Chapter 91: The Heavenly Demon Cult Serial Murder Case #5 – No Chinese Allowed, Absolutely Not.

A small rock flew through the air and struck the black-clad man square in the forehead.

He bit back a curse, immediately dropping the sack he was carrying.

(A muffled yelp came from inside.)

At the same time, he drew his sword and pointed it straight ahead.

"Who's there!?"

No response.

His tense, wary eyes scanned the shadows in front of him.

Then—

Plop.

A soft, light sound of something dropping to the ground.

Followed by—

A rough hand wrapping tightly around his throat.

The man struggled, desperately clawing at the grip around his neck.

But his blood flow had already been cut off.

His brain, starved of oxygen, barely had time to register what was happening before—

His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Qing shoved his body aside and quickly opened the sack.

"Mmph!"

"Shh."

She raised a finger to her masked lips, then pointed outside and jabbed her hand forward lightly.

A simple gesture.

I'll let you go.

The woman inside the sack frantically nodded.

Qing ripped off the gag and untied her wrists and ankles.

The moment she was free, the woman bowed three times, deeply, then disappeared into the night without a sound.

Qing gathered the discarded bindings and crawled into the sack herself.

Once inside, she stuck her hand out, grabbed the rope at the opening, and carefully tied it from the inside.

She made sure to leave a small portion of the rope hanging out—enough to pull it loose later.

Then, she removed her mask, shoved the gross, saliva-soaked gag into her mouth, and hastily tied her arms and legs.

Just as she was finishing—

The black-clad man regained consciousness.

The moment his eyes opened, he shot up, scanning his surroundings.

Then, he spotted the sack.

Still there.

Still wriggling.

He let out a long breath of relief.

Sure, something strange had happened—

But as long as the job got done, who cared?

Deciding to take the mystery to his grave, the man simply picked up the sack again and continued on his way.

The first Demonblade Asura believed that human nature was no different from that of beasts.

And so, he reasoned—

If humans had become dominant because they picked up the sword,

Wouldn't a beast wielding a sword be even stronger?

What if a bear picked up a sword? That’d be unstoppable.

So, naturally—he decided to make it happen.

That was how the One Hundred and Eight Asura Arts were created—a martial art designed to awaken the beast hidden within human nature.

However—

The Demonblade Asura had underestimated just how deep that beastly nature ran.

Once a person embraced their inner beast, their instincts demanded blood.

And soon enough, anyone who grasped that sword would lose their mind—leaving behind nothing but a rampaging, bloodthirsty killer.

…And the worst part?

They were strong.

If a beast wields a sword, it’s only natural that it would be powerful.

And so, the One Hundred and Eight Asura Arts secured its place among the Ten Great Demonic Arts Under Heaven, and anyone who mastered it was given the title of Demonblade Asura.

Every Demonblade Asura throughout history had tried different methods to suppress this side effect.

And among the many techniques, the gentlest solution was the simplest—

A well-fed beast does not hunt.

What if they drank blood before their instincts demanded it?

What if they preemptively satisfied their hunger so they wouldn’t starve later?

A theory no more complex than eating before you get hungry.

And somehow—

It worked.

That was how Demonblade Asuras began their ritualistic blood-drinking.

However—

Human nature wasn’t just about instincts.

It was tied to their deepest desires.

And so, each Demonblade Asura developed their own unique tastes in blood.

The current Asura Sect Leader, Cho Deungnam—

Had one of the most brutal preferences in history.

He didn't just drink blood.

He violated his victims first—taking their maiden's essence before tearing them apart limb by limb.

A ritual so horrific that it had to be conducted in a specially sealed chamber, with every possible escape route blocked.

Only the Demonblade Asura himself knew exactly what happened inside.

And now—

A new sacrifice was about to be thrown into that very chamber.

RIP!

The sack was torn open in one clean motion.

Qing’s eyes widened in shock as she took in her surroundings.

Huff. Huff.

Then—

Her gaze locked onto a masked man dressed in black.

The moment their eyes met, Qing instinctively swore.

It was that universal, all-purpose curse from back home—

One that functioned as a swear, an exclamation, and an expression of sheer disbelief all at once.

"Fuck!"

…Or at least, she tried.

"Mmph!"

The gag in her mouth muffled the word before it could leave her lips.

The masked man chuckled.

"Relax. As long as you behave, you might just make it out of here alive. That heavy feeling in your limbs? That’s just Scattered Qi Poison. Don’t worry too much about it."

Qing frantically scanned the room.

It was a sealed chamber.

No windows. No exits.

The restraints hanging from the walls were stained dark red—thoroughly cleaned, yet still glistening with a metallic sheen.

Rusty chains lined the walls, each attached to a set of shackles.

And on the raised platform, a whip, a club, and a collection of tools lay scattered about.

Qing immediately regretted everything.

Fuck.

I knew this was a bad idea.

This wasn’t a rape scene—it was a fucking slaughterhouse.

Yeah, no. Time to get the hell out of here.

Qing immediately decided to drop the act and reveal her identity—anything to get out ASAP.

She worked the gag loose with her tongue and tried to speak.

"Elder, if I may—"

"Shh."

A dagger blade pressed under her chin, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"...Hah. Such beauty. Who would have thought there were still maidens like you left in the cult? I must reward the one who brought you to me."

"...I—"

"Shh. Keep your mouth shut if you want to live."

Well, Qing did want to live.

So, for now, she shut up.

Then, unexpectedly, the masked man cut the bindings on her arms and legs.

Of course, they had only been loosely tied in the first place—easy enough for Qing to undo on her own.

She tried again.

"Actually, I’m not who you thi—ack!"

She choked on her words.

Because the bastard had just started unwrapping his robes.

Oh, fuck. My eyes.

Qing’s face twisted in sheer disgust.

If he had just been naked, that would’ve been less disturbing.

Back home, if she went to the bathhouse, seeing some naked old man wasn’t that big of a deal.

But this?

A fully masked man, wrapped in layers of unspeakable—

Qing’s brain shut down.

The masked man’s eyes widened in shock.

"Ah—! That expression! Perfect! Look at me with more disgust! Stare at me like I’m absolute filth! More! More!"

"...I—"

"There is no need to worry. Do you know why I wear this mask? If you satisfy me, not only will you leave here unharmed, but I shall reward you handsomely with gold!"

"...I—"

"Here. Take this."

He thrust something into her hands.

Before Qing could process what was happening, she had automatically accepted it.

She blinked, looking down.

"...A… whip?"

"Huff… Huff… Yes. Whip me. Harder, if you please. Fear not—I am an exceptional master of martial arts!"

Then—

He turned around.

Oh, fuck. My eyes. Again.

Qing’s face contorted in horror.

The horrific sight of leather-strapped, sagging old-man ass had dealt a critical blow to her mental stability.

If she had been a normal maiden from the Central Plains, she probably would have fainted on the spot.

But she wasn’t.

She was a veteran of the internet’s darkest corners.

She had swum through the filth-ridden seas of human depravity.

She immediately understood.

This bastard was just a garden-variety masochistic pervert.

"What are you waiting for? Do it!"

Slap!

Qing, going along with the act, gave the whip a half-hearted swing.

It was a soft leather whip, braided into multiple strands—closer to a switch than a real weapon.

"Ahh! Good! But not enough! Harder! More!"

Slap!!

"Harder!"

Slap!!!

"Excellent! More! More! More!"

CRACK!!!!

"Haaaah… More… More…!"

Qing slowly shook her head.

Absolutely fucking not.

What? This guy was supposed to be some sadistic monster who violated and slaughtered virgins?

No fucking way.

If this ever got out, he'd probably rather be remembered as a ruthless demon of slaughter.

After all, in this cult, brutality was never an issue.

The Central Plains was conservative—but if word ever spread about this, he wouldn't just be socially disgraced—he'd be erased from history entirely.

Which meant, of course—

Once he was done enjoying himself, he'd silence her.

Qing’s guess was half right.

Because to suppress the beastly nature of the One Hundred and Eight Demonblade Arts, blood was always required.

Which meant—

Once he was done indulging his lust, it would be time for the slaughter.

"What are you waiting for!? Faster! Harder!"

Qing looked down at the Demonblade Asura, watching as he desperately writhed on the floor.

…Well.

If that’s what he wanted.

In the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, every single person was trained in martial arts.

There were no defenseless civilians.

But this bastard—

He had completely underestimated her.

He had assumed that whatever Scattered Qi Poison he had used had completely drained her internal energy.

And since she was just some powerless girl, there was no way she could do anything against a warrior at the late Transcendent Realm.

…Or so he thought.

Qing’s hands moved swiftly.

The whip lashed down again and again, her strikes vicious and unrelenting.

Bright red lines began to carve themselves across the Demonblade Asura’s exposed back.

Then, all of a sudden—

His body tensed, his legs locking ramrod straight, his entire frame shaking uncontrollably.

"Fuck."

Qing knew how to use a whip.

After so many hours of practice with Madam Kang, she'd at least learned the basics.

And the basics meant knowing how to channel internal energy into the whip—either stiffening or loosening its movement to strike precisely where she wanted.

She drew a deep breath, pulling qi from her dantian.

Her chaotic mix of internal energies—righteous and demonic forces blended into an unstable, monstrous tide—immediately surged forward, ready to obey.

By the time Qing had left the Divine Maiden Sect, her cultivation had already been strong enough to hold her own against a Transcendent Realm expert.

And now?

After soaking in all the demonic energies of the cult?

Her pure internal energy reserves had reached the level of an Unrestrained Realm master.

The whip in her hand straightened like a blade.

A glow of iridescent energy flickered across its surface, unstable qi spilling outward in untamed streams.

This was no longer just a whip.

This was a razor-sharp sword.

A tidal wave of energy.

A wildfire that devoured everything in its path.

"N-no…! This…!"

The Demonblade Asura was indeed a Transcendent Realm master.

But his body was still weakened, his mind completely unfocused after his moment of… release.

If he had been a true martial god, he might have been able to snap back to reality in time to counter her.

But unfortunately—

He had not yet achieved Demonic Descent.

"Too late."

The whip—no, the blade—swept across the floor.

Deep gashes tore into the stone, raking across the ground like the claw marks of a beast.

And if the floor had been sliced apart like that—

Then what had happened to the body on top of it?

The Demonblade Asura’s torso had been shaved down—sliced into thin, even layers.

Even his bones had been cleanly severed.

If one were to describe it—

It wasn’t raw meat anymore.

It was sashimi.