741 - I Am This Murim’s Crazy B*tch

Gu(蠱) has long been considered one of the most potent spells, and despite its notorious reputation, it is quite a simple technique. You gather a variety of venomous creatures, confine them in one place, and with a gentle command, "Now, kill each other," you're done. The sole survivor emerges as the ultimate toxic creature, marking the birth of Gu. Because of its simplicity, during eras when witchcraft was more mainstream than martial arts, nations strictly regulated and banned it. Being caught crafting it meant facing the worst kind of annihilation without question—the extermination of one's entire clan. In the current Central Plains, witchcraft is considered half superstition and nonsense. Thus, only a handful believe in the existence of Gu. Of course, while the method of crafting Gu is simple, the process itself is extremely challenging, demanding highly advanced skills. Logically, no matter how venomous a creature is, it wouldn’t just endure another’s poison. Simply putting venomous creatures in a jar results only in dead poisoned bodies and wasted gold and time. Thus, the birth of the parasitic salamander, the Blood Gu, was the result of a madman's investment that melted away thousands of guans of gold and the advanced dedication of witchcraft—a creation and miracle of an unprecedented species. Several generations down from this perfected lineage existed the parasitic bottle. Its instinct to consume live creatures was a survival solution reached by its ancestors within that dreadful crucible, etched into the species' very nature. It seemed this little brat, this parasitic bottle, ate entirely raw without chewing. Granted, it appeared toothless, but still. Though the parasitic bottle dared to nibble rebelliously when poked and prodded, it didn’t seem to affect it at all. Tracking its movement with vague intuition, the bottle bit down from the head and gradually pulled in its prey with a rebound. Though there was a noticeable size disparity between the robust adult parasitic bottle and the freshly woken glass parasite, both grown from absorbing venom, the feeding was astonishing given their near-similar scales. The glass parasite ultimately became a special treat for the parasitic bottle and disappeared, but considering the glass parasite would live on as the flesh, blood, and venom of the parasitic bottle, perhaps it met a happy ending in its own way. Qing had hardly had time to bond with the pet parasite, so well, it was just that. No need for two when one suffices. The parasitic bottle swiftly swallowed prey half its size, settling contently upside down, swollen with satisfaction. Pet parasite and owner were alike—one could say the parasite resembled a creature like Qing, or conversely, Qing was akin to such a parasite. At that moment... …What!? The state of the parasitic bottle...! It seemed to squirm and then, in an odd twist, its four legs tucked in—not just tucked, but buried, enclosed. What is this? A cocoon? Do salamanders go into cocoons? Were salamanders always creatures like this? Qing wasn't versed in salamanders’ ecology, yet they were distinct and rare enough to usually be considered a type of natural monument or something similar. Surely a natural monument, maybe a protected species? A cultural asset of sorts? It has that vibe, doesn't it? It didn’t appear to be sick, and surely if it transformed into something like a pterosaur rather than a salamander later, it could just be left to grow freely. This was a pet parasite Qing could dissolve with inner strength at any time. While it was unfortunate to miss out on free liquor (a similar sensation), Qing would decide based on whether it could work alongside her. Should it develop more than six legs, it’s time to part ways. But before that, how could one handle this little creature? Daring to gift this body a pet parasite! And because of it, the atrocious affairs I’ve endured. Firstly, the chaotic havoc from Hell Demon Slaying Blade resulted in swollen, painful, and aching meridians, which calm due to its potent medicinal properties. Not only that, an inexplicable, mysterious inner energy filled my danjeon, increasing my inner strength. Additionally, the parasitic bottle, feeling the pain and shock from its tragic kin-cannibalism, self-sealed in a cocoon. To think someone dared to commit such a horrid atrocity to me, evolving my parasitic bottle in the process! Unforgivable! I shall have my revenge! ...Hmm, ambiguous. Is this truly an attempt by Zhao Hyeon and Zhao Guan-do to poison the Heavenly Sword Flower with Gu as members of the Blood Cult, or were they merely requested to pass a miraculous pill to her? They weren’t blackmailed with Gu. When the parasitic bottle briefly exhibited the ultimate skill of mass venom discharge, clear from his confused, ignorant expression that followed, he indeed had never faced the agony from Gu. Since he knows no ordeal from Gu poisoning, he's neither fooled nor coerced. Definitely, Gu wouldn't be among family heirlooms, marking it as fraudulent medicine. Could there be no conclusive method to nail down the identity, no clear way to ascertain the truth? Qing scratched at the back of her head. Damn, how easy it would be if simply asking yielded a straightforward reply. “Guan-do, you’re not involved with the Blood Cult, right?” “Yes, not involved.” Great, let’s roll up our sleeves. “Or…” “Guan-do, are you associated with the Blood Cult?” “No, I am not.” Then you'd be cut in half right there. How convenient would it be if things were that simple and straightforward? But asking would be futile since anyone would deny cult affiliation, making repeated questioning useless. If tortured for the truth, someone not of the Cult would claim to be due to unbearable pain, rendering it ineffective. Qing, who was endlessly scratching her scalp, suddenly halted. No, why can't I just ask? If a person allows communication, aren’t they deemed a person? Without the ability to speak, are they still considered people? I should just boldly, rightfully, and directly ask like a man. After finishing his duties at the martial academy, Zhao Hyeon-il returned to his quarters and opened his locker, only to find a vivid red note that was unlike anything he'd seen before. "What kind of joke is this?" he mused, suspecting it was just another display from those lacking talent and skill, unable to conceal their ugly jealousy. He dismissed it at first, picking up the note casually, until he read: "I know your secret. Be at the swordsmanship warehouse by the hour of the ox. If I arrive and no one's there, your secret will be revealed to the world." Startled, Zhao Hyeon-il dropped the note but quickly caught it before it hit the floor, then looked around in haste. Luckily, with everyone busy changing clothes after training, it seemed no one had noticed this odd scene. Letting out a sigh of relief, Zhao's heart sank, his chest tight with fear. My secret? Surely not. It can’t be. They can't know my true identity. He hurried outside. In the dormitory shaped like the character for 'Hui(匸)', amidst other disciples gathering their things to head to the valley, Zhao spotted two others and called them over urgently. “What’s the matter? You're making me uneasy.” “Let’s just wash up and talk afterward.” “There’s no time for leisurely bathing now. Look at this.” Zhao Hyeon-il handed the red note to the other two members of the Three Blood Brothers, Bang Yuneol and Jang Jeosam. As they read the note, their expressions stiffened. They knew well the tales: Payback for blood cult members was a gruesome event, involving torture with nails being pulled and bodies being burned. Thus, they had been taught that the destruction of the Central Plains equated to the salvation of the persecuted and oppressed followers of the Blood Cult—a form of mental conditioning passing as education in their closed society. With everyone sharing that mindset, rejecting it was nearly impossible, regardless of intelligence. Although exaggerated, the response wasn’t entirely groundless. The common sentiment throughout the martial community was to exterminate the Blood Cult, be it from commoners, officials, or fellow martial artists. “What is this?” “How did you handle yourself to let this happen?” Jang Jeosam snarled, reaching to grab Zhao's collar. Voice warbling under the grip, Zhao replied calmly, “I can’t think of anything I did wrong, but shouldn't we focus on what to do now, rather than point fingers?” Jang Jeosam reluctantly released him with a grunt, regaining his composure. Zhao Hyeon-il adjusted his clothes and spoke, “We need to decide right now. Should we abandon our mission and make a run for it, or rally together to find and capture this person?” “Are you saying you're running alone?” “How do you know whether they know your identity or ours too? If I run and they manage to catch you, what then?” Their expressions grew grim. The problem wasn't solely Zhao Hyeon-il's—it involved them all. Fearful, Bang Yun-eol shifted on his feet, “So what do we do? No, we must escape from these Central Plains bastards immediately—” “No, fleeing means failing our mission. Didn’t you hear the instructor when handing out the pill? It’s made personally by the Heavenly Demon King and the Supreme Elder. Receiving such a blessing and failing the mission? Who knows if we'd survive that.” “Then, what’s the plan?” “If death awaits either way, better to ensure this person—whoever they are—is silenced for good. It's our only chance to survive and protect our families.” Resolute determination sparked in the eyes of the three disciples. For survival, to live; they must act. Later that night, with the moon threatening the ox hour but not quite there, Zhao Hyeon-il stood, displeased with the tactical ploy unfolding. He wasn’t to be out at the ox hour; rather he was to wait, with the intruder promising exposure the moment they arrived to find him absent. Their plan was meant to prevent the three of them from moving together—if the scheme was to be foiled, the instigator had to be spotted early, lest they also be snooping, intending to appear only once Zhao showed himself. The two others nodded silently. One plan sufficed. Zhao Hyeon-il would head to the warehouse first, then, at the ox hour, the remaining two would launch their attack. If the blackmailer had accomplices watching, the plan might fail, but with death a possibility regardless, they chose the path with the highest odds. And so, Zhao discreetly crossed the academy under the cover of night, stealthily navigating past vigilant patrols. He was particularly cautious not to encounter the academy guards. At least in Zhao's mind, his stealth was commendable. To an onlooker, however, he might have seemed comically suspicious, constantly darting glances around, muddling through rather than moving stealthily. Despite appearances, this was the result of his physical faculties—unable to self-watch, he didn’t realize how odd his movements seemed to others. Clumsily, he snaked his way along, his experience in covert operations limited to sneaking kitchen produce like potatoes. Reaching the warehouse, Zhao softly tugged at the door, and— Creak. Like a startled cat, Zhao jumped at the wooden hinges' shriek. While a cat would come off endearing, a dark-clad man like him made the act unsightly. Awkwardly wedging himself through the barely open gap— “Hmph. You’ve finally come?” At the sharp voice, Zhao gasped, jerking fearfully and tumbling in panic. He scrambled up, drawing his sword. Yet, armed or not, it didn’t undo the embarrassment of his earlier tumble. “Tsk tsk. What a fool. Are talentless individuals all your cult has to offer? Is that how you were taught? To wave a sword before properly addressing your elders?” “E-excuse me?” Zhao Hyeon-il stuttered. The stranger's words were unexpected, leaving him bewildered. Zhao Hyeon-il was perplexed, trying to grasp the meaning of "our sect" and "elder." During his confusion, the mysterious assailant raised her arm. Revealed was a menacing starlight—a pale blue aura glowing of its own accord. This blue radiance, a manifestation of powerful qi, formed into a gigantic, eerily twisted yet strangely beautiful hand shape of dazzling clarity suspended in the air. Marvellous Demonic Hand! An embodiment of mastery, wielded by a Witches of the Demonic Arts, or a hallmark of those who have entered the Harmony or Demonic Possession Realm.