak level deserves a flashy title like that. Probably just some wannabe with an overblown reputation.”

“Left or right?”

“If you’re facing my house from the front, he’s on the right.”

“What kind of martial arts does he have?”

“He’s an assassin, so he’s probably got some stealth techniques. If you’re gonna keep robbing people, you’ll need at least one skill that hides your presence, don’t you think?”

That was a logical and reasonable assessment.

Qing fully agreed.

“Alright. You pass.”

“Though, I don’t actually have a manual. Even if I recite the formulas, how do you know I won’t just lie?”

“Oh, I have a talent for sniffing out fake techniques. So if you don’t wanna waste that life you just saved, don’t even think about pulling a fast one.”

“No need to worry. It’s a cursed demonic art anyway. There’s no point in deliberately messing it up. Just don’t come crying to me later.”

Seol Ganom began reciting the technique formulas.

Qing had been ready to cut off a limb if he tried anything sneaky, but the Martial Arts Window immediately flashed ‘This is legit.’

Damn. What a waste.

But then again, considering he couldn’t feel pain, it probably wouldn’t have been fun anyway.

“Come to think of it, having to repeat it until you memorize it sounds annoying. If it’s too much to remember in one go, just come back tomorrow. I’ll write it down.”

“I’m good. I only need to hear it once.”

“…You memorized all of that in one go? Impressive. You’ll end up like me in no time.”

Qing couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or a curse.

She ignored it.

“Anyway, you never saw me, got it?”

“Who the hell brags about getting their martial arts stolen under threat? I wouldn’t say a word even if I wanted to. Oh, but—”

“But what?”

“You should cover up more than just your face. Those huge tits of yours make you stand out. How many women in the cult do you think have three heads stacked on their chest? Don’t come blaming me when someone recognizes you later.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. That’s gonna get sweaty.”

But… he had a point.

A logical and reasonable concern, along with a practical solution.

Qing accepted the criticism.

“Well, whatever. Thanks for the advice.”

With that, she left Seol Ganom’s house.

And about an hour later, just as the summer night began to fade into dawn—

She came back.

Seol Ganom, who had just finished another involuntary face-wash, appeared with a sour expression.

“What now? Changed your mind?”

“Nope. It’s just—you’re really good at giving explanations. By any chance, do you know any other scumbags who are disposable and happen to have some powerful martial arts?”

The next day.

Face-Slaying Ghost, Wang, was found dead.

His body was neatly dismembered—head, torso, and limbs separated.

But honestly?

This level of violence wasn’t that unusual.

At least, not enough to stand out in Heavenly Demon Divine City.

Not yet, anyway.