I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 287: Transcendent Qing (24)

The Great Hero Bak Sal, Officer of the Black Wind Three Severances.

At the level of Transcendent Tathāgata, their nicknames were well-known across Murim. These weren't the kind of warriors who'd hole up in some backwater stronghold.

But Gam Mountain Stronghold was no backwater.

It was an inland base of operations for Green Forest.

A waterway flowed both above and below Gam Mountain, making it an unlikely pass-through point for merchant routes.

And even if you raised hell in Henan, you'd just end up surrounded—Shaolin to the east, Huashan Sect to the west.

So from the beginning, Gam Mountain Stronghold wasn't built for banditry and robbery like most mountain lairs.

Instead, it sat at the heart of the realm—western Henan.

At the point where the mountain ranges extended out, stretching north, west, and south into Shanxi, Shaanxi, and western Hubei.

That made it a crucial waypoint connecting Green Forest Headquarters to the west—used by reserve troops on rotation, patrols, and dispatched agents.

It didn’t host enough bandit activity to count among the Eighteen Direct Branches, but it couldn’t be left unmanned either. So it was numbered and treated as a mid-tier outpost.

And when someone of Transcendent caliber ran the place, even as a branch, it was clear this was no ordinary den.

But Qing had neither the talent nor the interest for piecing together clues into some high-level deduction.

How the hell should I know?

I showed up and—bam! Two Transcendents?

Just how many of those bastards are crawling around these days?

Truthfully, Transcendents were becoming rather common.

In any moderately sized city, there’d be at least one camped out.

If you had decent techniques, trained diligently, and didn’t die young, it was a level you could realistically hit before croaking.

Kind of the realistic peak for untalented, unconnected, non-divine martial artists.

Because the overall standard of martial arts was always rising—it always curved upward with time.

Maybe someday, in a society as developed as Qing’s hometown, they’d hit Transcendent tier during high school and move on to college.

Anyway, once their sky-high master started dropping like flies, the bandits' morale didn’t just plummet—it punched through the floor.

Above all, the suicidal attacks—where the girl just kept stabbing even while getting beaten—had already shattered their will to fight.

I mean, if someone skewered by sabers and chopped with axes just stood there grinning, the bandits stopped seeing her as a human being.

“A m-m-monster...!”

The monster had arrived.

Qing giggled and drew the Moonlight Sword (Number 8).

As per her philosophy, the sword that went in had to come out a different way—

And now she could wield enough sword aura to carve a clean line vertically through a body—

The sword pierced the heart and exited through the crown of the head—

Whoa. That actually worked!

The horrifying sight of someone being cut vertically from the inside made the bandits shriek and bolt. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

“Where do you think you’re going!”

Hairpins flew, but the bandits scattered like cockroaches. Qing had only two hands, and her supply of hairpins was finite.

Tch. Consider yourselves lucky.

She hurried to clean up those who were struck down by the pins—

Crushing spines underfoot, boring holes in necks so blood would gush into the lungs, or slitting bellies to spill their insides.

The goal wasn’t instant death, but pain—prolonged and fatal.

By Qing’s standards, this was mercy. It was fun, sure, but it didn’t get her heart racing or light up her nerves.

Weird. I feel sharp and focused, which is nice, but...

And so Qing finally approached the Young Master, who was crawling on the ground.

Tak, tak.

Somehow her footsteps echoed on the dirt, no matter how compacted it was.

The Young Master, hearing them, desperately tried to crawl away.

Qing followed, tak... tak, slow and leisurely.

“Hmm. Young Master? You plan to keep running?”

“D-do you know who I am?!”

“No idea.”

“I am—”

“Shh. If I hear that, I’ll have no choice but to take a deep breath, consider the greater good, and kill you with tears in my eyes. Are you really sure you want to spill it?”

“H-h-have mercy! What do you want?! I’ll give you wealth, women, everything—just spare me—”

“Hmm. How about you start with basic manners? What’s with the sass from someone the size of a damn acorn? Don’t you get what situation you’re in? You should be groveling with all you’ve got.”

“P-please spare me!”

“Keep crawling, then. Let’s see how far you make it. If I’m impressed, I’ll consider it.”

The Young Master clawed at the dirt in desperation.

Qing followed, tak... tak.

He crawled into what might’ve been a stable or covered rest hut, but eventually dragged himself out from under the roof.

Rain poured down in sheets, instantly soaking him.

His exposed calf, down to the bone, oozed bright red blood into the muddy water.

And there—

“Ugh.”

Qing scowled deeply.

She’d spotted Seol Iri, being dragged along by her hair.

.

.

.

In the past, the Heavenly Martial Emperor wandered all of Murim to perfect the Lone Heaven Sword.

That journey had taken him to Binggung as well—

And upon witnessing the supreme divine art of Northern Sea Binggung, he had only this to say:

“Pretty trash.”

In the rain, its power was at its peak—

But the extreme cold of the Glacial Hundred-Fold Palm caused frostbite injuries and left severe lasting damage.

Not just "bad."

So severe, in fact, that healing took at least half a year,

And if you didn’t treat the freezing fast enough, the flesh would rot—

Limbs would have to be amputated. Permanent. Ugly. Devastating.

But still, just because the flesh froze didn’t mean the enemy was immediately incapacitated.

Western medicine even said that, in life-or-death combat, the body naturally flooded itself with adrenaline—

The ultimate combat stimulant.

It dulled pain, sped up the heart, and fired up the body’s reflexes.

It could cripple someone after the fight, but during the fight? It lacked killing power.

From Qing’s hometown standards, it was the worst of both worlds—

Useless as an ally, disgusting as an enemy.

At first, the bandits had flinched under the twin ice dragons conjured by the Glacial Hundred-Fold Palm.

But after taking a few hits—wait, what? This is kinda... crisp and refreshing?

Is this... all?

On top of that, a ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) Transcendent-level master—the fan-wielding leader—stood firm in place.

“It’s all flash. You won’t die if you get hit! Young Master wants her alive, so don’t leave sword wounds. Just subdue her!”

That Young Master, by the way, was currently crawling across the dirt.

But because Qing had prioritized throwing hairpins at the ones fleeing in his direction,

All routes for a regrouping charge were already shut down.

So word of the stronghold’s fall hadn’t even reached them.

That gave the bandits new courage—

They surged forward all at once.

Seol Iri slipped and dodged with the footwork of the Northern Sea—

But then came a solid thwack! across her back from a long staff. She staggered.

And then came kicks, staff ends, axe handles—blows from all directions, like a rain of requests for death.

And so, one of the Five Beauties of Murim, reduced to rags, was being dragged back through the mud by her hair.

“Y-Young Master!”

Qing moved quickly, tak-tak, grabbing the Young Master by the hair and yanking him upright.

Hair for hair. A kind of mirror treatment.

And the Young Master, of all people, started flailing.

Qing crushed his pathetic resistance with one hand—

The arm went limp from the middle, drooping like a willow branch.

Kinda funny, actually.

Oh, looks like a praying mantis.

Then Qing shouted loud and clear:

“Let go of Miss Seol! Or the Young Master loses his head!”

The fan master blinked, stunned.

Hostage tactics were a specialty of bandits.

And yet, she’d let the initiative slip.

As a bandit, that was downright humiliating.

“Y-you bitch! If you so much as lay a finger on the Young Master, this bitch’s life is forfeit!”

“Ah! No—don’t!”

“Keh keh keh... Surrender the Young Master, drop your weapons, and kneel on the ground! Or else—wait, what are you—?!”

The fan master flinched in horror.

Well, when you see a woman snap off a man's finger and toss it like trash right before your eyes, what else can you do but panic?

“Here, I’ve returned one finger to you. Now, will you kindly give back Miss Seol? Is one finger not enough? Then let me add another—”

“Stop! Stop it! I said stop!”

“Ah, you should’ve said so earlier. There are only ten, you know. Can’t be wasting them. Still, since I’ve gone through the trouble of separating them, I’ll be generous. Here, one more, free of charge.”

A severed finger traced a perfect arc through the air and dropped at the fan master’s feet.

And with flawless accuracy, it landed beside the first one in a rain puddle now streaked with blood. Two pale fingers sat side by side in the red-smeared water.

“Young Master, I don’t think you matter much to them. I mean, they’re letting a hostage negotiation spiral like this. I was thinking about letting you go if they showed the slightest will, but now? I guess I’ll have to kill you. You got anything to say?”

“Let me go! You sons of bitches, let me go already!”

“But, Young Master...!”

“Do what she says, all of it! Officer Hyukju and that Bak Sal bastard are both wrecked!”

Pfft. Qing couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

Bak Sal got smashed. Living up to the name, huh?

Or maybe I helped him fulfill it?

The shoulders of the bandits sank.

The stronghold leader and their elite fighters—beaten?

By that brat?

“Wow. Still not desperate enough, huh? Fine. I’ll be real generous today.”

As Qing reached for another finger, the Young Master screamed and convulsed even though she hadn’t plucked it yet.

The fan master shouted in sheer panic:

“Enough! Enough! We’ll let her go! We’ll let her go, just stop! Please!”

“Okay. Send Miss Seol over.”

“Simultaneously, we’ll exchange, I mean return the hostage at the same—uh—same time...”

The poor bastard couldn’t even speak straight trying to force himself into polite formality.

Qing nodded.

“Fair enough. Mutual trust is key in hostage exchanges. Not that there’s any between us, right? Okay, let’s do it this way.”

“How... what way?”

“Each time I count, I’ll remove one finger and send it over. Once I’m done with those, I’ll start sending parts of the palm, wrist, and forearm. You can patch him back together later. I’ll keep counting until Miss Seol is back in my arms, okay?”

“Let him go! Give him back! Aaargh!”

“One.”

Another finger flew.

And in that moment, the fan master finally grasped the truth.

Oh shit. She’s completely deranged.

A rare, razor-sharp insight not often found in a bandit.

Had Qing known, she might’ve declared him the most intelligent among them all.

“Stop! Stop! Here! I’ve let her go! I said I let her go!”

Qing’s revolutionary take on hostage negotiation had worked beautifully.

She felt pretty pleased with herself.

Huh. Am I... talented at hostage situations, too?

“Alright. I won’t keep counting sneakily until she’s safe in my arms. Miss Seol? Are you alright? Can you come over?”

Seol Iri collapsed into the mud with a wet splat.

She tried to lift herself, but kept slipping, crashing into the ground over and over—

Eventually, realizing it was hopeless, she dropped to all fours and began crawling, staggering and toppling along the way.

Qing strode forward and pulled Seol Iri into her arms.

Look at this one. Runs away, then gets caught, and ends up like this.

Truly, utterly useless.

At least her face is intact.

If she’d messed that up, she’d have lost her only purpose in life.

“Well, can’t be helped. Take the Young Master with you.”

Cradling Seol Iri, Qing turned and walked back under the shelter.

She gently laid Seol down beneath the roof.

“Miss Seol? Stay here for a moment, alright? Hm... Do you want revenge? Should I catch a few of them alive for you?”

“Yes... please. If you would.”

It was a request. From Seol Iri!

The same Seol Iri who, when lacking food, simply didn’t eat;

When lacking shelter, just slept in the rain.

And now she was asking for something. That meant she was truly angry. Her hatred had sunk deep.

Yeah. A martial artist has to be ruthless.

Turns out she’s got something going for her besides her face. Who’d have thought.

Qing dashed back out.

Thankfully, they were still there.

You could call them stupid for not running right away,

But considering the Young Master’s condition—

His calf showed bare bone, both arms dangled limp from the elbows, and three fingers were missing.

He was bleeding steadily, his face pale.

The fan master had been too busy stopping the bleeding, ordering his men to make a stretcher, scrambling to handle the aftermath.

And most of all, they hadn’t expected Qing to come back.

After returning the hostage, it was an unspoken rule in Jianghu that no further action would be taken.

A kind of common-sense armistice—let them leave in peace.

But Qing had no common sense.

To be precise—she had zero common sense.

And so, when she returned—she yelled at the top of her lungs, face twisted in rage:

“You dare turn Miss Seol into a ragged mess?! She was already useless to begin with! Now you’ve made her a patient I have to care for, even though she’s useless! Absolutely unforgivable!”