Surprisingly, the Central Plains had a long-standing tradition of raised-floor living. People slept on beds and sat in chairs.
The ditation posture used by martial artists—known as full lotus—was sothing quite different from the cross-legged style commonly referred to as “sitting like a noble” in Qing’s holand. In lotus position, each foot rests atop the opposite thigh, which is more like a circus act than a comfortable way to sit.
To put it bluntly, it was a pain in the ass. And the reason martial artists used this posture wasn’t anything noble—it was actually a form of asceticism to keep from dozing off during ditation.
The lotus position originally ca from Buddhism, and the core of ancient Buddhism was rooted in self-mortification.
So while the martial artists staying in the Guest Pavilion might find it a bit uncomfortable, the pose wasn’t impossible for them. Even if they were unaffiliated—aning they ca from rogue backgrounds—they weren’t complete wanderers with zero cultivation. The Murim Alliance had vetted them with strict personality checks before letting them build a na in their local regions.
Which ant... Do Raeman was the only one lying awkwardly on the floor.
“Miss Xin? Would it be alright if I just sat up too?”
“No no, please lie down comfortably. You deserve special treatnt, Do So-hyeop.”
How could this possibly be comfortable?!
All the unaffiliated martial artists in the Guest Pavilion—except for a couple—were sitting in full lotus. Do Raeman was the only one lying flat on the ground. This wasn’t special treatnt—it was targeted bullying.
It really felt like she was holding a grudge over him handing her a pill made from blood crystal.
“So just to be clear—you’re saying all of you took the Sleepfire Pill? Hmm. What’s done is done, I suppose.”
The unaffiliated martial artists avoided her gaze.
Qing continued.
“We’ll destroy the human-made pills after offering a purification rite. Alright, take them out and place them in front of you. And while you’re at it, let’s start describing the guy who handed them out—his appearance, anything morable—”
“This is nonsense. Who are you to say we have to hand them over?”
“...Huh?”
Qing turned toward the martial artist who’d stood up in protest.
It was Wang So-hyeop—the one who fought using a chair as a weapon.
“What, so you want to keep eating pills made from ground-up people?”
Wang So-hyeop hesitated for a mont.
“Isn’t it already a finished product? It’s tragic for the victims, yes, but wouldn’t they prefer for their sacrifice not to be in vain? Isn’t it better for soone to make use of it?”
What kind of logic was that?
Qing’s irritation exploded.
“What are you even talking about? You think that makes you so kind of righteous hero? You took it before a tournant match and now you’re proudly shouting about it? You really thought a bright red pill handed over by so shady bastard was the real deal?”
“Well, that’s...”
“Let’s hear it from everyone, then. Don’t give that crap about ‘so divine ingredient guy gave it to .’ What, did he flash a certificate issued by the Alliance? You all have guilty consciences—that’s why you’re sitting here quietly, twisted up in that uncomfortable pose. Ah, Do So-hyeop, you stay lying down. Seriously, get comfortable.”
The others kept looking away, and poor Do Raeman awkwardly started to sit up, then gave up and lay back down, clearly miserable.
Qing quickly did the math in her head—each pill seed to raise a person’s Evil Karma by about thirty points.
But what—because they didn’t know, it wasn’t a cri?
Nobody had slipped the pill into their mouths while they were asleep. No one held a blade to their throat and said, Take it or die.
According to Nanah, the blood-red pills gave off such an ominous aura that even a novice in poisons would’ve avoided them. But these people had grinned like idiots and popped them the mont so random guy handed them over.
So-called “divine ingredient”? That was just an excuse. What they really wanted was a shortcut to better results in the tournant—and they were eager to believe anything that fit that desire.
Was the source suspicious? Yes.
Was the pill suspicious? Absolutely.
Was their use of it righteous? Not even close.
So when their Evil Karma rose, they really didn’t have a leg to stand on.
Wang So-hyeop suddenly shouted in frustration.
“You don’t understand anything, Miss! You grew up in comfort, eating miracle elixirs and learning sacred techniques since childhood! How could soone like you ever understand what this tournant ans to us rogue martial artists? Isn’t that right, everyone?!”
His voice trembled with resentnt, and the others’ eyes began to glimr with suppressed frustration.
There were two classic ways to make soone angry. One: stop talking right in the middle of your point. Two—
Well, actually, those were tricks for casual conversation.
In a real argunt—especially one ant to destroy soone—the ultimate technique to push your opponent over the edge while shutting their mouth and raising their blood pressure was different:
It was claiming moral superiority and then using it to crush their flaws.
Qing instantly realized her mistake.
No matter how much she snapped or spit venom, none of them would feel ashad. All she’d accomplished was making herself feel a little better.
If you want to persuade soone, you need empathy—or money.
Or Qing’s personal favorite: violence.
So she reined in her temper, softened her tone, and switched tactics.
“I do understand. That’s why I ca here quietly to handle this, isn’t it? I an, if I really wanted to, I could’ve gone straight to the sect elders and ratted you all out. But I didn’t. Because I know how desperate you are.”
“Desperate? Don’t make laugh. What would you know about desperation? You, a disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect—how could you possibly understand what it’s like to wander without a sect or a sponsor?”
“Well, actually, I’m a rogue too. It’s only been a few years since I was brawling over garbage scraps with beggars and scarfing down trash to survive.”
“...? Wait, then you’re not rogue, you’re... a beggar?”
“Hey. Rogue, beggar—what’s the difference? If you hold a sword while stealing, you’re a rogue. If you don’t, you’re a beggar. Am I wrong? Co on, we’ve all been there—sleeping in the streets, getting mugged by actual beggars, feeling like we struck gold when we found a chunk of at in the trash. And then—”
As she spoke, sothing cracked open deep inside her.
It wasn’t often she had anyone to share this with. And now that she’d finally found soone who might actually relate, the bitterness ca spilling out of her all at once.
The rogue martial artists’ expressions began to shift into sothing more... uncomfortable.
“Uh... yeah. I an...”
“If we caught a rat or sothing, that was a feast day. And we’d eat it raw before the other beggar brats could steal it—shit, now I’m pissed just thinking about it. I should’ve set fire to that bridge underpass before I left Geonpyeong. Maybe I’ll swing by after the tournant.”
The martial artists exchanged glances.
No matter how rough their lives had been, none of them had ever looked that much like beggars. Even a third-rate martial hall hiring rcs for daily work at least offered cold rice and a mat to sleep on.
“Y-You’ve... been through a lot.”
“What’s with the pitying looks? Weren’t all rogue martial artists like this?”
“Well... not exactly, Miss. That’s more beggar than rogue, er, I an—yes, clearly you’ve had it rough.”
Wang So-hyeop had started to speak, but got jabbed in the ribs by one of his companions and quickly corrected himself.
And just like that, his little rebellion was over.
Instead of rallying anyone, Wang So-hyeop ended up making them feel kind of relieved. After hearing about Qing’s misery, they realized maybe their lives weren’t that bad. Maybe being a lower-tier, back-alley martial artist wasn’t the bottom of the barrel after all.
If they’d built up enough skill to be respected as protectors in their hotowns, then their lives weren’t entirely tragic.
Before long, wooden boxes were stacked neatly in front of Qing.
When she opened them up, she saw each one held two pills, with two empty slots in each. Looked like they’d taken one before each match—two matches, two pills. Very consistent.
“Hmm? What’s this? Who only took half of one? Who the hell downed one and a half?”
Qing frowned at the lone box containing only one and a half pills.
“That one was half from the start. They said first-tirs should only take half a dose. I’d already taken one in the past...”
The others nodded in agreent.
So the box had always held three and a half pills, not four.
Well, damn. So the guy handing out the evil pills even pre-asured beginner doses? That’s... weirdly thoughtful for a scumbag dealer.
Sure, the Sleepfire Pill was wicked stuff—but from what Qing heard, it was potent, had almost no side effects, and it actually worked.
There really were all kinds of freaks in this world.
Then Qing got to the point.
“From now on, we’re going to find the bastard who handed out these pills—and deal with him.”
“You an the divine ingredient guy? How are we supposed to...”
“He deliberately handed out sothing made from blood crystal. I don’t care if he called himself so divine whatever—there’s no way he did it with good intentions. Either he wanted to ruin your bodies, or at the very least, ruin your reputations.”
“Reputations...?”
“You unaffiliated martial artists finally start getting so good results at the Murim Tournant, right? And then so asshole shows up and says, ‘Those guys cheated—they won by eating pills made from human remains.’ Boom—your nas go straight in the gutter, and the Murim Alliance gets dragged down with you. That’s what I’m talking about.”
This was the opinion of Qing—the expert in reputation destruction.
And because she was the reigning master of reputation annihilation, she had a good eye for spotting soone else’s scheming.
The martial artists’ faces turned serious.
There’s no such thing as kindness without a motive.
The pill pusher had always seed weird—but just weird enough ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) that no one questioned it. He offered to “share in their victory,” and they were so desperate, they went along with it.
Only now, after hearing Qing spell it out, did they realize what that belief really was: a baseless fantasy they’d clung to out of desperation.
“I already said this, but I get how desperate you all were. Honestly, in my opinion, whether soone gets to the top because they were born sucking down elixirs or because they shaved off a few years of their lifespan—does it really make a difference? I’m not here to say what’s right or wrong. I just wish the damn pill wasn’t made from people.”
The martial artists slowly nodded.
“That’s why I don’t want this coming out and getting you all shad. You’ve worked your asses off to get here with no connections backing you up. You’re famous as honorable protectors back in your hotowns, right?”
If thirty Evil Karma per pill was the price, and the worst among them still didn’t exceed sixty points, then it ant no one here had over a hundred total—proof that the Murim Alliance’s screening system had actually worked.
Righteous sect martial artists had an easier ti staying clean.
But for those who lived rough lives—maybe not as rough as Qing’s, but rough all the sa—it was damn hard to keep your Karma clean.
So just because they caved to a mont of temptation, Qing didn’t think they deserved to be shad and treated like criminals.
Not by anyone.
“That’s why we’ve gotta track down the bastard—or bastards—who handed this crap out. Otherwise, how are you supposed to sleep at night?”
Again, the martial artists nodded.
Qing spoke in a much gentler tone now.
“So let’s figure it out together. How do we catch ‘em—and how badly do we beat their ass?”
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