Chapter 37
"Kraaaaah! How dare you insult the Heavenly Demon Sovereign!!"
"Bingo."
Feeling the qi pouring off him, I took up a guarding stance.
It wasn’t the qi of an orthodox practitioner who had learned righteous martial arts, nor the qi of a demonic sect fighter who had mastered heretical techniques. It was an alien force built through ma-gong, an unorthodox method that had strayed from the proper path.
Demonic qi.
So I was right after all.
When I heard that some guy named Jang Pyeongho had been spreading Jamsungdan around, that was the first thing that came to mind.
Was he just a buyer, or was he a distributor?
If it was the former, then catching him wouldn’t be much help.
Unless the man was a complete idiot, he wouldn’t have left behind anything obvious enough to get himself caught.
Even if I dug up information, it’d probably be useless trivia, nothing worth the trouble.
So I gave him a little nudge.
Properly rattled by the Heavenly Demon roast session, Jo Pyeongho broke the seal of the Sealing Devil Suppression Art, which had been suppressing his demonic qi, and forced that qi to surge to its peak.
Kwaooooo—!!
Jo Pyeongho charged at me like an enraged frog.
"Yep, there it is. You really were hiding your demonic qi under a seal."
These bastards from the Neo-Heavenly Demon Cult were basically faith warriors.
For them, the Heavenly Demon was a living god, a prophet, a messiah in all but name.
And if those demon bastards were hiding their qi, the way to expose them was simple.
Make them insult the Heavenly Demon.
But this guy had gone and called that Heavenly Demon a bastard dog.
Which meant he’d been through serious training in the cult.
-From now on, repeat after your instructor! Th, the Heavenly Demon is a bastard...! Gurgle!
-The instructor has collapsed!
-He’s not breathing! Get a doctor! Hurry!
Only a man who had endured hellish training and been thoroughly hardened by the cult’s brutal doctrine could infiltrate the martial world of these barbarian bastards.
Even so, not even that kind of discipline could withstand a full-scale Heavenly Demon roast.
"I’m gonna kill you, Great Swordmaster or whatever the hell you are!!"
Bukkoroshiteyaru!!
Demonic qi gathered in both of his hands and warped them into the forepaws of a savage beast.
"Demonic Shadow Frenzied Beast Claw!"
The sharply formed claws of dark qi lashed out violently.
Shajajajak—!
Blade-like strikes burst from his ten fingers and swept over Geom Mujin.
"Whoops."
I stepped lightly through a footwork pattern.
The slashes raked at the spot where Geom Mujin had stood, each of them arriving a beat too late.
After his attack failed, Jang Pyeongho immediately moved both arms to chain into a second strike.
"Twin Fierce Prison Slash!"
Slashes flickered so fast they left afterimages, filling the space all around Geom Mujin.
Shajajajak—!
"Eek."
But again, Geom Mujin went giggling and skipped right through the gaps in the attack with infuriating ease.
"Kraaaaah!! Phantom Killing Claw!"
His hands moved so fast they multiplied into afterimages.
True to the name of the technique, his beast-like hands spawned shadows that threw the opponent’s vision into chaos.
But that was the bait.
The real kill came when the opponent’s eyes were drawn to the shadows and he drove in with the sharpened knuckle of his right hand!
Saak—!
Just then, a razor-edged flash of sword light cut horizontally across the air.
Plip-plop—!
Four fingers dropped onto the ground.
"K, kaaahhh!"
Clutching his left hand, now missing all but the thumb, Jang Pyeongho screamed.
No matter how much he’d lost his mind for a moment after the Heavenly Demon roast, that was more than enough to drag his sanity back home.
"A claw technique, huh... Turns out you’re not just a demonic spy. You’re a lunatic too."
Geom Mujin snorted at the severed fingers.
There were people in the martial world who trained their fists and feet instead of weapons like swords, sabers, or spears. They were usually called martial artists.
And these martial artists were basically insane.
Why use bare hands when everyone else uses metal?
Sword and fist.
Swordsman and martial artist.
Even a three-year-old could tell which side would get wrecked in a straight-up fight.
Even in the modern world Geom Mujin came from, self-defense instructors told you to run the hell away if a knife-wielding robber showed up. That was how badly bare hands were disadvantaged against a blade.
No matter how long you trained, a fist was still just a fist; at best, it could smash a rock once in a blue moon. A sword, though, could graze you once and cause damage, bleeding, and even tetanus as a status ailment.
Of course, in a world where wondrous things like martial arts existed, the story changed a little.
If you reached enlightenment and wrapped your qi around your fist, you could smash rocks and swords bare-handed.
But what, the people using weapons were just sitting around eating snacks?
No, they reached enlightenment too and wrapped sword qi or sword force around their blades.
Once the conditions evened out again, the fight turned into a battle of range, and the martial artist was at a massive disadvantage.
To enter the weapon’s range, he had to move at least once, and every movement came with risk.
And if the sword and fist collided...
For the swordsman, at worst, the blade would chip or the sword body would break. For the martial artist, that was not the case.
If a sword struck the bones of the hand wrong, the fist could become a actual hand-made disaster, and in the worst case, the damage would leave permanent disability behind.
Just like the bastard in front of my eyes.
"Aaaagh!"
Jo Pyeongho had definitely wrapped his hands in energy, but Geom Mujin’s one strike had still severed his fingers.
The qi of some demonic spy from the shadows couldn’t possibly compare to the sword qi of the Great Swordmaster.
If he’d been a swordsman or saber user, he would’ve gotten off with just losing his weapon. But because he’d learned a claw-based martial art as a close-combat fighter, he ended up like this.
For the record, claw techniques were considered lowly and pathetic even among martial artists, the sort of thing only a bottom-tier loser would use.
Starting from the top—fist, palm, finger, claw—the farther down you went, the more of a pathetic little man you became.
Honestly, a grown man running around scratching people with his nails like some dainty girl didn’t look cool at all. Appearance mattered in the martial world, after all.
On top of that, it was a technique often used by the eunuchs of the East Depot, so it had acquired an even more suspicious, vaguely that kind of image. Not that kind, for the record.
You think Shaolin’s different?
They’re an exception.
Anyway, they’re all crazy the same way—oh.
My thoughts had wandered for a second.
Coming back to my senses, I found that I’d already moved behind Jo Pyeongho, who had used acupoint pressure to stop the bleeding and was now crawling on the ground.
"Kkheuhh...!"
Gritting his teeth, he crawled toward a wooden box.
Click.
When he opened it at last, Jamsungdan was packed inside.
Stuff supplied to be spread among the filthy Middle Kingdom barbarians.
"What, thinking of taking some to fight a little longer?"
I asked flatly, watching him in silence.
"Don’t bother. One pill won’t change anything."
"M-maybe not... but what if I took not one pill, but two, three... or more?"
"What...?"
Madness flickered across Jo Pyeongho’s face.
His body had already gone past the point of no return.
Fine. If it’s come to this, I’ll at least land one on that barbarian bastard!
At my shocked reaction, Jo Pyeongho smiled with grim satisfaction and scooped up a handful of Jamsungdan.
"The Heavenly Demon is magnificent! My life to the Tian Shan Mountains! The Heavenly Demon Cult! Long live the heavens!!"
He shouted in a voice so solemn he might as well have been a martyr, then tried to stuff the drugs into his mouth.
"Stop! Stop!!"
I swung my sword.
No more dragging this out for content!
Swish—!
The arm holding the drugs was severed and went flying.
"My aaarm...!"
Another scream burst from Jo Pyeongho’s mouth.
I’d been startled because I was worried this was going to drag on forever just to put down one bastard.
Now we really, really need to move on to the next part—huh? What the hell am I talking about again?
* * *
"Hey. Wake up."
Smack—!!
"...!!"
The pain flashing before his eyes made Jo Pyeongho jolt awake.
"Khuuup...!!"
His body had already been hit with acupoint pressure, so he couldn’t move so much as his mouth. He had to swallow the scream down inside himself.
As he twitched against the lingering pain that still refused to fade, Geom Mujin walked up to him.
"Mmmph!"
Jo Pyeongho widened his eyes and wriggled violently in response.
"Ah, don’t make it a waste of effort. I already took care of it while you were asleep."
Took care of it? What had he taken care of?
At first it was just a question, but soon the question turned into dread.
N-no way...!?
Jo Pyeongho hurriedly checked inside himself.
Gone! He couldn’t feel anything!
"Khuuuhh! Mmph!!"
The danjeon where he had stored the demonic qi he’d accumulated over the past thirty years had vanished without a trace.
Castrated!? I’m a danjeon eunuch now!?
Tears welled at the corners of his eyes.
"You should count yourself lucky. You think breaking a danjeon is easy or something?"
Breaking a danjeon takes technique too, you know.
If you do it carelessly, the victim’s liable to go into shock and die.
His former lord, An Gojun, had lost his right arm and become a broken shell of a man, but his danjeon had remained relatively intact.
Jo Pyeongho, on the other hand, had now lost both his right arm and his danjeon, yet his mind was still perfectly fine.
Which of those outcomes was better?
It was a matchup that did absolutely nothing to stir the heart.
Still, this bastard had just ruined two lives in a matter of days. Damn.
"Anyway, enough with the trivial stuff. I’m going to ask you a few things, and you’re going to answer honestly. Understand?"
"......"
Smack!!
As soon as I finished speaking, another slap detonated across the side of Jo Pyeongho’s face, the side that still hadn’t recovered from the grief.
Jo Pyeongho screamed inwardly.
You crazy bastard! How do you just hit someone without even asking first!?
And if you’re going to ask questions, at least release the acupoints too!!
"Mph! Mmph!!"
Smack-! Slap-!! Smack-smack-!!
Left, right, left, right, right, right.
Easy, then hard, then hard, then hard, then hard, then hard!
Stop! Stop the slapping!
He begged at the top of his lungs, but unfortunately, no one’s ears were taking pity on him.
He had no choice but to endure the beating in silence.
By the time Jo Pyeongho’s face had swelled to nearly twice its size from the bruising, I finally released the acupoints.
"Cough..! You crazy barbarian bastard... if you were going to interrogate me, you should’ve asked questions first..."
"I’m a torturer first, interrogator second."
"Shit..."
You think I’ve only seen one or two demonic scum in my life?
People like this never answer nicely just because you ask, so it’s more efficient to break them first.
"So, do you feel like talking now? If not, say the word. I’ve got plenty more prepared."
Right now it was just a beating. Next came the bone-shredding joint torture.
"Y-your mom...?"
"You know the existence of a mother I don’t even know about?"
If you’ve got information about my mom, I’d honestly love to hear it too.
"When the flame of holy fire rises, I shall lead you miserable mortals—"
Jo Pyeongho muttered the Heavenly Demon Cult’s scripture as he spoke.
It was his way of saying he wouldn’t tell me a damn thing.
If his danjeon had still been intact, he might have forced qi into reverse flow and offed himself, but with the danjeon removed, that wasn’t possible.
And if he tried to bite out his tongue, that barbarian bastard would never just sit back and watch.
The only thing left for him now was to die after being tortured.
Fear not. One drop of my life will become the soil of the cult.
"If that’s how you want to play it, then I guess there’s no helping it."
I sighed and rolled up my sleeves.
I really didn’t want to do this because blood, spit, and even piss would get everywhere, but now I had no choice but to move on to bone-shredding joint torture.
"Ah!"
Then I remembered something from the weight on my back.
If this worked, things might get a lot easier.
Geom Mujin took off his hooded cloak.
"......"
And there, wrapped in a bundle and strapped to his back, was a child.
At his warning, the child had kept her eyes tightly shut and covered her ears.
"It’s fine now. You can open your eyes."
"......"
The child, who had listened to Geom Mujin far too well, gave no response because she couldn’t hear anything.
When he took her hands away, she finally opened her eyes and looked at him.
She seemed to be asking if it was really okay.
"It’s fine."
I’d made her cover her eyes and ears because dismembering people in front of a kid seemed bad for her emotional development, but now it was okay.
What was in front of her now was nothing more than a rag doll.
"......"
Having spent the whole time trapped inside that stifling cloak, the child finally inhaled the fresh air outside, scented with the added bonus of blood, and her tiny nostrils flared.
I set her down on the ground.
Then I pointed at Jo Pyeongho and said, "Kid, ask him something."