843 - I Am This Murim’s Crazy B*tch

[If You Plan to Kill One, Dig Two Graves] [The Way of the Four Deaths of the Sword](Alternate title) Deep within the northern ridge of Mount Dochean, an unspeakable, gruesome sight unfolded—what the people of Zhongyuan would call a scene beyond endurance to behold. Tattered military tents lay despondently scattered amidst what could be loosely termed as human corpses, though they were more akin to remnants of what once were humans. There were scarcely any intact bodies; most were dismembered, strewn about, making it difficult to refer to them as mere corpses. Moreover, at the center, bodies piled like mountains—a dreadful reminder of a defeated army ruthlessly slaughtered in their final throes. Yet, these mountains of corpses were not amassed for disposal. Instead, they were the pathetic outcome of the Odokmun's desperate onslaught against the Heaven Sword Flower(天華), under which they perished. Amidst this pile of bodies, someone’s hand suddenly twitched. A survivor! There is a survivor! Could among them, devoted warriors who attacked fiercely without thought for their own lives, be one still drawing breath? “Ah, it feels like I haven't slept at all.” Though unfortunate for the Odokmun, the survivor was indeed the Heaven Sword Flower. The reason Qing, Heavenly Sword Flower(天華), had ended up napping beneath a heap of corpses was simple. If any remnants of the Odokmun remained, they would likely return to collect the bodies of their comrades. The only way to ensure completeness in one's actions is to eradicate the root cause; if not, the cycle of resentment and vengeance they speak of will ensue again, won't it? Indeed. To truly break the chain of vengeance, it's not about forgiveness but total annihilation—obliterating any potential avengers. Of course, it wasn't solely malevolent thoughts that compelled Qing to spend a night under a mountain of corpses. There were other compelling reasons. Simply put, too tired... After reaching the Transformation Realm, seldom had Qing ever felt this exhausted. While being pursued and pursuing within the Odokmun's encirclement, having experienced all sorts of discomfort. Resultantly, Qing fought almost maniacally with the Daewol Kingdom's forces, unreservedly unleashing dark arts. Subsequently, during the decisive battle with the Odokmun, employing ever-changing, many transformations—though limited to around Fifty Changes Five Hundred Transformations—nearly depleted Qing's internal energy. Caught amidst the maddening rush of hostile enemies who attacked like rabid hounds. For the first time in ages, both Qing's internal energy and stamina were entirely exhausted, as they would say back home—completely drained. Thus, a nap was in order! Leaving prematurely and unaware of a single live enemy would mean the potential rebirth of the Odokmun in the distant future. There might be remnants coming to collect corpses, or Daewol's soldiers or the Blood Cult could appear. Staying hidden among the bodies felt more natural than hastily attempting to retreat. Is there any reason not to rest in such a situation? Underneath the bodies, laying in a rivulet of bloody water felt unsettling. However, there’s a phrase—situations where a person feels discarded. Already drenched in sticky sweat and covered with dust and mud, laying in this filthy, despicable state with spicy poison wreaking havoc. Being immersed in some rivulet of bloody water wouldn’t make it noticeably worse... Anyway, having slipped into unconsciousness overnight, opening eyes now welcomes the morning sun. Even in fatigue, a master remains a master; normally, any approaching sound would awaken. With time vanished as it was, it seems all from Odokmun perished last night. How many have I slain? Ultimately, many succumbed to their own excessive poison, overdosed and perished—a suicide attack indeed. The next steps involve heading to Geumpyung Prefecture to observe the Odokmun’s activities without its leaders and await support from the Dianchang Sect. But before all that’s done, I can’t go in this state. Military units always stay near a water source. Here, a tiny brook flowed just outside the clearing. Ah, water! Water to wash! Qing, discarding all attire, dashed joyfully to the brook, but abruptly halted. Screech! A sudden stop. The urge to plunge right in, restrained by the necessity to detox first. Before soaking, one usually washes the body, right? Diving in with toxins all over is unacceptable. Utilizing assorted cauldrons from the cook tent, Qing carried water, dousing and cleansing off the poison before diving in. Although not usually one to fuss over cleanliness, Qing’s pure, uncontained delight as the sticky sweat and grime washed away. For those accustomed to regularly cleaning, they might never comprehend the satisfaction of washing accumulated filth. This is divine... Bringing the body to a refreshed condition for outdoor rest. Now rinsed clean, Qing splashed eagerly into the brook. Only thigh-deep, not deep enough for a full immersion, but reclining on the brook’s pebbled bed allowed the water to sweep over—oh so cool... Lying like this, twin hulking pieces of flesh emerged like twin islets above the surface. If Ximen Surin witnessed this, she’d undoubtedly unleash infinite, fiery reprimands about indecent exposure on such a bright morning, calling Qing outright mad. Yet, in this moment, Qing felt complete liberation amidst unspoiled nature—if content, isn’t that delightful? Only after relishing this freshness did Qing realize: whoops, no clothes. Return to such ragged attire? No way. Well, nobody’s here to see. Time to find something else to wear. Rummaging through the military tents, Qing found cleaner clothing to wear. --- **Terms Not in List:** - *Mount Dochean (도채산)*: Translated to "Mount Dochean," the name is treated literally, preserving its original sound as there is no standard English equivalent. Alternate could be "Dochae Mountain." I maintained the hanja(Chinese characters) alongside specific terms, in keeping with the source text's style and reader expectations for clarity. There were no puns or additional affiliations revealed in this section that required adjustments to the existing list of terms. After all that, Qing's stomach relentlessly demanded breakfast, leaving her salivating. Heading down to Geumpyung Prefecture, she planned to order a feast, practically raiding each guesthouse—the proprietors best prepare for a clean sweep today. Wait, hold on, the money! Damn it, should’ve seen it coming. Having left most belongings at a guesthouse in Gaegu Prefecture, Qing only carried two gold coins for simple travel expenses. But the clothes worn, though originally tattered, had devolved into a dismal state unfit to be called clothing. Naturally, the money bag attached to them seemed lost somewhere along the way, without the faintest idea where or how it fell off. Scouring the entire mountainside, akin to a tropical rainforest, to find it was an exercise in futility. So, should she just make do with the military provisions for breakfast? But that’d only cover one meal. How about lunch? Dinner? Then where to sleep? What to do? The return of the Flower Beggar? It'd be fine if it were merely observing the Odokmun without the Odokmun present, but... Zhuge Leehyun might arrive with those from Dianchang Sect, and presenting herself in rags was out of the question... Then what to do? Suddenly, Qing's gaze fixed on one spot. The pile of Odokmun corpses, stacked like a mountain. The Odokmun who vowed to seek revenge till their last breath, now only dying consumed by revenge. Without achieving actual revenge, they seemed to believe the process was more crucial than the result. Regardless, fulfilling a wish, whether achieving it or not, was something Qing claimed she had granted them. So isn’t it justifiable to accept compensation for that? --- Thus, Geumpyung! Geumpyung Prefecture, cradled on three sides by Mount Dochean, was a city that flourished due to its location on the trade route of Tea-Horse Road. Yet, the streets appeared somewhat sparse. Reportedly, with traders dwindling due to a plague, the city faced tough times. “Oh dear, because of that damnable white plague, traders barely pass through anymore. It’s killing us,” lamented the innkeeper. While innkeepers are typically expressive because of their profession, this one's moans seemed mingled with some genuine worry given the sparse guest numbers. That’s why he lingered around Qing's table, wiping an already clean table one more time for good measure. The table was loaded with empty dishes, evidence of Qing’s earlier hearty and warlike meal. Had there been a hell in the afterlife, watching their money feed their enemy, the Odokmun would sorely regret their life choices. Nonetheless, the innkeeper hovered nearby, hoping that the generous customer might open her purse again. To this, Qing subtly inquired. “Odokmun were said to be as knowledgeable about medicine as they were about poison. Don’t they have dibs on the good herbs of Mount Dochean—” “Whoa! Guest, shhh.” In panic, the innkeeper cut off Qing’s words, urgently glancing around. Despite the quiet hour between breakfast and lunch, and few guests occupying seats, he was wary. “You should be careful with such talk. What if someone hears?” “Hmm, is it that serious? But if they know poisons well, they must also know about remedies. Aren’t there tales about a cure?” “Well…” The innkeeper blinked unnervingly, hinting for a little bribe. Upon pressing a handful of coins into the innkeeper’s palm, he cautiously glanced around before whispering in Qing’s ear, unnecessarily secretive for an empty room. ‘It seems that recently, the collectors stopped showing up. With the main gate locked tightly, folks whisper about whether a plague spread within Odokmun itself.’ Despite ample space, the whispering displayed a genuine fear of Odokmun. Yet, the information turned out to be worth mere pocket change. Indeed, those collectors had surely perished in heaven, or rather relegated to the hellish earth. Though their main gates were locked, the insides teemed with Blood Cult, effectively a den of evil. As for the bizarre, aberrant entities running rampant, exhibiting them would be unseemly. Seems like a field investigation is needed. But where to start? Suddenly, Qing’s gaze fell on her empty dishes. Right, even Blood Cult members need to eat, so there must be suppliers providing foodstuffs. The volume of supplies could indicate the number of Blood Cult members within Odokmun. But then again, the supplier could have ties to the Blood Cult. Hmm, how to proceed? For now, it’s about scouting. Though there were minor conflicts during this recon—which saw Odokmun exterminated as an incidental consequence—the focus remains on fully extracting Blood Cult. Even if Dianchang Sect intervenes, maximizing gathered intel is essential to minimizing damage. Thus, an initial survey of Odokmun's headquarters is in order. --- Geumpyung Prefecture turned out to be smaller than it seemed. Appearing large due to numerous uninhabited warehouses. Along the line of high mountains to the west ran the Tea-Horse Road, the premier tea-producing region of Zhongyuan. These were warehouses for tea leaves. And the Odokmun headquarters—indeed, it was large. Enclosed like a fortress by high walls, akin to a castle amidst the city. A main gate to the south with small doors along other parts of the wall, noting locations. Among them, there were two doors seemingly fit for receiving deliveries. Though side entrances for servants, the doors boasted swinging panels wide enough for carts to pass through. Scoping out the delivery personnel was next on the agenda. Rather than arousing suspicion by asking around, risk alerting the Blood Cult, Qing decided to take refuge at a nearby tea shop to bide her time. The plan was to discreetly follow the supplier and identify them accordingly. --- **New Terms:** - *Geumpyung Prefecture (금평현)*: Translated as "Geumpyung Prefecture," retaining its phonetic sound. Alternative could be "Gold Peace County." - *Tea-Horse Road (차마고도)*: Kept as "Tea-Horse Road," a historical trade route name preserved in its recognizable form. Alternate is "Chamagodo." - *White Plague (백족 두창)*: Rendered as “white plague,” reflecting historical plagues or epidemics. Alternate translations could include "smallpox." No additional puns or affiliations were explicitly revealed requiring insight or adjustments to existing character affiliations or transliterations. “Hey there, proprietor? Give me all types of snacks you have, please.” "Pardon?" "Quickly." How long had it been since Qing, sipping tea, began nibbling on the snacks? Having decided to substitute lunch with snacks, the anxious owner of the tea shop began beaming with a smile once Qing made a partial payment. In the midst of this, across the way at a small eatery—known as a place to cheaply fill your stomach in Zhongyuan—something caught Qing's attention. An employee lugged out a huge basin, then dumped it into a massive bin set by the alleyway beside the shop. Nostalgia suddenly surged within Qing, recalling past memories. Yes, after mealtime, food waste, known in technical military terms as 'scraps,' would routinely be tossed into the bins by the shops. This served as meals for beggars. Of course, it was nothing more than a distant dream for those plagued by the epidemic. If a plague-ridden beggar touched the scraps, it would defile the entire bin, or so they said. Even mere glances warranted beatings. Yet, with a stroke of luck, timing was everything. If no other beggars were around, they could hastily scoop up a large portion and escape. It spared them from filling their bellies with bugs or tree bark, as back then, the food scraps were a source of immense joy. Then, Qing noticed a young beggar running gleefully toward the bin, joyfully scooping up heaps with an old sack. Yes, just like that. How happy that was. That's when it happened. "Hey, hey! Look at that plague-ridden brat!" Huh? Startled, the young beggar nearly leapt in fright and quickly dashed away— Thud! The fleeing young beggar tripped over someone's foot and tumbled hard onto the ground. Judging by the attire of the one who had tripped him, it was clear. Usually, those picking fights with beggars are other beggars. Though this one carried a sturdy club in hand. “You plague-ridden rat, daring to touch the elders’ meal again? Didn’t I say you'd be beaten half to death if you got caught again? Ha, you really don’t take to words, do you? You’re done for today.” Qing's eyebrow twitched at the scene. The nerve of that bastard, prattling like that? Somehow, it felt too relatable, stirring something deeply immersive within. --- **New Terms:** - *Geumpyung Prefecture (금평현)*: Previously translated as "Geumpyung Prefecture," remains consistent. - *Food Waste (짬)*: Translated and contextualized as "food waste" or "scraps," staying true to the narrative setting. - *Plague-ridden (역병귀)*: Rendered literally as "plague-ridden," referring to individuals afflicted by epidemics. These translations aim to maintain consistency with the already established narrative and contextual importance, reflecting on societal attitudes towards epidemics, and the harsh realities faced by beggars at that time.