I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 224: Dormant Dragon Martial Contest (6)

Now that the Murim Tournament had officially begun, the members of the Half-Sword, Double-Blade Society began drifting back toward Wucheon Pavilion one by one.

Qing had been named the founding president, though the whole group had formed without her knowing and the presidency was shoved onto her in a blur of confusion.

“But wait, if it’s the Half-Sword, Double-Blade Society, isn’t that just a Sword Society? Why is it worded like the sword is making concessions to the blade?”

“Well, when outsiders hear it, they’ll probably assume the sword comes first. We figured it was too embarrassing to explain, so we agreed to just let 'half-sword' come first and leave it at that.”

“What? You’re saying ‘Half-Sword, Double-Blade Society’ is embarrassing?”

The members all nodded solemnly.

The name had been born out of a heated spat where they’d made fun of each other’s weapons, so of course it was embarrassing. Really, insulting someone else’s weapon was childish even by martial artist standards.

In any case, the Murim Tournament wasn’t all that exciting for Qing’s friends.

The society was full of people who had no reason to be there: the "Most Handsome Man in the World" (with no friends), the withdrawn sword fanatic Paeng Choryeo (also friendless), the sword freak Geomchi who would rather swing a blade than waste time spectating (sword-only, no friends), and Gongson Yoyeh who simply had no friends at all. Not to mention Tang Nanah, who had no friends and a temper like a hornet’s nest.

Thinking about it, Qing realized one thing: every single one of them had some sort of issue that explained why they had no friends.

Which meant, naturally, that their radiant, socially popular president—Qing herself—was destined to lead these lonely weirdos.

The only one she didn’t see much of was Jegal Ihyeon.

That was because he was a super extroverted muscle-head who loved being around people, poking into every nook and cranny to expand his "knowledge" (which really meant gathering gossip).

Still, they trained together, ate together, bathed separately, and even went out to enjoy the night scenery in a big group.

And just like that, four days flew by, and the round of thirty-two in the Hidden Dragon Martial Tournament finally arrived.

****

For the past four days, Qing had continued wearing the robe that felt like it was sewn together from blades.

By nighttime, her skin would be rubbed raw, red and swollen—but thanks to her inhuman durability, the flesh itself was never damaged.

Just as Cheon Yuhak had said, once she got used to it, the pain stopped bothering her. So this is what people meant when they said you get used to things.

The total amount of pain didn’t decrease—same as always—but she’d gotten so used to it that it now felt almost refreshing.

Like the weird satisfaction of scratching mosquito bites into the shape of Chinese characters like 口, 十, or 田... or the blissful, almost bladder-twitching relief of gently picking at a healing scab.

But for the actual match, she had to wear the uniform of the Divine Maiden Sect to show her affiliation.

So Qing tried it on without any sleeves underneath—and immediately drew her conclusion.

Holy shit, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.

She’d been hoping she might’ve gotten used to it by now, but after days in that rough, sandpaper-like fabric, the soft, smooth, whispery touch of the silk robe was /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ utterly intolerable.

Still, she didn’t make the same miserable face she had before.

She was already overcoming the pain of rough fabric. Eventually, she could adapt to soft clothing too—it would just take time.

In the end, she wrapped her arms and legs in sleeve guards, cinched her waist tight with a broad sash, and pulled the robe flush to her body.

And wow—what a nightmare.

It was like wearing gloves on her whole body: suffocating and claustrophobic.

She couldn’t feel the wind wrapping around her like it always did, and it made her want to gasp for air.

But what else could she do?

She just had to get used to it—quickly. She renewed her resolve once again.

The Hidden Dragon Martial Tournament had become a storm of upsets.

The ronin—more properly called "unaffiliated martial artists"—weren’t just winning, they were rampaging.

Of the unaffiliated fighters who made it past the preliminaries, thirteen had no official sect. Ten of those thirteen had now made it into the top thirty-two—ten out of thirty-two finalists.

As a result, more than a few spectators had lost everything, doubling down out of anger and even taking out loans to place bigger bets, only to fall into crushing debt.

But the match-betting business was legal under national law and licensed by the Murim Alliance—so any losses were the fault of the greedy fools who tried to get rich quick.

Besides, everything was transparently distributed down to the last jeon. For every person crying tears of blood, someone else walked away with a fortune.

And the upsets kept coming.

In the bracket ahead of Qing’s, three more unaffiliated martial artists advanced to the top sixteen.

That included Ma So-hyeop, who used Earth Palm; Wang So-hyeop, who fought with a chair; and... some other guy or whatever. Who cared.

Qing scowled as she watched.

Seriously, what the hell did they do in just four days to get worse?

Compared to four days ago, the evil karma of the unaffiliated fighters had increased by roughly thirty points each.

There was no way they all just happened to do evil acts on their own and end up with such similar karma scores. They had to be doing something together.

And yet, there hadn’t been any rumors. Besides, this was Kaifeng, a city crawling with masters of the highest level—top of the top of the top—so causing a ruckus should’ve been impossible.

By the time Qing moved to the waiting room, she was met with a loud, aggressive huff.

She responded casually.

“Yes, I’ve been doing well. And you, Lady Moyong?”

“Hmph. Don’t pretend we’re close.”

Still, at least she wasn’t picking a fight.

Qing figured her advice must have finally sunk in—if you keep obsessing over someone else’s size, it’ll only remind everyone what you don’t have.

Then, with a sullen turn of her head, Moyong Juhee flashed a wicked little grin.

“Well, Lady Ximen, if you win your next match, you’ll be facing me. Don’t go losing to some rando—make sure you get through so we can fight properly. And since there’s still bad blood between us, how about we place a little wager to spice things up?”

“Moyong Sojeo, I have no bad blood left. As the saying goes, it’s only the one who got hit who lies awake at night.”

“...?”

Moyong Juhee blinked in confusion.

Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

That odd saying—“The one who hits sleeps soundly, the one who gets hit tosses and turns”—made no sense to Qing.

In truth, the person who hits usually forgets it quickly and moves on. It’s the one who got hit that lies awake fuming.

“Ha. Well I haven’t forgotten. So let’s make a bet. If you lose, take off your veil and show your face to the whole audience.”

“Hm. And why would I do that?”

“What? Are you afraid you’re going to lose?”

Qing couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.

What a childish provocation.

“All right. If that’s what it takes to put your heart at ease, I’ll accept. Satisfied now?”

Qing had nothing to lose.

If she won, great. If—by some one-in-a-billion twist of fate involving a divine thunderbolt—she did lose, then showing her face was hardly the end of the world.

The other waiting competitors gave Moyong Juhee some very unimpressed looks.

“Oh come on! You always make me look like the villain—ugh! Just wait, I’ll crush that smug face of yours!”

Fuming, Moyong Juhee stormed out of the waiting room to go wait under the dueling stage instead.

Unfortunately, the fierce clash of pride between two stubborn women—with Qing’s veil on the line—was not meant to be.

After venting all her anger on Qing, Moyong Juhee went on to suffer a ridiculous defeat at the hands of an unaffiliated martial artist in the very next match of the top thirty-two.

Qing could only stare, utterly dumbfounded.

What the hell? She told me to come up, and then she’s the one who gets knocked down?

What is this? One of those so-called “honorable deaths” or something?

And then it was Qing’s turn.

Having already been through the tunnel once, she smoothly made her way down the familiar competitors’ path. With one graceful leap, she landed lightly on the duel stage again—and the crowd greeted her with a loud, chaotic roar.

—“It’s the Veiled Sword Bitch!”

—“Woo! Ugly hag! Take off the veil!”

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—“We’re betting on you this time, so don’t screw it up! If you’re gonna be ugly, you better at least be good with a sword!”

Thanks to her superhuman hearing, Qing caught a few of the clearer shouts. That was the general mood.

Hm. Should I just throw the match out of spite?

But what good would it do to fight the audience?

Qing just brushed it off and turned to face her opponent.

Ninety-six points of evil karma. Whoa. That’s cutting it close.

Just four more points and she’d have been eligible for a kill-on-sight.

Oblivious to Qing’s violent inner thoughts, her opponent politely offered a martial salute.

“Do Raeman of Simcheon. I’ve trained in the Danyang Blade Technique.”

“Ximen Qing of the Divine Maiden Sect. I use the Divine Maiden Sword and Moon Maiden Sword, among other odds and ends.”

Truthfully, Qing didn’t have a good option for what to use with her left hand in this match.

Sure, she could insist that whatever she used was fair game—but using Minor Evil Cultivation or the Black Slaying Demonic Palm openly would be pushing it, and Shadowless Divine Hand was supposed to be a secret.

The Tathagata Divine Palm had way too much destructive force—it was either reduced down to a gentle Tathagata flick or strong enough to explode someone’s torso. There was no in-between.

And she couldn’t dual-wield weapons either. Danyang Blade was still demonic-style, and if she brought out two swords, she’d lose for sure. Dual swordplay was completely off-limits.

Just look at Moyong Juhee, who issued a challenge just moments ago. She was famous for her dual-sword technique—and that limitation ended up being her downfall. If it weren’t for that, she might’ve faced Qing in the next round.

“My cultivation level’s not exactly low, so I’ll yield the first move. Please, go ahead.”

“I won’t decline your offer.”

Do Raeman gave a courteous nod of thanks—and charged forward.

Whoa! Fast!

In the blink of an eye, his blade surged toward her, dragged hard into position by explosive footwork.

Caught off guard, Qing reflexively used Iron Plate Bridge to collapse her knees. As she dropped into a horizontal position, the wide, bladeless back of the dao whistled savagely over her head.

While still low to the ground, Qing rolled backward, flipped twice, and landed back on her feet.

But he was already there again—close, pressing in—and this time, his raised blade glittered high above, ready to fall.

Qing stepped across the Nine Palace Directions, and in that instant her image multiplied into six and then disappeared completely—only to reappear behind Do Raeman, nine steps away, back turned.

From the Mok Pagoda at the front of the Kaifeng arena, the absolute masters of the Murim watching from above suddenly rose to their feet and shouted in unison—

“Wave-Treading Phantom Step!”

Qing couldn’t have cared less.

Ugh. He’s really fast.

Among all the martial artists she’d fought so far, this guy was definitely one of the top in terms of sheer speed. No—more accurately, one of the fastest blade-users she’d ever seen.

So this is what they mean when they say the rivers and lakes are vast...

Qing had definitely underestimated him for being unaffiliated. And the moment she gave him the first move, she’d nearly been humiliated.

As Qing turned quickly to reassess, Do Raeman—who had been flustered by losing sight of her—also found her again.

The signature trait of Wave-Treading Phantom Step was that it reappeared behind the enemy. It was perfect for evasive or retreat-based movement, but nothing more.

Do Raeman’s martial arts were straightforward—pure aggression.

His twin-handed blade strikes, fueled by speed, carved through the air in arcs that, even without a sharpened edge, looked strong enough to split a person in half.

But now Qing had his tempo.

His blindingly fast strikes came with precision targeting, but lacked flair. The attack paths were visible—predictable. That was the technique’s limit.

Still, even if you could see the trajectory, trying to block a hit of that power wasn’t easy. In terms of depth and force, his martial foundation was impressively solid.

But Qing was never the type to back down from strength with strength.

She grabbed her sword in both hands and swept it upward from the ground in a wide arc—

BOOM!

The steel rang out loud as it collided. Do Raeman was blasted into the air.

To be fair, in swordsmanship and blade techniques, there were very few moves that attacked upward from below.

That kind of upward motion—earth to sky—goes against the natural flow of movement and demands several times more strength.

But if you do have that strength, there’s no attack more devastating.

By the laws of force and counterforce, Qing grounded herself and absorbed the shock into the earth, while Do Raeman, having no base to stabilize, lost his balance and shot upward.

That was one move. She still had to give him ten, like Master told her.

And Qing would follow her master’s words to the letter—no matter what.

So she didn’t chase after the airborne target. She just let her sword hang calmly at her side.

Do Raeman landed with a solid thud and took two steps back to stabilize. Despite still being in the middle of a match, he raised his left hand in front of his solar plexus and gave her a respectful salute.

Qing blinked in confusion.

Huh? Why is he being so polite? Doesn’t seem like a bad guy...

But then why the high evil karma?

Do Raeman’s face had softened.

That last exchange had shown him the gap between their skill levels. And recognizing that she had purposely given him space to show his martial arts, he had cooled his fighting spirit.

Now he simply intended to show her everything he had.

And his blade technique changed.

Gone were the bursts of speed and rapid-fire slashes. Instead, his strikes planted firmly into the ground and came forth with heavy, deliberate force.

Still, there were occasional sudden bursts—half-step feints—that gave it a dangerously unpredictable rhythm.

But since Qing no longer looked down on him, she had no trouble adjusting.

And so, after ten exchanges, the eleventh began.

His blazing blade energy, burning with extreme yang, slashed through the air like sunlight and carved a sweeping arc.

And when it ended—

Qing’s sword edge was resting gently beneath Do Raeman’s chin.