I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 230: Even a Ronin Has the Loyalty of a Ronin (3)

As soon as Qing returned to Wucheon Pavilion, she frantically began changing out of her clothes.

Being wrapped head-to-toe in sleeves and sashes was unbearable.

It felt like she was locked in a steam-filled closet—or worse, stuffed into a thick mascot costume in the middle of summer.

She could barely breathe. The suffocation was real.

“Phew. Finally, I can breathe again.”

Now that the wind could slip right through her demon-silk robes, she finally felt alive.

At the same time, she could feel the air moving around her within a foot or so—she didn’t need to see it to sense it.

Having her senses freed after being so tightly wrapped up made the awareness hit even harder.

Ah... so this is what it feels like to see without your eyes.

They said that when you trained with open senses long enough, your ability to detect movement would expand.

Right now, she could only sense about a foot—maybe two inches more—but it wouldn’t stay that way forever.

Qing finally understood what Cheon Yuhak had meant when he said it was a trick.

It was a kind of physiological hack, really.

Ximen Surin’s training had focused on sharpening Qing’s instincts through real combat, solidifying her fighting style and pushing her toward the next realm.

But the transmission of mystical techniques—Shintu—was more about handing down something strange and supernatural.

If it had relied solely on slow, orthodox training, the whole line would’ve died out ages ago.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t really gained anything special from that mysterious Flow Insight yet, had she?

She’d originally agreed to the training just to learn that.

So far, all it had done was loosen up her joints.

Qing bent her wrist backward.

It now flexed slightly past 90 degrees, and her finger joints bent back smoothly, curving in a way they hadn’t before.

Sure, anyone could pull that off by forcing it with the other hand—but doing it with the muscles of just one hand?

That was something else.

Cheon Yuhak could bend his middle finger so far back the nail touched his forearm.

Qing, having only undergone the Bone-Penetration Torture twice, was still miles away from that.

She needed to finish her Oiled Flow Training soon, too.

Might as well. She had nothing better to do now.

And she’d already found a new “parasite” to suffer in her place anyway.

With that, Qing cheerfully begged her master to torture her.

“Master, when are we doing the Oiled Flow Training again? Can we do it tomorrow, please?”

Cheon Yuhak stared at her, dumbfounded.

Last time she’d asked about it, she’d been shaking, barely able to hide her dread—but determined nonetheless.

Now?

She sounded like she was whining for pocket money.

“You little psycho. You’re not even scared anymore? God, does it not hurt for you? Just thinking about when I went through it makes my knees go numb.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Let’s deal with the Sleepfire Pill problem first. What if that guy shows up while you’re still recovering? You gonna sit there sucking your thumb?”

“I just want it over with already...”

“Why the hell are you so damn impatient?”

Because she had to be.

She was nowhere near the peak realm yet, and without a clear path to it, she had no choice but to find other ways to catch up.

The Shintu training wasn’t so much “training” as it was a series of bizarre body-modification procedures.

She just wanted to get it over with, plain and simple.

“Master, come on. If we finish it early, it’s good for both of us. Right? Win-win!”

“You’re probably the first damn Shintu in history who’s ever begged to be tortured.”

Eventually, Cheon Yuhak grumbled something about how hard it was to make Shinyak Pill Poison, then leapt effortlessly over the wall.

And honestly, Qing did start to feel a little guilty.

At this rate, it really felt like she was just using him like a slave.

So she decided she’d help him with his decoctions tonight.

Claiming Cheon Yuhak’s mat for herself, she lay down and waited for him to come back.

Maybe an hour passed. She was just starting to feel drowsy when—

A rush of air.

Someone entered her one-foot detection radius.

“Well, look at this. Now you’re stealing your master’s seat? You really are a born thief. I raised one hell of a disciple.”

“Hehe. I was just waiting here to help you, Master. Did you already gather the ingredients?”

“Nope.”

Cheon Yuhak shook his head, then spoke again—his face serious.

“The smell of Trace-Seeking Incense is everywhere. Looks like the bastard’s finally shown himself.”

****

Out of the eight martial artists who’d made it to the quarterfinals, two were unaffiliated.

They were Chair-Wielder Wang Nopil and Ma Yeongjeon of Earth Palm Fist.

Honestly, by the round of sixteen, the orthodox fighters were already top-tier—handpicked and raised by prestigious sects.

They were on a completely different level from the rogue martial artists.

The only reason two unaffiliated warriors had made it to the top eight was sheer luck with the tournament brackets.

There’d been two matches between unaffiliated contestants, so two were guaranteed to advance no matter what.

Still, being among the eight most promising talents of this generation was a massive deal for them.

So, after the round of sixteen, the unaffiliated martial artists gathered for an impromptu afterparty.

To celebrate the victories—and console the ones who’d lost.

But that warm, festive mood had completely crashed the moment Wang Nopil and Ma Yeongjeon stepped outside to meet a visitor... and came face-to-face with the bastard who’d spiked the pills.

That was when Qing and Cheon Yuhak arrived at Jungjeong Noodle House—and the atmosphere was already thick with tension.

Qing clicked her tongue to herself at the sight.

Come on, if you’re gonna throw a party, at least pick a nice place.

This was some dingy little corner joint that couldn’t even fill half its tables.

A noodle house, not a tavern or a proper restaurant.

This was what unaffiliated fighters could afford.

Sure, it looked like they’d rented the place out, but still.

Qing decided to lighten the mood with some sarcasm.

“A party? And you didn’t invite me? What’s that about? Are we not tight anymore? Just gonna leave me out like that?”

“Oh, Miss Ximen. It’s just... well, the place is a little shabby...”

“Shabby? Please. It’s got a roof, someone cooking in the back, and you rented it out. That’s a palace, as far as I’m concerned. Anyway—congrats on making the quarterfinals, Wang So-hyeop, Ma So-hyeop.”

She poured them both a drink as she spoke.

The two, looking grim, still accepted the cups and downed them.

“I didn’t come just to drink. The Trace-Seeking Incense got triggered, so I came to check. You two saw {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} him, right? What did he say?”

“He left this.”

Wang Nopil offered another wooden box.

This one was carved with ornate red patterns—so flashy it screamed “valuable treasure.”

Qing opened it.

Another crimson pill.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. He gave you another Sleepfire Pill?”

“He said this one was an elixir,” Wang Nopil muttered. “It’s got side effects, but he claimed it would grant ten years’ worth of internal energy.”

“He gave you an elixir? As a gift? Without asking for money?”

Qing stared, disbelieving. “Just... handed you an elixir?”

She knew how rare elixirs were. Everyone in Murim did.

“He said something like, ‘Wouldn’t it be fun if a rogue martial artist won the tournament?’ Then asked me to reveal later that I got the elixir from a Shintu.”

“Click.”

Cheon Yuhak clicked his tongue sharply beside her.

“Well, at least the Trace-Seeking Incense stuck. Both of you, right?”

According to Cheon Yuhak, he had given each martial artist a slightly different type of incense.

Since the scent could rub off on the one applying it, they needed variations to figure out who the target was.

Now that the bastard had traces of two different incenses on him, the trap had worked beautifully.

“If Miss Ximen hadn’t warned us, we would’ve taken it without a second thought,” said Ma Yeongjeon. “But now it’s clear—this isn’t just some casual plot. What kind of man with nothing better to do goes around handing elixirs to rogue martial artists? I could understand the Sleepfire Pill, but this...”

The other warriors all nodded in agreement.

Qing clapped her hands.

“Well then. He just left, didn’t he? So wouldn’t right now be the exact moment he’s let his guard down? Before he sets up his next move... I say we strike tonight. What do you think?”

At her words, the warriors’ eyes turned sharp and bloodthirsty.

They weren’t pampered noble heirs or sect disciples—they were wild fighters used to seeing blood as part of daily life.

...Which was exactly why this wasn’t great. Were they about to go door-to-door bragging they were off to war?

So Qing lightened the mood with a grin.

“But hey—for now, just enjoy the afterparty. You all know how to drink, right? Because I’m buying everything tonight.”

****

Qing rarely spent money, so her coin pouch was overflowing.

Her friends reacted with sheer panic whenever she reached for it.

Pang Daesan and Namgung Shinjae believed, per Zhongyuan tradition, that letting a woman spend money was a man’s disgrace.

Tang Nanah thought Qing was some sort of beggar and treated her like one.

So tonight, she finally cracked it open.

Food from a real restaurant. Top-shelf alcohol. An endless flow of drinks and dishes. The mood lifted fast.

After a brief trip to the restroom, Qing returned to find Cheon Yuhak clicking his tongue again.

“What a dumbass plan. Seriously. I’ve heard some stupid ideas in my life, but just charging in like this?”

“What now?”

“You’ve already got the Trace-Seeking Incense on him. Just follow the scent for a few days, and you’ll find out who he is, what he’s up to—everything.”

“Yeah, sure. But when people get greedy, they get sloppy, right? If we want to shut this down together, we can’t leave them time to hesitate or make dumb decisions.”

If there was one thing Qing did take seriously, it was her own safety.

All her plans started with one unspoken rule: if it goes south, run.

They already knew the enemy’s location.

They had time to stake it out.

And yet—without confirming the guy’s real identity or power level, they were just gonna storm in?

Pretty dumb plan, honestly.

Even Sun Tzu became a legendary tactician just for pointing out one thing: “Know your enemy.”

And here she was, doing the opposite.

But Qing had a reason.

The truth was—if even one of these unaffiliated martial artists wandered off alone, there was a real chance they’d cave.

They could be tempted. They could betray them.

It wasn’t just the Sleepfire Pill anymore. No warrior could see an elixir and not feel temptation.

When greed takes hold, anything becomes possible.

If one person ran their mouth, suddenly all of them would be painted as scumbags who took human-pill elixirs.

So instead, she gathered everyone under one roof.

Labeled it an afterparty.

Watched them closely.

And planned to wrap it all up before anyone had the chance to get weak.

Cheon Yuhak clucked his tongue again.

“Still, we’re talking about rogue martial artists who barely know you. This has nothing to do with you, and they’re not gonna do anything for you in return. Why take the risk for them?”

If anyone was going to get wrecked tonight, it was the rogues who’d taken shady pills—not Qing.

So yes, he had every right to be irritated.

His disciple was risking her life for some nobodies, just to preserve their pride.

But Qing just giggled, flashing a touch of fake charm.

“Come on, you know me. I’ve always got an escape route. Didn’t you see my Flowing Wind Phantom Step? You said it yourself—if I really want to run, nobody can catch me. Not even you, right, Master?”

“Grgh.”

Cheon Yuhak opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again.

Because... she wasn’t wrong.

He still couldn’t believe how absurdly good she was at movement techniques.

In a short-range duel, he might trap her. But in a long-distance escape chase?

She was already the best in the world.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

So the party raged on, well into the night.

Only when the clock struck jeong of the Hour of the Rat—2 a.m.—did the rogue warriors begin clearing the alcohol from their systems.

Anyone at the first-tier level or higher could force out drunkenness with their inner energy.

But it was frowned upon.

People would scoff and say, “Why bother drinking if you’re just gonna flush it out?” So it had to be done discreetly.

There were more than twenty warriors gathered.

The sudden purge of drunkenness filled the air with vapor thick enough to fog the room.

Once they all sobered up, the air shifted.

Their eyes sharpened.

It was that silent intensity—the kind of resolve only rogue warriors had before a fight.

“Then... shall we?”

Wang Nopil stepped in with a grin.

“Miss Ximen. We can’t just leave like this, can we? Before a battle, we rogues need to hear a few bold words to fire us up. Would you do us the honor?”

“Oh, come on... that’s embarrassing...”

But a pre-battle speech was a serious tradition.

It defined who they were. United them. Fueled their determination against a shared enemy.

Qing scratched the back of her neck and started thinking.

“Well... They say a nang-in is someone who wanders alone like a wolf, right?

But wolves—real wolves—are actually known for loyalty and strong pack bonds.

And isn’t that exactly what we are? The kind of people who’d repay kindness with blood, even for a few coins?”

She sure had a way with words.

Only Qing could dress up “mercenaries for hire” like that.

This was her real specialty.

That wicked tongue. The mouth of hell itself.

“Hell yeah!”

“True!”

“Damn right!”

The rogue warriors roared in agreement.

“There’s a bastard over there treating us like trash. Like we’re just nobodies to be toyed with.

Like he’s doing us a favor by handing out pills like some fucking charity.

Are we just gonna let that slide? Huh?

No!

We’re gonna deal with him the way we deal with things—the nang-in way.

Why? Because we’re nang-in.”

“Because we’re nang-in!”

“Loyalty and the blade. That’s what being a nang-in means.”

“LOYALTY!”

“THE BLADE!”

“NANG-IN!”

They’d completely fallen for it.

None of them had ever heard a speech that lit a fire in their hearts like this.

Qing’s words even made them feel proud of their life as rogues.

Seeing their morale ignite, Qing finished it off with one final strike:

“Let’s go.

Let’s carve the meaning of nang-in loyalty into that bastard with our blades.”