Chapter 80: The Heavenly Demon Cult Serial Murder Case: A Night of Murder Without a Culprit

Madam Kang clearly wasn’t impressed with Qing’s theatrics.

Not that Qing gave a damn.

“So, why the sudden interest in music lessons?”

“Music? I said ritual harmony.”

“…That’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

“Do you call swordplay mere blade swinging? I will personally oversee your mastery of Heavenly Heart Resonance, and you must learn it quickly.”

Madam Kang’s tone was strict.

Qing, on the other hand, was utterly unimpressed.

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you stole the Bokshinjeok!”

“Stole? That’s a little harsh. I don’t do petty theft. I killed for it and took it fair and square.”

“Oh, so now you’re bragging about robbery?”

“Ever heard of the Law of the Strong? Winner takes all. Bokshinjeok. Mine.”

That shut Madam Kang up. She trembled with rage.

“...Ugh!”

Qing grinned.

“So, why now, of all times, do I need to learn this ritual harmony stuff?”

“You do not need to know.”

“Then I don’t need to learn.”

“Are you defying the Supreme’s decree?!”

“I don’t know. I never heard any decree. Have them tell me directly. Either explain why I have to do this, or don’t.”

With that, Qing flopped onto her back.

“You insufferable little—!”

“Whoa there. Watch your mouth. I’m armed.”

Qing swung the Bokshinjeok around while still lying down.

The Bokshinjeok was no ordinary flute—it was solid metal.

Forged from Everlasting Cold Iron, it was as sturdy as any divine weapon.

And with its length and durability, it was functionally a short staff.

Short staffs were wonderfully versatile in martial arts; you could mimic just about any weapon technique with them.

Sure, the power output would be trash, but still—need a sword? Use the staff. A saber? The staff. A spear? Also the staff. It was a janky, one-size-fits-all solution.

Madam Kang stomped her foot, at a loss.

She had been ordered to teach Qing, so she had to.

But should she reveal a cult secret to an outsider?

And if Qing did learn the truth, would she—one of those self-righteous martial heroes—actually cooperate?

“I’m going to sleep now. Shut the door on your way out. I suggest you listen while I’m being polite. I may have trouble walking, but I’m not completely helpless.”

“Tch.”

“No? Alright then. I’m sleeping. Good night~.”

Qing closed her eyes.

Not that sleep would come easily after all this. But that wasn’t the point.

Her instincts were screaming at her.

Right now, she held the advantage.

That teacher was the one who had to figure out a way to make her learn.

Qing had long mastered the art of walking the tightrope.

The fact that she was still managing to survive in the cult without any major blowback was proof enough.

Sure, she had screwed up once with that walking tantrum alleged supreme, but even then, she’d managed to grovel her way out of it.

Her gut told her she was right.

Madam Kang was seriously struggling with this.

Should she inform the Supreme?

But Kang knew the Supreme well enough.

Marching in and saying, “That girl refuses to learn,” would just get her head smacked off with a, “Then figure out how to teach her, you useless thing.”

Once a command was given, it had to be executed—no matter what.

That was the Supreme’s absolute will.

“…Fine. Swear upon your sect and your master that you will learn Heavenly Heart Resonance if I tell you the reason.”

“Um…”

Swearing on the Divine Maiden Sect and her master felt really off-putting.

So this was why they always made people swear on their sect and master.

But hey, they never said I had to try hard, did they?

A thought so underhanded it would make any proper demonic cultist proud.

“Fine. I promise.”

Qing nodded.

Madam Kang, still believing Qing to be some righteous heroine of the orthodox world, bought it without question.

Which was exactly why that old strategist from the past had preached Know thyself, know thy enemy with such fervor that he nearly coughed up blood.[^A reference to Sun Tzu, the ancient Chinese military strategist and author of The Art of War. His famous principle emphasizes that understanding both yourself and your enemy is key to victory.]

All scams, in the end, came down to this:

Know the enemy?—People fall for scams because they don’t realize they’re dealing with a scammer.

Know yourself?—People get scammed because they don’t know they’re the kind of person who can be scammed.

Madam Kang sighed heavily.

“This all started when that bastard, the Celestial Martial Emperor, was still alive…”

Oh great. Him again?

That old man really was everywhere.

Apparently, screwing over emperors wasn’t even the half of it.

And those emperors actually got off light.

All he did was dangle them off palace rooftops by the collar.

Meanwhile, the Blood Cult? He snapped the Blood Maitreya[^A "Blood Maitreya" typically represents a corrupted or heretical leader of a violent sect, distorting Buddhist ideals for power.] in half.

The Demon Lotus Alliance? He raided their headquarters, massacred their leaders, and disbanded them by force.

If something in the martial world looked like a potential threat, he annihilated it.

And, of course, the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult was no exception.

The Celestial Martial Emperor had butchered both the Heavenly Demon and the Young Heavenly Demon, then waltzed into the sect’s archives and stole the Heavenly Demon Soul.

“The Heavenly Demon Soul?”

“A treasure containing the insights of the first Heavenly Demon Patriarch.”

“Sounds… pretty important.”

Madam Kang hesitated.

How much was too much to reveal?

Qing gave her a pointed look.

“No stalling. Spill everything. If you start keeping secrets, this whole ‘ritual harmony’ lesson? Gone.”

Between revealing a secret and Qing refusing to learn, only one of those options guaranteed her survival.

Strict, unforgiving discipline was great for crushing failure.

Unfortunately, it also meant people feared their own small failures more than the massive, irreparable fuck-ups of their organization.

And honestly? Qing had no right to mock the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult for this.

Back in her homeland—the glorious Republic of Korea—this was exactly how most corporations ran.

“…About twenty years ago, the cult’s reconnaissance unit uncovered some hidden records of the Celestial Martial Emperor.”

The old bastard had never destroyed the Heavenly Demon Soul.

It wasn’t just some ordinary demonic artifact.

It was a martial arts treasure refined from a unique lineage that traced its roots to not only Buddhism and Daoism, but even Zoroastrian teachings.

Despite belonging to the demonic path, it was still a masterpiece of martial insight.

Even the Celestial Martial Emperor, for all his ruthlessness, couldn’t bring himself to erase such a thing.

So instead, he buried it where no one could ever find it.

But the cult had spared no effort searching for it.

And in the end, they succeeded.

They found its resting place.

And named it the Heavenly Demon Tomb.

“…The Heavenly Demon Tomb?”

“A sealed chamber containing the soul of the first Heavenly Demon Patriarch. What else could we call it?”

Qing tilted her head.

Sounds more like a place you’d bury a winged horse or something.[^Qing is making a wordplay joke—"Cheonma" (천마) can mean both "Heavenly Demon" (天魔) and "Heavenly Horse" (天馬), making the "Heavenly Demon Tomb" sound like a burial site for a mythical flying horse.]

The entrance to the Heavenly Demon Tomb was locked behind a complex mechanism—an array of gears and formations designed to keep intruders out.

After much investigation, it was confirmed to be the work of a legendary blacksmith, Banchi.

And to unlock it?

You had to play Heavenly Heart Resonance on a Bokshinjeok, an instrument Banchi had made for his wife.

If anyone tried to force it open, the whole chamber would collapse, burying the Heavenly Demon Soul forever.

So the cult had scoured the land for the Bokshinjeok.

And after years of searching…

Qing had waltzed in and stolen the damn thing.

Qing glanced coldly at the Bokshinjeok in her hands.

So this was what all the fuss was about.

Figures.

Goddamn it. Why did I even pick this thing up?

What an absolute piece of shit this flute was.

If the Bokshinjeok had ears, it would’ve exploded from sheer indignation.

And to think Qing had snatched it up just because it was worth ten thousand gold.

She quickly shifted the blame elsewhere.

And really, the Celestial Martial Emperor had some serious explaining to do.

If he was going to hide something, he should’ve done a better job. Why leave it lying around where it could cause all this mess?

But, well, she had made a promise—on her master’s name, no less.

As much as she wanted to say, Screw it, I don’t make promises with villains, swearing on her master’s name made it too damn uncomfortable to break.

So Qing technically kept her word.

She just did it with the worst attitude possible—half-assing it in the laziest, most uninterested way imaginable.

“All right. The opening passage must be sorrowful and fading, like longing unfulfilled. Look at the sheet music. As you transition to the next measure, your breath should be as fragile as a thread about to snap, a whispering sigh…”

BEEP! BEEP!

Qing blew into the flute with full force.

“No, what did I just say?! Stop playing like a wild horse and produce something delicate, like—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Madam, you try playing the Bokshinjeok. I’m channeling internal energy here. You want me to use power and make it sound delicate?”

“This isn’t a technical issue! You’re not even trying to capture the essence! Ritual harmony is about shaping the space around you with your intent!”

“Yeah, well, this ‘intent’ thing ain’t my vibe. How about we do something fun instead? Remix it a bit? I guarantee the Celestial Martial Emperor wasn’t into that wheezing, dying-breath sound.”

And Qing knew because she’d read the old man’s notes.

The Celestial Martial Emperor was the kind of guy who drank liquor straight from the jar by the gallon. There was no way he was the type to enjoy weepy, tragic flute solos.

Besides, music from this era was mind-numbingly slow and painfully drawn out.

It dragged, it lingered, and it was just so damn tedious.

“…You have a long way to go. At this rate, you’ll never be able to channel your internal energy into the melody properly. I wasn’t planning on using this method, but…”

Despite inheriting the legacy of priestesses, Madam Kang wasn’t exactly the type to revere the Supreme.

She was a survivor—someone who had lived under the rule of a tyrant for too long.

Naturally, she had her own ways of handling things.

“So-yeong.”

The maid in the back flinched.

It was the same one who had handed Qing that bundle of martial arts manuals earlier.

“You seem utterly unmotivated in this lesson, so from now on, every mistake you make… this girl will be punished for it.”

“…Huh?”

“Watch closely. And do not forget that every lash she receives is because of you.”

Madam Kang loosened her belt.

But once it was in her hands, it became clear—it wasn’t a belt at all.

It was a whip.

The maid trembled as she removed the upper part of her robes.

Then—

CRACK!

A long, bloody welt split across the girl’s back.

Madam Kang didn’t hold back—her technique was vicious.

Just one strike, and the girl’s skin had already split, beads of blood forming along the wound.

Qing’s brows furrowed.

“…Oof. That must hurt.”

And at the same time, another thought crossed her mind.

She’s making someone else take the punishment?

But, uh… shouldn’t that only work if she actually cared about the person getting hit?

This was just some random maid.

Sure, her karma level was approaching Gyeon Pohee’s, but within the cult?

She was still just a low-tier villain-in-training.

Even triple-digit evil didn’t faze her anymore.

Watching one villain beat up another didn’t really move Qing in any way—

Oh. That whip looked really nice.

Maybe she should pick up a new weapon art.

So yeah, it did stir some feelings in her.

But it didn’t improve her attitude toward the lesson at all.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The maid, now a shredded mess of bruises and torn skin, finally passed out, her eyes rolling back.

Madam Kang turned her venomous gaze on Qing.

“You heartless wretch! Can you truly feel no guilt, watching an innocent girl collapse in agony before your very eyes?!”

“…Lady, you beat her. The hell are you yelling at me for? How is this my fault? What kind of backwards logic—”

And that’s when Madam Kang really saw Qing’s nature.

This girl was cold. Absolutely merciless.

But so was she.

“Fine. You claim you don’t care? Then let’s change our target. I hear you have a servant in Bliss Palace who tends to you personally.”

“…Wait, what?”

Qing blinked.

“You can drop the act. Word is, she’s climbed the ranks quickly thanks to your favor. Surely, if she were to suffer in your place, you’d put in a bit more effort.”

Ah. So we’re bringing out Crutch No. 2, huh?

Qing let out a long sigh.

She’d been cutting the old hag some slack. But now she was really pushing it.

“You know, Madam—no, wait. Professor.”

“…What?”

“Yeah. Let’s go with Professor.”

“Hah! Now you—”

“No, shut up. If a student isn’t learning, whose fault is that? It’s the professor’s, obviously.”

Qing got up from her bed, dragging her leg as she limped forward.

The way she moved—slowly, deliberately—sent a chill down the room’s spine.

“Professors are so clueless sometimes. Do you think a freshman just automatically understands everything? You expect me to master some ancient flute technique on day one? That’s just bad teaching.”

“W-why are you—why are you walking toward—”

“Shut up!”

WHACK!

Qing’s Bokshinjeok cut through the air.

She wanted to deliver the old bat a nuclear noogie on the forehead, but considering she was still pretending to be crippled, that was a bit ambitious.

Instead, she settled for a good old staff strike.

Less satisfying than a forehead flick[^nuclear noogie. T/N. I'll use forehead flick from now on, thats what was used in the original.], sure, but with way better range.

“ACK! HNGHH—”

Madam Kang collapsed, clutching the top of her head like a madwoman.

Her scalp burned.

She kept rubbing at it, expecting to see blood, expecting her skull to be cracked open—but there was nothing.

No wound. No blood. Just an unbearable, searing pain.

It was the perfect control of force, honed through getting the shit beaten out of her.

“W-what in the—hitting your teacher?! How could you—this monstrous—”

“Professor, stay still.”

Qing loomed over her.

“If you so much as flinch, I swear I’ll split your skull in two. Professors shouldn’t be spreading misery. They should be fixing it. You don’t like me failing? Then you should be making sure I pass. Because the longer this drags out, the longer we both suffer. You really wanna see my face for an entire semester? No? Then get me to graduate early.”

Qing’s eyes gleamed with something unhinged.

Madam Kang trembled.

She had thought she was dealing with a righteous young heroine.

But the girl in front of her?

Her gaze was pure lunacy.

Qing leaned in, lowering her head until her face was inches from Kang’s.

“…Professor.”

Madam Kang’s breath hitched.

What kind of monster had they let into the cult?

“W-why are you—”

“From now on, every mistake I make—every time I don’t understand something, or fail to focus—it’s your fault. Agreed?”

“…That’s not how—”

“And what happens when someone messes up?”

Madam Kang froze.

“They get punished.”

And with that, Qing snatched the whip from her hands.

Grinning, she gave it a few experimental swings.

“Alright, Professor. Let’s get back to class, shall we?”