I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 286: Transcendent Qing (23)

A sneak attack no one had expected.

And yet despite the surprise, the stronghold master had been killed in a single blow.

It wasn’t just the ambush—it was the brutality, the unrelenting precision, the sheer viciousness of her hand that stunned the crowd.

Silence dropped over the scene. The roar of the rain, long muted, suddenly rang loud in the quiet—until someone’s panicked shout shattered it.

“Shit! The young master!”

Oh? Look at that.

First thing they worry about is the young master.

Qing’s head snapped toward him.

Her gaze was murderous.

The man who’d shouted realized his mistake immediately.

If you’re guarding someone important, your first move should always be to extract them—quietly, discreetly—before doing anything else. Neutralizing threats comes second.

But this was still the Green Forest. No matter the rank or cultivation, bandits knew how to take. Not how to protect.

“Wait! I am the head officer of the Black Wind Three Severances!”

“I didn’t ask.”

Qing shot forward again, her body a streak of motion.

Her broadsword—Infernal Hell-Slaying Blade—swung in a wide arc, but the man’s hand axe caught the edge with a loud clang.

If you wanted to block Qing’s sword at full charge, you needed to wield Qi. At the very least. And this guy—this so-called officer—did.

BOOM! The clash rang out like thunder.

Qing roared.

“What, does every mangy dog have sword Qi these days?!”

“Wait, wait! Hold on!”

“If you’re gonna start spouting bullshit about talking things out—”

Qing’s foot lashed out. There was nothing quite like the feel of a shinbone cracking under your toes.

But the officer had seen it coming.

He awkwardly splayed his legs wide, and Qing’s foot just barely missed the mark.

She didn’t care.

“Too late!”

Her knee rose sharply as she jumped, aiming for his chin.

He flung himself backward, falling flat to the ground in a clumsy evasion.

“Missed your chance!”

Qing’s leg snapped straight in midair, her body lengthening—legs fully extended in a moment of terrifying grace. Then she came crashing down like a falling meteor.

The officer panicked and rolled, all pride forgotten, scrambling away with every ounce of survival instinct he had.

BOOM!!

A wave of black demonic Qi burst outward from the impact, swirling in a spiral before vanishing into the wind.

Heavenly Demon’s Sovereign Step, Second Movement.

Each step commands the storm.

Frenzied Wind on Advance.

“Kh—!”

The officer groaned from the ground.

He’d barely avoided being flattened, but the force had still struck him through the floor, rattling his bones and splitting his Qi shield.

But there was no time to scream.

A human has two feet so one can move while the other braces.

“You roll well!”

Qing yanked him forward by the knee.

It looked ridiculous—but the pain wasn’t funny. He’d learned that the hard way.

Another crack! as he tumbled away.

The officer scrambled up in a panic.

“Wait! Please! The young master, he—!”

“I don’t care.”

Qing wasn’t listening anymore.

Why should she?

Who gave a damn which clan’s precious brat he was?

It wasn’t like she wasn’t someone’s precious daughter, too.

And what—was he a prince?

Qing’s broadsword surged with Qi. Each motion—slash, stab, sweep—flowed into the next. Her strikes looked rough and erratic, but not a single opening could be found. Her style was strange, but airtight.

“Damn, you fight well for a guy who ended up a bandit. Or is that it? Born a mutt, can’t help doing mutt shit?”

“Dammit! Why are you all just standing there? Get the young master to safety!”

“Shut up!”

Qing’s swollen right hand extended smoothly—

BANG!

A strike from her Transcendent Tathāgata Palm landed square on the young master’s shin.

Blood exploded as the bone cracked in two. White splinters poked out the back of his leg.

“AAAAAAGH!”

The brat collapsed, screaming, as the bandits finally moved—some rushing to carry him off, others charging at Qing.

Ah. Wait. What about Miss Seol?

Qing’s eyes darted around—and caught a flash of silver hair vanishing out the door.

Wow. She really didn’t even look back.

Actually... that’s better.

Trying to help and getting caught would’ve just made her a burden. If she got slashed in the chaos, that’d be a tragedy.

“RAAAAGH!” Qing shouted, heaving the broadsword overhand.

It spun through the air like a buzzsaw.

It landed right in a bandit’s shoulder, cut through to the spine, and embedded itself mid-back.

The bandit dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. The young master, clinging beside him, went tumbling too.

Then—a burst of wind from behind.

Qing didn’t need to see it. Her Awakened Core Technique let her feel the space around her. She twisted aside, caught the ambusher’s wrist, and snapped it like dry bamboo.

Another scream. Another weaponized body.

Qing grabbed him by the collar and belt, spun him in a wide arc, and launched him at the incoming crowd. The bandits stumbled, weapons raised but unable to strike.

The moment they hesitated, she lunged in.

Moonlight Sword.

With a [N O V E L I G H T] blade in hand and enemies all around, Qing moved like a fish back in water.

One clean swing—off with a head. Another—off with limbs.

If a strike didn’t kill in one blow, it meant the Qi had faltered, and she'd need to ask her inner energy what the hell was going on.

She barely had time to enjoy it before she spotted someone trying to drag the young master away again.

BANG! Another Tathāgata Palm—blood spewed from the thief’s mouth as he crumpled.

And again, the brat beside him rolled across the floor.

His leg—still flopping, bone exposed—must’ve hit something. His scream this time came from the depths of hell itself.

“Wait! Stop! That boy is the heir to—!”

“Too much information! Don’t care!”

Even as she snapped back, Qing was multitasking like mad. She had to keep intercepting the officer’s little schemes, always trying to blurt out the young master’s identity.

It was exhausting. If she had three bodies, she might have kept up.

Of course, with three bodies, her fun would be divided by three—so no, thank you.

The officer was losing his mind.

He should’ve left earlier.

But he’d stayed. Tempted by the promise of not one, but two jaw-dropping beauties arriving.

It had been raining. He’d been feeling lonely. And horny. freewebnσvel.cѳm

Can’t really blame a man for following his dick.

But where the hell had a monster like this woman come from?

Same cultivation level—but worlds apart.

The answer was simple.

Raw strength.

If two people could wield Qi, the one who’s faster, stronger, and more precise wins.

By that standard, Qing was already the strongest among peak-stage martial artists.

Overwhelming force brings speed, brings light. The stupid idea that strength lowers agility or accuracy? That was just something weak people told themselves.

The officer gritted his teeth.

A bandit’s greatest virtue was knowing when to run—but he had nowhere to run to.

If he died here, he died.

If he failed to protect the young master, he'd die worse—a drawn-out execution full of pain and shame.

“Fuck it! KILL HER! Everyone! Do you want to die by my hand instead?!”

He charged, sword glowing with deep-blue Qi, and the others followed—swords, axes, blades raining down from all sides.

Qing’s eyes lit up.

She stepped forward—one step, then another. She crouched, blade drawn in tight.

WHUMP! THUNK! SMACK!

Her back, shoulders, and sides lit up with sharp, stinging blows—like fire across her skin.

But she held fast.

That kind of garbage attack? Her bones and muscles were far too dense, too solid, to give way.

And besides, she had the Bodyguard Qi she’d trained while naked, chanting sutras like some perverted maniac at the Divine Maiden Sect.

The blade shot forward—

Straight through the officer’s chest.

“Kh-hh...”

Qing’s lips curled into a sadistic smile.

Moonlight Sword (Model 8) spun once clockwise, once counterclockwise, inside his body.

SPURT! Blood poured from his mouth in long, red ropes.

He looked like he was dying in agony.

Qing’s heart bloomed like a field of rapeseed in spring.

And yet...

Huh. That’s weird.

She felt happy, yes—but not ecstatic.

Usually by now, after so much blood and bone, there’d be that deeper hunger clawing its way up from her gut. That thirst for more. That urge to go crueler, go harder.

But now?

Now it just felt... fun.

Which—hey, fun is good.

Food just has to taste good. Killing just has to feel good.

At that moment, down in Qing’s Dantian, her Daoist and Buddhist Qi streams gave each other a high five, bursting into laughter as her Joyous Qi spun around them waving streamers and cheering like a drunken uncle.

Overhead, the Heavenly Killer Star looked down and smiled fondly.

Even the Grotesque Demonic Qi was grinning—until Joyous Qi, high on fun, suddenly dive-bombed him in midair, tackling him with a "Kyaa~!" like a giggling child.

Meanwhile, the moment the real fighting started, Seol Iri had turned her back and run.

But it wasn’t retreat. It wasn’t desertion. And it certainly wasn’t some tactical thing like a “reverse assault maneuver.”

No. She was simply obeying the most basic principle of warfare—

Find a more favorable battlefield.

Cold Qi techniques like hers were widely seen as... underwhelming.

Too hot, and they lost potency.

Too cold, and people were already bundled up.

In winter, everyone wore fur, padded cotton, and thick robes. Hard to freeze someone like that.

Most cold Qi users agreed—summer was better. At least then you could freeze skin through light clothing.

But the ideal time? When it rained.

More specifically—when the enemy was soaked.

In winter, even rain didn’t always soak through.

But in a summer downpour like this, Qing’s enemies were drenched to the bone.

And in soaked cloth, Great Yin Jade Maiden Divine Art could finally shine.

So when the bandits chased the “fleeing” beauty and she stopped—spun—stood atop a rooftop in the pouring rain—and raised her arms—

And when the twin Ice Dragons unfurled from her shoulders with a crrrk-crrrk of crackling frost—

The bandits realized, too late:

Ah. This might’ve been a mistake.

But mistake or not, Seol Iri turned back toward them.

This time, she charged.

A bandit swung his axe in panic—but she stopped just short, her feet gliding over the slick ground.

She extended her right arm.

The dragon of ice coiled down it—and bit.

“AAAAARGH! Wha—?”

The bandit screamed. But then—confused.

It didn’t hurt.

In fact, it felt cold... then hot... then something in between.

Then—

CRACK!

Seol Iri’s palm chopped down.

Shatter Ice Strike, technique of the Northern Ice Palace.

The arm, half-frozen, exploded into chunks—pale crimson ice shards flying everywhere. Exposed bone gleamed beneath the wreckage.

“AAAA—GHHHkk.”

This time, his scream didn’t finish.

Because the blade pierced through the back of his neck—thin, transparent, jagged like icicle glass—and withdrew again.

A slim ice sword, barely wider than a finger, had appeared in Seol Iri’s hand.

The coiling ice dragon wound back around her arm.

Glacial Hundred-Fold Palm.

Ice Spirit Phantom Blade.

The true terror of the North had arrived.