I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch

Qing received more than just a new title. She also received a badge.

A blue armband embroidered with the character for “Captain,” marking her as a squad leader in the Heavenly Martial Division.

The Yongbong Gathering wasn’t just a social club for the next generation of righteous sect leaders. It was also a fully structured combat unit under the Murim Alliance.

Thus, the rising stars of the orthodox martial world were assigned to either the Heavenly Martial Division or the Earthly Dragon Division, the Murim Alliance’s reserve combat units.

Officially, both units were described as equal in status and function, entirely independent of each other.

However, in practice, the exceptional talents with backing from the Nine Great Sects or the Ten Great Clans were placed in the Heavenly Martial Division.

The rest? Dumped into the Earthly Dragon Division.

Of course, the Murim Alliance swore that the assignments were based solely on training needs, not background or connections.

According to them, those who already had a solid martial foundation and needed no further instruction from outside masters were placed in the Heavenly Martial Division.

Meanwhile, the Earthly Dragon Division provided tailored guidance and advanced martial techniques to those who still required refinement.

At least, that was the official line.

Perhaps that was the original intent.

But the reality was that most young martial artists—brash and hot-blooded as they were—didn’t see it that way.

Heavenly Martial Division members saw themselves as hostages of the Murim Alliance, kept on a short leash to control the heirs of the elite sects and clans.

Their unspoken motto was to avoid attending Heavenly Martial Division activities whenever possible. Any mission they could dodge, they dodged.

On the other hand, the Earthly Dragon Division members were practically tripping over each other to join the Heavenly Martial Division.

If a mission came down the pipeline, they scrambled to volunteer, each hoping to claw their way up to the ranks of the Heavenly Martial Division.

Despite its prestigious reputation, Qing wasn’t particularly thrilled about joining the Heavenly Martial Division.

A combat unit, no matter how they dressed it up with a fancy name, was still just a military unit.

And as a pretty girl who’d already served her time in the military, Qing knew one thing for sure: combat units always had cool-sounding names.

It was a way to boost morale and a sense of unity.

But no matter how well they dressed it up, an army was still an army.

And Qing had no intention of going through that twice.

"Master, do I really have to participate in this Heavenly Martial... whatever it is?" Qing asked.

"It’s not as serious as you think," Seomun Surin said reassuringly. "What does the Murim Alliance have to gain by trying to order around the heirs of prestigious sects?

Unless a major catastrophe breaks out, they won’t force you to take on any missions."

After all, just look at the other members of the Rebel Twin Swords Association. Peng Daesan and Namgung Sinjae were both members of the Heavenly Martial Division.

The heirs to two of the Five Great Clans were right there.

If the Murim Alliance dared to assign them a dangerous mission and they got hurt, they’d never hear the end of it from the clans.

Thus, most missions handed down were mundane tasks like "escort this person safely" or "attend this banquet and sign the guest book with the Murim Alliance seal."

In short, it was more about escorting privileged brats on their jaunts around the martial world than actual combat.

"Hmm. Still..." Qing hesitated.

"But you already won the Dormant Dragon Martial Contest, didn’t you?

For the sake of the Murim Alliance’s face, you should at least play along for a while," Seomun Surin said.

The truth was, a disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect typically wouldn’t be qualified to join the Heavenly Martial Division.

The Divine Maiden Sect was regarded as little more than a reclusive, mysterious sect composed solely of women.

If asked to name a single martial art from the sect, most people would draw a blank.

Even now, the Divine Maiden Sect wasn’t considered a proper martial faction.

Seomun Surin was the only one recognized for her martial prowess; the sect itself had no reputation to speak of.

However, with Ximen Qing’s rise as the next transcendent-level martial artist, the situation was poised to change.

A sect’s reputation was based on the strength of its disciples.

If two transcendent-level martial artists emerged from the same sect, the world would have no choice but to acknowledge the Divine Maiden Sect as a legitimate power.

"So, if you could help out for a while, it would really mean a lot to me," Seomun Surin said gently. "But if you truly don’t want to, I won’t force you."

"Help out? Master, it’s my duty as your disciple," Qing said, her tone abruptly switching to obedient and agreeable.

After all, if she was traveling to visit the Absolute Sword Wall and wandering the martial world, who would know where she was to even assign her a mission?

Seomun Surin’s face brightened.

How did she get so lucky to have such a sweet and compliant disciple? It was as if all her good karma had been saved up for this moment.

These days, she couldn’t help but gloat to her old acquaintances from the orthodox sects, who were all clearly envious.

Qing wasn’t genuinely thrilled about it, but she wasn’t particularly against it either.

So she added with a casual smile:

"Besides, as long as there isn’t some major catastrophe in the martial world, they won’t forcibly summon me for a mission, right?"

****

If the orthodox Murim had the Murim Alliance, then the unorthodox world had its own coalition.

It was called the Martial Unorthodox Alliance of the Heavenly Demon Path.

Abbreviated as the Unorthodox Alliance.

It was an excessively grandiose name, but then again, unorthodox sects tended to be obsessed with appearances.

To the orthodox martial artists, they were no “Path of the Way.”

They were just the Unorthodox Scum. And the orthodox factions often pronounced it that way to mock them.

Currently, the leader of the Unorthodox Alliance was Bu Anpyeong, known as the Conquering General.

Ranked third among the Ten Great Martial Artists of the world, but Bu Anpyeong himself didn’t acknowledge that ranking.

Because in his mind, he was always the number one martial artist under heaven.

In the orthodox martial world, one concealed some of their strength.

But in the unorthodox world, one concealed almost everything.

Why? Because stabbing someone in the back was considered a virtue in the unorthodox world.

If news spread that someone had been betrayed and killed, people would sneer and say, "What an idiot. He trusted someone and got himself killed."

In such a cutthroat world, showing your true strength was just an invitation to get a knife in your back.

Thus, by the time rumors spread that Muak Dae-sa had reached the Mid Transcendent Level, Bu Anpyeong had already surpassed it and reached the High Transcendent Level.

Granted, the degree of concealment varied, but everyone hid their true strength to some extent.

While the orthodox world might hide a little, the unorthodox world buried everything.

Thus, when rumors circulated that Muak Dae-sa had broken through to the Mid Transcendent Level, it was safe to assume he’d already gone far beyond that.

Recently, Bu Anpyeong’s days had been nothing but delightful.

After all, good news kept pouring in.

"Leader," a subordinate said, entering Bu Anpyeong’s chamber.

"Oh? What is it this time? Did another sect bite the dust?"

"The Yongmun Sword Sect, Yeongdeok Clan, and the Righteous Path Dojo, sir."

"Keh-heh-heh. You know, the Blood Sect scum are proving surprisingly useful after all, aren’t they?"

"But... is this really okay? I mean, ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ they are Blood Sect scum."

"What, you think we’re working with the Blood Sect or something? Did we conspire with them? Did we make a pact?"

"Well, you know what they say about... GAHH!"

With a low, sharp crack, the subordinate who had been delivering the report suddenly flew backward, hitting the ground hard and rolling, screaming in agony.

"I told you to stop using flowery words, didn’t I? Just say it simply. Why the hell do you have to show off that you’re educated? You think you’re the only one who knows how to read?"

Bu Anpyeong’s name alone was enough to reveal his roots—a family of Confucian scholars within the orthodox martial world.

But despite his lofty background, he’d become the leader of a gang of rogues. Did he have some tragic backstory? Some heart-wrenching tale of betrayal?

Nope. He was just a man filled with bitterness and resentment after never being granted a government position due to his family’s lack of influence.

The only reason he’d made it this far was that he happened to be a martial arts prodigy.

Starting as a third-rate martial artist at an age when most men’s blood and qi had already stagnated, he had clawed his way to the top with no master to guide him.

A man who had risen to become the number one unorthodox master purely through self-study.

Had he entered the imperial palace earlier, he might have been hailed as the Great Mucheon Emperor or perhaps even the Grand Marshal of Mucheon.

A transcendent warrior blessed with the integrity of a scholar, the erudition of a sage, and the might of a martial god.

But even if someone from the imperial court went back in time to change the course of history, it wouldn’t have mattered.

The unbreakable trinity of bloodlines, connections, and academic pedigree would have still kept him out of office.

(Side note: The official narrators’ opinions may differ slightly on this point.)

"Huff... Such overwhelming power. The greatness of the Unorthodox Alliance Leader continues to grow!"

Bu Anpyeong had merely flicked a finger, sending a gust of wind that brushed past the subordinate.

But the man made a show of it, rolling on the ground and screaming as if he’d been hit by a thunderbolt.

"This little punk. That’s why I can’t stay mad at him," Bu Anpyeong chuckled.

"So, what were you saying about ‘Soomangchihan’ or whatever?"

Soomangchihan.

When the lips are gone, the teeth feel the cold. It was a scholarly saying, a flowery way of conveying that when one support system falls, the other will suffer.

"Watching the orthodox factions crumble is delightful, sure. But if the Blood Sect really starts to rampage—"

"So what? The orthodox factions are getting crushed. You think we’re going to swoop in and play savior? Why the hell should we get involved in their mess?"

The disaster had begun with the massacre at the Jin Clan Estate in Gwangju.

Sure, the place had been practically empty, with all the top fighters conveniently out on a training retreat, but it was still a major blow to the clan’s influence.

After that, every orthodox sect in the Yangzhou and Gyujoo regions, the entire southeastern part of the Central Plains, was being wiped out one by one.

Each incident was labeled an “unknown attack,” but everyone knew who was behind it.

The Blood Sect.

Eyewitness reports mentioned zombies, heartless corpses—the handiwork of the Corpse Demon.

Others spoke of corpses missing their hearts, a clear sign of the Soul-Eating Demon’s work.

Some even claimed to have heard the maniacal laughter of the Demon King of Eternal Night.

But the Blood Sect’s actions were oddly ambiguous.

They weren’t openly claiming responsibility, but they weren’t bothering to cover their tracks either.

"But if the Blood Sect really starts rampaging unchecked, won’t that be a disaster?" the subordinate asked cautiously.

"Heh. You little brat. Still pretending to be all educated, huh?

Soomangchihan? That’s not our saying—that’s the Murim Alliance’s saying.

If the Blood Sect goes berserk, it’s not us they’ll come begging for help. It’s those orthodox idiots.

Why would we get involved? Let the Murim Alliance do the fighting."

For the unorthodox factions, the strategy was simple: lay low, guard their own turf, and wait for the chaos to blow over.

But the Murim Alliance, bound by their self-proclaimed duty to “protect the peace of the Central Plains,” couldn’t afford to sit back and do nothing.

"So, keep telling our people to keep feasting. Let the Blood Sect do the sweeping, and we’ll do the collecting.

We’ll claim Yangzhou and Gyujoo for ourselves."

****

Meanwhile, while chaos brewed in one corner of the Central Plains, the rest of the region remained blissfully unaware.

The vast expanse of the land and the primitive means of communication meant that information still traveled at a snail’s pace.

Take the Blood River Massacre as an example.

After the death of the Cannibal Demon and the Eon’s Shadow incident, it had taken a full month for the Murim Alliance to receive the first official complaint.

Another month to dispatch investigators.

A third month for the team to complete their report.

A fourth month to travel to the Eon Clan and relay their findings.

And a fifth month to deliver their final conclusions.

Even moving as quickly as possible, it had taken five months for the incident to be formally acknowledged and acted upon.

Thus, it would be some time before news of the Blood Sect’s current rampage reached the rest of the martial world.

Back in Kaifeng, as the martial tournament drew to a close, the atmosphere was still charged with the lingering excitement of the closing ceremony.

And among the crowd was someone with entirely different concerns.

"Hmm. Don’t you think it’s a bit dark in here?" Qing muttered.

Peng Daesan ground his teeth, his jaw muscles twitching.

"For the love of... Can’t you just sit still for once?"

"Hold on. Let me light things up. Watch this. Ta-da!"

Qing channeled her sword aura into the Green Porcelain Sword.

The difference between sword qi and sword aura was simple: illumination.

To a layperson, both were equally deadly, and the names sounded similar enough.

But sword qi was like a glowstick—shining only for the wielder.

Sword aura, however, cast a soft, starry glow over its surroundings, providing a faint source of light.

Of course, starry light was still just starry light.

A single weak beam of moonlight wasn’t going to do much under the bright midday sun.

In the end, all Qing’s little display did was make her sword look like a glittering, gaudy toy.

"See? It’s a multi-purpose sword! It’s so bright! Who needs lanterns when you’ve got sword aura? With this, I can walk dark alleys at night without a care in the world!"

"Did... did you just say you’d use your sword aura as a torch?" Peng Daesan said, his eyes twitching.

"What? What’s wrong with that? If some idiot attacks me in the dark, I can just slice them in half with this. Sword aura can cut through solid steel, you know.

Sword qi users wouldn’t know that, of course."

"Ghh..."

"Urgh..."

Peng Daesan and Namgung Sinjae both gritted their teeth, glaring at Qing.

Qing’s grin grew wider.

"Especially you, Sword Master Namgung. If you don’t work harder, people will start calling you the Sword Servant or Sword Lackey instead.

You’re only at the Absolute Peak Level, so you’d better hurry up and reach the Transcendent Level."

"...Just call me Sword Idiot."

Namgung Sinjae muttered bitterly, regretting ever bringing up swordsmanship in the first place.

As someone who had once sworn to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship with nothing but his sword, he now found himself feeling thoroughly humiliated.

And in that moment, he truly believed that the world was a vile, filthy place and that he needed to advance to the next level as quickly as possible.