Chapter 88: The Heavenly Demon Cult Serial Murder Case #5 – No Chinese Allowed, Absolutely Not.

A true warrior must be willing to endure any humiliation if it means achieving something greater.

That was the lesson behind Seol Ganom’s mention of Crawling Between the Legs—the story of Han Xin.

When Han Xin was young, he was a pretentious show-off, always strutting around with a big sword at his waist like he was somebody important.

One day, a local thug, sick of his act, blocked his path, spread his legs, and sneered.

"If you actually know how to use that sword, go ahead—slice me open. But if you’re just carrying it for show, I’ll let it slide—so long as you crawl between my legs like a dog."

Han Xin was livid.

But if he killed the man, his future would be ruined. No government official would ever take in a murderer.

So, rather than throw away his dream of becoming a civil servant, Han Xin swallowed his pride and crawled.

And then, there was the tale of Eating Shit to Survive.

This was the story of King Goujian of Yue—the very same Goujian whom the Yue Maiden once aided.

After losing a war against King Fuchai of Wu, Goujian was captured and made a prisoner.

He ground his teeth in fury but outwardly behaved like the most submissive, groveling slave imaginable.

When Fuchai fell ill, Goujian personally tasted his shit to diagnose the disease, confidently declaring, "There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just a minor illness."

(For the record, fecal tasting was an actual traditional medical practice.)

Whether Fuchai was genuinely moved by this or simply disgusted enough to send Goujian away remains a mystery.

Either way, he let him go.

And soon after, Goujian returned with an army, armed with the Yue Maiden’s forged weapons, and burned Wu to the ground.

And now—

Another beautiful warrior was about to endure unimaginable humiliation.

Her name?

Ximen Qing.

A battle-hardened, military-trained beauty.

Compared to what Qing was about to go through, Han Xin crawling and Goujian eating shit were nothing.

I… I…

Qing looked down at the weapon in her hands.

A long hilt, a sleek guard, a broad, heavy blade engraved with blood grooves—

And a single-edged edge.

Qing’s body trembled with shame.

I can’t believe this… I have to use a Half-Sword…!

That’s right.

Qing was now wielding a Half-Sword.

But this was a necessary sacrifice for the greater good.

A noble offering to her dignity, her pettiness, and her desire for sheer entertainment.

And sure—maybe this also slightly contributed to maintaining peace in the martial arts world by striking a blow against the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.

Not that she particularly cared.

The real reward would be a ton of free cultivation points.

This was Seol Ganom’s idea.

If they pinned everything on the White Hand Witch, it’d be too obvious.

Instead, they’d shift some of the blame onto one of the Three Great External Sects of the Cult—the Demonic King’s Blade Sect.

Qing looked down at the Half-Sword again.

Hmm. Actually…

She kinda liked it.

Her raw physical strength had reached absurd levels thanks to all the martial arts she’d hoarded.

Not just in the Central Plains—on a global scale, she was probably the strongest human alive.

To someone like her, swords always felt too light.

Take Blood Shadow Thunderclap Blade Style, for example.

It was a technique meant for massive, heavy broadswords—weapons rarely seen in the Central Plains.

Because despite all the blabbering about "martial ethics," openly carrying a giant weapon like that?

Yeah, that was a great way to get way too much attention.

Technically, carrying personal weapons was prohibited under imperial law.

But really?

People just didn’t want to deal with the sheer inconvenience of lugging one around all the time.

A proper broadsword could weigh over twenty jin (about 10kg/24lb) in raw steel alone.

Most warriors had zero interest in strapping that kind of dead weight to their backs all day.

But to Qing?

It felt just right.

Qing glanced down at the fallen Peace Pavilion[^The literal translation of Peace Pavilion is 태평단 (Taepyeongdan)—a combination of 태평 (Taepyeong, 太平) meaning peace or tranquility and 단 (Dan, 團) meaning group, organization, or unit. Depending on the nuance, it could also be translated as "Taepyeong Order" or "Taepyeong Corps."] guard.

A lazy bastard who had ditched his patrol to lounge around in an alley with a mat beneath him.

For this grievous crime, he had been permanently removed from duty.

Well, that—and the unfortunate fact that he happened to be carrying a broadsword.

“Damn, your weapon’s nice. Don’t worry—I’ll take good care of it tonight. I’ll even give it back later.”

The Peace Pavilion guard didn’t answer.

Because the dead don’t talk.

Qing turned westward.

The Peace Pavilion’s main headquarters should be that big blue-roofed building in that direction.

The Peace Pavilion operated under the Inner Hall of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult and was responsible for maintaining law and order in Tianshan Divine City. They also handled firefighting, taxation, and loan services.

Of course, some questioned whether the Peace Pavilion was even necessary.

After all, Tianshan Divine City’s law and order were absolute.

In fact, there hadn't been a single recorded violent crime in centuries.

Of course, that was only on record.

Murder, robbery, rape, and human trafficking were not classified as violent crimes in Tianshan Divine City.

If you fell victim to one of these?

Well, that was on you.

The official stance was that only fools, idiots, and the careless got themselves caught in such situations.

Thus, history would show that Tianshan Divine City was a paradise—completely free of crime.

Naturally, Seol Ganom—an outsider—had completely misread the situation.

His brilliant plan?

Burn down the Peace Pavilion and throw the city into chaos.

To any true cultist, that idea was downright laughable.

Why?

Because burning down the Pavilion wouldn’t change a damn thing.

At most, it would just let people commit murder, robbery, rape, and human trafficking out in the open instead of bothering with subtlety.

A typical Central Plains fool might call that chaos, but to the cultists?

Business as usual.

For that reason, the Peace Pavilion guards were absurdly relaxed.

In fact, they had never even considered the idea that someone might attack them.

Why would they?

They were everyone’s friend.

Any officer on duty could be bribed for the price of a single night’s entertainment.

Besides, thanks to the recent string of murders, all the guards were overworked, sleep-deprived, and calling in sick.

The entire city's night patrol had become a joke.

And so, amidst this joke of a security force, a lone figure crossed the training grounds of the Peace Pavilion.

A woman.

From the main gate, left side, the five-story dormitory.

That building was the Peace Pavilion's barracks, where the guards were housed.

A lone sentry stood at his post outside the dormitory.

He squinted into the darkness as a figure approached, dragging a massive broadsword behind them.

A figure clad head to toe in black.

In the Central Plains, this outfit had a name.

Nightwalker’s Robes.

The sentry instinctively shot to his feet—only to breathe a sigh of relief when he recognized the weapon.

There wasn’t a single real Tianshan resident who wouldn’t recognize that sword.

A massive broadsword, adorned with red tassels.

The signature weapon of the Demonic King’s Blade Sect.

The sentry immediately relaxed.

“A-Ah, Instructor! You’re back already? You should at least pretend to be on patrol. If you come back this early, the records are gonna get all messed up—”

The black-clad figure cut him off.

“Cry.”

The sentry blinked.

“…Huh? Instructor, have you been drinking? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I didn’t say you should cry.”

Qing’s voice was sharp, almost playful.

Then she spoke again.

“Cry, Hell-Cleaving Demonic Blade.”

A perfect, circular full moon bloomed in the air.

First move of Blood Shadow Thunderclap Blade Style—Blood Moon.

A simple technique.

The blade touches the ground for leverage, then swings up into a vertical, lightning-fast strike.

But when combined with Blood King Demonic Art, it became something far more terrifying.

The Blood King Demonic Qi dyed the sky red, turning the full moon into a scarlet eclipse.

The massive blade drove straight down.

The blade pierced clean through the sentry’s skull—and exited between his legs.

Qing’s hands tingled from the sensation.

The flesh resisting, tearing, and breaking apart beneath her weapon.

It was a new kind of satisfaction.

“Ohhh… damn. That felt amazing…”

This wasn’t just slicing.

It was ripping.

A completely different flavor.

Qing’s body shuddered as she stepped forward.

The moment the Reaper entered the Peace Pavilion's barracks.

Senior Investigator Seok Humhum of the Peace Pavilion’s Inner Hall Division was, as always, fighting a lonely battle.

The White Hand Witch, that treacherous villain, had infiltrated Tianshan Divine City.

Recognizing the gravity of the situation, Seok Humhum had immediately requested reinforcements from the Heavenly Demon Guards' Battle Corps while also proposing a special night patrol unit under the Peace Pavilion.

But the higher-ups had other ideas.

They approved the night patrol but ordered that the White Hand Witch be captured alive if possible—or at the very least, stalled and surrounded.

They wanted the White Hand Demonic Arts.

As one of the rare few in the Peace Pavilion who still had a conscience, Seok Humhum was furious.

But orders were orders.

And so, yet another night passed with him hunched over his desk, sleepless, staring at a crime map of Tianshan Divine City, connecting the locations of past victims in an effort to pinpoint the witch’s hideout.

“The White Hand Witch… Where are you hiding? It has to be somewhere in the Eastern District…”

It wasn’t just a wild guess—he had made some real progress.

The witch was in the Eastern District.

And if the Eastern District was the answer, then naturally, the most likely hiding place was among the brothels.

Then—

A subordinate came bursting in, panicked beyond belief.

"Sir! It's a disaster! There's a fire!"

Seok Humhum stared at him in disappointment.

"Firefighting is part of the Peace Pavilion's duties. Even if it's been a while since the last major fire, you should know better than to panic. Looks like we need to schedule another round of emergency drills."

"No, sir! It's not that—"

"Not that? Then what are you standing around for? Wake the Peace Pavilion guards in the barracks and get them moving. Have them bring the fire suppression equipment immediately."

"Sir, it's the Peace Pavilion's barracks that's on fire!"

Seok Humhum’s face twisted.

"What? Damn it! Sound the alarm! Gather every available fighter in the area! What the hell are the rest of the Pavilion members doing? Tell them to grab fire suppression tools and get to the barracks immediately!"

And just like that—

The Peace Pavilion was thrown into chaos.

Every available guard scrambled to the scene, hauling buckets of fire sand, water barrels, and soaked cloths to battle the flames.

Even ordinary citizens, who had gathered for a late-night spectacle, were roped in on the spot and forced to form bucket lines.

But as Seok Humhum oversaw the response effort, a chilling realization crept up his spine.

The building was burning.

So why the hell wasn’t anyone running out?

Normally, when a fire broke out, human instinct took over.

Even if there was a thousand-foot cliff outside the window, people would still jump to escape the flames.

Yet despite the entire building being engulfed—

There wasn’t a single sign of life inside.

At that moment, Qing was in the Peace Pavilion’s Great Archives.

The very core of the Pavilion—where all official reports, personnel records, and major administrative work took place.

"It won’t be hard to deal with the sleeping guards in the Peace Pavilion's barracks. Those fools have no discipline to begin with. Once all attention is on the fire, set the records office ablaze. What? You don’t know where that is? Well, neither do I. Figure it out yourself."

So Qing figured it out.

She spared one guard.

Broke his jaw.

Ripped off his ear.

Then grabbed him by the remaining one and asked nicely.

And, what do you know?

He turned into a perfectly helpful tour guide.

As a token of gratitude, Qing personally escorted him to the afterlife.

She was a generous soul like that.

Qing pulled out the oil bombs Seol Ganom had given her.

The ceramic flasks shattered against the shelves, soaking the records in a mixture of pine resin and oil.