Chapter 82: The Heavenly Demon Cult Serial Murder Case #5 – No Chinese Allowed, Absolutely Not.

Qing, now fully addicted to her nightly strolls, had practically made it a habit to clock in at Seol Ganom’s place every night.

And thanks to that, Seol Ganom was once again drenched in water.

The last couple of nights, he had simply glared at her, water dripping from his face, his expression a mix of blame and disbelief.

Tonight, though, his gaze was different—hesitant, almost trembling.

Qing frowned. “What’s with that look?”

“You claim you’re not from the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, but… are you a witch from the Blood Cult?”

“…Huh? Blood Cult?”

Qing’s face morphed into that expression—the one that even a total stranger would immediately recognize as I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Frankly, there was no one in the entire Central Plains who could feign ignorance as convincingly as her.

“You used White Hand Demonic Arts, didn’t you?”

“Oh! You know about White Hand Demonic Arts? Yeah, it's scary as hell these days.”

Truth be told, her White Hand Demonic Arts had evolved significantly.

All thanks to her Heavenly Ice Sura Demonic Arts.

White Hand Demonic Arts were notorious for their insidious nature—inflicting permanent damage by injecting a toxic demonic energy that gnawed away at the victim’s meridians.

But Qing’s internal qi had never been cold.

It was like trying to run a diesel engine with regular gasoline.

Now, though, she had Heavenly Ice demonic qi.

It wasn’t exactly premium fuel, but at least it wasn’t the equivalent of dumping cooking oil into the tank.

“…And you’re telling me you’re not from the Blood Cult?”

“I’m not.”

“But you’re a White Hand Witch, aren’t you?”

“Nope.”

“But you have learned White Hand Demonic Arts?”

“Oh! You know about White Hand Demonic Arts? Yeah, it's scary as hell these days.”

“…I swear to god, I just heard that.”

Seol Ganom mumbled to himself, looking visibly unsettled.

Qing scowled.

Seol Ganom flinched.

She let out a deep sigh and asked, “Why the hell are you acting so damn paranoid?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe because every single person whose name you ask about ends up butchered?”

Seol Ganom had initially thought Qing was just some small-time rogue.

Turned out she was the goddamn Heavenly Slaughtering Star.

And not just that.

She was the infamous White Hand Witch of the Blood Cult.

If the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult was filled with bad people, then the Blood Cult was a goddamn den of absolute irredeemable psychopaths.

There were levels to evil.

And the Blood Cult was in a league of its own.

Seol Ganom had seriously considered fleeing the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.

Because once the Blood Cult got involved, there was no such thing as a happy ending.

Compared to the fate that awaited him if he got tangled with the Blood Cult, death sounded like a fucking mercy.

He wasn’t scared of pain.

But he was scared of them.

Seeing his reaction, Qing pouted in disappointment.

“You promised I wouldn’t kill you.”

“Most informants don’t live long, you know.”

“That’s just mean. After everything we’ve been through.”

“Yeah, about that. We really need to define exactly what the hell ‘we’ are.”

Huh. Now that he mentioned it, what were they?

Qing thought for a moment before settling on a suitable answer.

“Friends?”

Seol Ganom’s eyebrows twitched upward, then lowered again.

“…Friends. Friends, huh? Friends who don’t even know each other’s names?”

“Ximen Qing.”

“…Your sect?”

“Divine Maiden Sect.”

“…Your master? Where’d you learn demonic arts?”

“Oh, from a neutral—ah, wait, never mind. My master’s surname is Ximen. And my demonic arts? I just picked them up here and there.”

Seol Ganom’s eyebrows shot way up this time, then slowly lowered.

“…Ximen Surin? The Grand Matron? You said Divine Maiden Sect, but… You mean the Divine Maiden Sect? Wait. Ximen? Ximen? Are you saying you’re an officially registered disciple of the Ximen Clan? No, hold on—”

Seol Ganom’s rambling was amusing. For a moment.

But then he collected himself, his expression shifting to one of deep contemplation.

“What the hell is even going on with the Central Plains these days? Did some great plague spread and bring everything to the brink of collapse?”

“Central Plains is fine.”

“…What a shame. I was hoping the world was finally ending.”

Muttering that, Seol Ganom turned away.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“A friend should at least be treated to tea. There’s a folding table by the cabinet—set it up.”

“Ooh, are there snacks too?”

“…Look around, will you? You should be grateful I can even serve hot water in this wreck. Snacks? What are you, a child?”

With that snide remark, he walked off.

Qing glanced around, found the table leaning between the wall and a cabinet, and unfolded it.

Since she was at a friend’s house, she took off her stifling mask.

Then, as any true friend would, she sprawled out comfortably.

Because when you visit a friend’s house, the first order of business is to lie down.

That was just the sacred, universal law of friendship.

A while later, Seol Ganom returned with a teapot and cups—only to freeze at the sight of her.

More specifically, at her face.

“…So you are a kid.”

Qing frowned. “What do you mean, a kid? Where do you see a kid?”

“If I’d married young, I’d have a daughter your age. That gives me the right to call you a kid.”

Damn. Couldn’t argue with that logic.

Qing often thought twenty-year-olds looked like babies.

Seol Ganom was middle-aged.

It only made sense that to him, she looked like a damn toddler.

Wow. No comeback for that one.

Seol Ganom placed the tea set on the small table and asked, “So? What’s the real problem?”

“That’s right! That guy! The patrol officer! What a goddamn fraud! They called him some legendary movement arts master, but he was pathetic!”

“I only said there was a rumor he possessed one.”

“Yeah? Then what were you asking about?”

Seol Ganom stared at her.

“…You. Just you. Do you really have nowhere to belong? You look… pretty lost.”

Qing blinked. “What’s with that out of nowhere?”

"I mean exactly what I said. Why is a young little demon from an upright sect wasting her time bonding with a washed-up middle-aged man?"

“…Grand demon? Bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Hm. I think I’ve figured out your nickname. Tri-Headed Witch, right? No, wait—if the Grand Matron actually passed down her surname, then it should be Tri-Headed Hero.”

“…Alright, what the hell is your problem with my tits? You wanna keep going? Because I will strap them to your chest so you can personally experience the suffering. Maybe then you’ll realize, ‘Oh, I’ve been an asshole for laughing at other people’s misery.’”

“…Your mouth is as sharp as any of my peers’.”

Seol Ganom let out a long sigh.

“All I’m saying is, heroics are fine. But don’t lose yourself in bloodlust. You’ve got a good background, a good face… shame about the vulgar chest, but there should still be plenty of people who’d like you.”

“…I mean, yeah, I guess?”

“Then why the hell are you all the way out here, in the heart of the Demon Cult, slaughtering people? From where I’m standing, kid, you are not normal.”

From Seol Ganom’s perspective, Qing had long since stepped onto the path of slaughter.

Sure, she was holding out—probably thanks to Ximen Surin’s orthodox Daoist teachings keeping her barely balanced.

But a person without anyone to anchor them eventually gets consumed by solitude and goes mad.

And this girl? She had been thrown into a den of villains with no one to confide in.

The only reason she had started talking to him was because she once tried to rob him.

And now, after just a few conversations, she was attached?

That meant she had already begun to break down a long time ago.

Because Seol Ganom had gone through the exact same thing.

Once upon a time, he had been that kind of person, too—slaughtering his way into a hole he could never crawl out of.

That was why he was hiding in the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult on the other side of the Central Plains.

The bastard son of the Ice Palace, treated like trash and abused for years, had finally snapped.

So he killed his master, his senior brothers, his senior sisters, and even his junior disciples.

He had made sure to take every last one of them down before fleeing with their stolen martial arts manuals.

Maybe that had been a little excessive.

But hey, regrets only come after the fact.

Either way, Seol Ganom could see Qing’s state for what it really was.

She had latched onto Crutch No. 2 because, whether she realized it or not, she was desperately lonely.

She had been lonely ever since she first set foot in the martial arts world.

And it hadn’t even been that long since she’d been shown any genuine kindness.

So, of course, she was hopelessly drawn to anyone who treated her with sincerity.

That was why she detested those who only saw her body rather than her.

Feeling a lump in her throat, Qing raised her voice in frustration.

“Goddammit! You think I want to be here? I got fucking kidnapped! I’m just taking my frustration out while I work on my escape plan!”

“…Oh. You were kidnapped? Didn’t know that. My bad. Thought you just waltzed in here to cut down some villains. Isn’t that what kids your age usually say?”

“I was planning to visit eventually when I needed more training, but not now!”

“…Escape, huh. So that’s why you’ve been asking about demonic cultivators with movement arts. You wanted to learn one and get the hell out.”

Qing seized the opportunity.

“Exactly! So tell me—if you could master just one martial art in the entire world, which one would it be?”

Seol Ganom answered without hesitation.

“Maiden’s Blissful Art.”

Dead serious.

Then, he elaborated.

“I figured I might find a way to steal and learn it if I ran far enough, so I came here… but turns out, in Bliss Palace, only the leader can practice it.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I didn’t ask what you wanted to learn! I meant something useful for me!”

“…Pretty sure you said, ‘If you could learn one art.’ Hm. So it’s just a ‘what-if’ game for kids your age.”

Surprisingly, this was a well-known game across the Central Plains.

A testament to how ancient and backward the entertainment culture of the Central Plains used to be.

Seol Ganom stroked his chin, pretending to think deeply, before finally giving an answer.

“If you just need something to survive in the short term, there’s nothing better than Essence Absorption Demonic Arts. Of course, every single martial artist alive would try to kill you on sight, so you’d have to flee far beyond the Central Plains.”

“Rejected.”

Naturally, Qing wasn’t the type to care what art she learned, as long as she didn’t get caught.

After all, dead men tell no tales.

Her instant rejection had nothing to do with potential consequences.

No, she had already looked up Essence Absorption Demonic Arts under her murderously infamous name.

It hadn’t shown up.

Either it was restricted to martial artists native to the Central Plains, or it was locked behind some special mission, like Lone Solitary Sword.

“If survival wasn’t an immediate concern, then Reversal Tendon Marrow Sutra. No other art in the world compares when it comes to refining your meridians and strengthening your bones.”

“Oh, that’s two votes for Reversal Tendon Marrow Sutra. My master said the same thing.”

“As expected. Any master who genuinely cares for their disciple would wish for them to learn it. But it takes a long time to master, and the effects don’t show immediately, so it’s not exactly helpful for short-term survival.”

Qing had learned one thing for sure.

If she didn’t learn it now, she was definitely going to need at least 2,000 karma points to get it later.

“Then what about something with instant results?”

“You already know—there’s no such thing except demonic arts.”

“…And what if I just somehow mastered one overnight?”

“Fantasy is nice, but you should try living in reality.”

Seol Ganom didn’t even bother hiding his look of absolute pity.

“Oh, fuck off. Let me worry about that.”

Seol Ganom fell back into deep thought.

And after a long pause, he finally muttered,

“…Thousand Venoms Sovereign Hand. Ah, of course. That one still exists.”