I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 246: The Appearance of the Divine Dragon (2)

Practice swords for friendly duels have dulled edges, and even if they’re infused with sword qi, the blades don’t actually cut.

If a bit of sword qi could magically conjure up a blade edge, who would bother carrying actual swords in the world?

You’d just carry thin iron rods and shoot out ultra-heated blades like something from a sci-fi space age.

Qing turned her gaze to the referee, who also served as the match host.

She was silently asking, Is this for real?

The referee’s expression also became subtly conflicted.

“Ahem, Wolbong, even if the blade were infused with sword qi, could you still have blocked it barehanded?”

“This humble monk has practiced the Diamond Invincible Body Art, and has already forged a body that cannot be harmed by sword qi.”

“Diamond Invincible Body Art!”

“If the Shiju wishes, she may use a real blade.”

The referee looked to Qing.

“What say you, Lady Qing? The monk is this confident—would you perhaps like to switch to a real sword?”

Though hidden behind her face veil, Qing’s brows furrowed deeply.

They’d already started the match, and now switching to a real sword would be awkward—and even if she did, could she strike without hesitation? If she ended up cutting him, it would just lead to bloodshed in the ring.

And besides, even if she won a match of sword versus bare hands, it would only spark rumors afterward.

They’d say things like, “So much for the noble righteous sects,” and, “Isn’t that a cowardly way to fight?”

After just one exchange, the two duelists now stood facing each other, simply chatting, which caused murmurs to rise louder in the arena.

Qing shook her head.

“It’s fine. Then—let’s resume.”

Thus, the friendly duel resumed.

Qing lightly wrapped her sword in sword qi, half-testing whether this really was okay. The softly extended slash wasn’t intended to fully exploit the technique’s mysteries, but was delivered gently, with reduced strength.

In response, Wolbong calmly lifted his perpendicular forearms to block.

Thwack. The impact that transmitted through his hands was incredibly solid. It felt like smashing into a boulder.

Qing gradually ramped up the intensity of her offensive.

Wolbong met her pace, skillfully blocking each sword strike. Even swings that were deliberately easy to deflect were intercepted with his arms, as if daring her to try and actually cut him.

Only when Qing’s sword qi thickened, unraveling into threads and bundles of tightly braided energy, did she finally feel sure of something.

Yeah. He really could block even a real sword.

But it was still too ambiguous.

Would it cut if she went for his neck? What about other vital spots? His abdomen? The solar plexus? What even was this?

But Wolbong seemed to think he’d sufficiently demonstrated his defensive strength. At last, he began to perform Shaolin’s signature martial forms, charging forward like a beast clad in heavy armor.

Thankfully, some of the moves were familiar.

The straight punch he launched was the Big Dipper Alignment of the Seven Star Fist. Qing twisted her body lightly, and his arm bent at a right angle, the back of his hand aiming straight for her face.

Qing leaned her upper body backward, and his clenched fist stopped right in front of her chin, rattling her veil. After all, a person’s elbow can only twist so far.

She deflected the light combination attack and then it was her turn again. Qing stepped on the top of Wolbong’s foot and pushed at the back of his knee with the other.

What the hell? Why isn’t he budging?

But his leg, firmly planted on the floating duel platform, didn’t bend, and instead, Qing’s own balance was broken, causing her torso to tip.

She braced herself with one arm against the ground and spun through two large swallow-like rolls, and by the time she rose, Wolbong had already closed the distance, crouched as if on horseback, both fists chambered at his waist.

Front? Back? No time to decide. Wolbong’s thighs looked like they were swelling to twice their size. Boom! Qing stomped the ground, launching her body upward.

At the same time, Wolbong’s twin fists shot forward. His legs grounded him to the earth as he extended his torso and arms fully. The twin punches, packed with massive force, barely grazed beneath Qing’s airborne feet.

Smack! Qing’s knee slammed into Wolbong’s forehead.

My knee! Qing swallowed a scream as pain shot through her joint, forcing her to handstand atop Wolbong’s coarse head.

How hard was this guy?

She couldn’t just pass up the moment, so she struck his blueish bald head with the pommel of her sword and used the rebound to flip away and land on the ground.

Wolbong staggered slightly—but that was all.

Qing smacked her lips in disappointment. She should’ve hit harder.

She had held back, worried she might crack the monk’s skull, and clearly, he hadn’t taken much damage.

Still, the faint flush coloring his ear suggested blood had rushed to his head. Hmm. Did I piss him off?

“Hap!”

Wolbong charged in again with a fierce shout.

Qing stepped back in large strides while unleashing a flurry of sword strikes. Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! Though she lacked proper force due to the retreat, his punches and arms slammed forward as he advanced, which was frankly overwhelming.

The whole point of weapons is to touch the opponent’s body. Since human flesh can’t stand up to weapons, the moment they touch—stab, slash, or slice—a dramatic clash is achieved.

But this Shaolin monk was thoroughly denying that very principle.

And so Qing couldn’t help but feel impressed.

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She’d always wondered how unarmed Shaolin monks could be hailed as the greatest martial artists in the world—but seriously, who the hell blocks swords with their bare hands?

Hmm. Do monks also train in the Demon Cow Devil Art?

She figured she had reasonable cause for suspicion.

Still, if we’re talking sheer toughness, the Diamond Invincible Body Art is an external technique made exactly for that purpose, while the Demon Cow Devil Art just comes as a bonus. There’s no need to even compare which is stronger.

From Shaolin’s seventy-two ultimate arts, an unlimited chain of techniques burst forth—arms, fists, backhands, wrist blocks, knife-hands, even kicks.

Since he could block a sword barehanded, offense and defense became one.

Qing had no choice but to fall back, scattering sword strikes—there was no other viable response.

In an instant, over ten exchanges had passed, and Qing had already retreated more than thirty steps.

But no matter how fast one walks backward, it can’t outpace someone moving forward.

And the very nature of Shaolin’s footwork was in its unyielding, forward-pounding momentum, so as the gap narrowed, at some point, a single step brought Wolbong’s leading foot just ahead of her own wide stance.

Oh. A big one’s coming. Qing felt it in her gut.

Sure enough, his extended palm aimed for her eyes while his tightly coiled fist shot out with a vicious whirr, piercing through Qing’s abdomen and exiting out her back.

There was no bloodshed in this duel arena—Qing had used her emergency escape technique, a fusion of the Nimble Wave Step and Formation-Breaking Footwork, leaving behind an afterimage that the strike merely passed through.

Just like a master of teleportation, Lady Ximen Qing appeared stylishly eight steps behind Wolbong, her back to him, and quickly spun around.

Though Wolbong had momentarily lost his target, he had seen Qing’s Nimble Wave Step before and didn’t panic—he immediately turned and aimed his fist at her.

Then, as he spun and took a massive step, fully rotating his body in a straight line, he extended his punch—

Sensing a sharp danger, Qing urgently drew up her internal energy.

As she brought it to its absolute limit, her sword qi surged, and in an instant, the blade seemed to swell fivefold. Like a great saber, it slashed downward with the momentum to cut anything in one stroke. KRAK!! With a thunderous roar, Qing’s sword qi fanned out and shattered, scattering violently behind her.

Qing was hurled straight backward.

Even though her hands were hardened through Demon Cow Devil Art, a searing pain shot through her palms as if they were tearing open.

It was one of Shaolin’s famous divine arts—Hundred-Step Divine Fist.

Wow, if that had hit properly, I would’ve been knocked flat.

Whenever he gives too much distance, a ridiculously powerful attack comes flying.

With both arms fully extended and even his bent leg perfectly straight, the heel of Wolbong’s rear foot slightly lifted.

Qing subtly pulled her foot back, measuring the angle.

At last, the moment Wolbong’s body flipped backward, Qing too stomped down as if to shatter the duel stage and sprang forward.

Whoosh! The aftershock of the Hundred-Step Divine Fist brushed past her ear. Though she’d dodged it with plenty of space to spare, the shockwave still tickled her earlobe.

Qing’s movement technique traced a jagged path like lightning, zigzagging left and right as she advanced.

It was completely different from the graceful, unhurried Moon Maiden Step, more like a flash of war—Striking Shadow Instant Step, the peerless light-step that gave rise to divine duels.

However, since she had never demonstrated it in front of others, no one recognized it.

Qing’s sword qi left an afterimage, descending upon Wolbong like a bolt of lightning.

But at the moment of contact, Wolbong’s body suddenly vanished—it was the same Iron Plate Bridge technique that Qing often used. This too originated from Shaolin, so one could say he was the source.

Springing up like a coiled spring, Wolbong curled his fingers and thrust a Palm Strike downward. The base of the palm—where it meets the wrist—was as hard as bone and transmitted force without loss, making it a powerful technique.

Wolbong’s palm strike dug into Qing’s abdomen.

Thud! Though she’d already tightened her abs in preparation, the breath still caught in her throat and escaped with a rasping ghk.

It wasn’t a clean blow followed through from footwork and rotation, but a hastily improvised strike using only the snap of his wrist, so the impact was negligible. That’s what let her endure it.

Qing plunged her sword straight into the stage floor and clenched her fist, slamming it into Wolbong’s jaw. Not expecting a swordswoman to drop her blade, Wolbong’s jaw twisted cleanly to the side.

In truth, Qing had learned about thirty of Shaolin’s Seventy-Two Supreme Arts. That’s because most of the barehand techniques sold in town were cheap knockoffs of them. And since all those white-bordered trash techniques were maxed out as soon as she picked them up, they barely cost any training points at all.

To the staggering Wolbong, Qing threw a powerful punch at his solar plexus, filled with the grudge of her aching abs. But Wolbong’s palm blocked her fist right in front of his own solar plexus.

However, Qing possessed monstrous strength, and so Wolbong ended up smashing his own solar plexus with the back of his own hand, wheezing as the /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ air burst from his lungs.

Qing’s eyes gleamed.

As she withdrew her fist, she leaned forward, her elbow shooting out with the destructive force of her stomp.

It was the textbook execution of the Outer Gate Elbow Thrust.

Smack!! With another blow to the solar plexus, Wolbong exhaled what little breath he had left.

Qing immediately spun in reverse, aiming to follow through with Iron Mountain Shoulder to slam her shoulder blade into him—

“Ack!”

Trying to use such a common technique—especially one that the master, raised on authentic training since childhood, would have known inside and out—was far too careless.

As the price for that carelessness, Qing took a solid hit to the ribs and quickly snatched her sword from where it was embedded in the stage to gain distance.

“Ugh... that hurts...”

Qing groaned, rubbing her stomach and kneading her side with a scowl.

Wolbong too was blowing short breaths, struggling to regain what air he’d lost from the two direct hits to his solar plexus.

While Qing was pondering how to beat him down until he’d admit defeat and withdraw—

Suddenly, Wolbong raised a Half-Palm Salute.

“This humble monk must apologize. I dared to underestimate the Shiju, and now I see why my master told me to give it my all.”

“That almost sounds like you're saying you haven’t been giving your all until now. Is that true?”

“Yes. Should you become injured, I ask that you do not hesitate to surrender.”

Then, golden energy began to ripple around his fist—and suddenly, it glowed, emitting its own light.

—Ooh! It’s Fist Qi!

—Transcendent! He’s a transcendent martial artist!

At the same time, the spectators who’d forgotten even to breathe during the duel erupted in cheers.

Which, for Qing, was anything but good news.