The Bad Girl's Quick Transmigration System: Traveling Back and Forth

The last vestiges of sunset, like a drop of frozen blood, were finally swallowed by the boundless darkness. The Valley of Broken Souls returned to its eternal silence, with only the miasma swirling like a ghost at the bottom, carrying a sickening stench of decay and despair. The Black Scorpion masters, like drops of ink blending into the night, had long since vanished into the shadows at the valley's entrance, leaving behind only the deathly grave that buried dozens of young lives.

However, leaving didn't mean forgetting. At least before they returned to their base and their tense nerves relaxed a bit, gossip about the female soldiers in the Valley of Broken Souls, like a lingering miasma, began to quietly spread among these cold-blooded killers. Their voices were low, carrying the fatigue of the journey, yet they couldn't conceal a complex and incomprehensible emotion—perhaps disdain, perhaps ridicule, or perhaps a suppressed shock that they themselves hadn't even noticed.

Instead of returning immediately to the Black Scorpion's headquarters, they rested temporarily in a hidden mountain stronghold dozens of miles outside the Valley of Broken Souls. This simple yet sturdy stronghold served as a temporary stopover after their mission. The bonfire crackled, its dancing flames illuminating faces, some ferocious, some cold, and some scarred. The air mingled with the aroma of roasted meat, the pungent aroma of cheap liquor, and the lingering scent of blood and miasma.

"Bah! A bunch of ignorant women, you really think you're some powerful war goddess?" A burly man with a ferocious scar running from forehead to jaw gulped down a strong drink and slammed his wine bag down on the stone table with a dull thud. He was the vanguard captain of the Black Scorpions, nicknamed "Scarface," and renowned for his ferocity and brutality. His face was filled with undisguised disdain. "You put up a decent fight at first, but you really think your fancy moves can stop us Black Scorpions?"

His words were immediately echoed by several of his men nearby.

"That's right! Scarface is right!" a skinny man with triangular eyes shrieked. He was the team's scout, skilled in tracking and stealth. "They're all pretty, but it's a shame they're clueless. They had good lives to live, but they insisted on coming to this hellish place to die. And they even dreamed of stopping our Saint Envoy's plan. It's like lighting a lamp in a toilet—seeking death!"

"Hahaha..." A burst of laughter rang out all around, and the laughter was full of contempt for the dead.

"But then again," another middle-aged man, who had been silently polishing his scimitar, spoke up. His eyes were as sharp as an eagle, and his swordsmanship was among the best among the Black Scorpions. He was known as "Hawkeye Old Seven." His voice was less bravado than the others', instead carrying a calm, examining tone. "Their resilience has exceeded my expectations."

This statement quieted the noisy atmosphere slightly. Scarface glanced at Hawkeye Old Seven with a hint of displeasure. "Resilience? Old Seven, you're not going to fall for any of those women, are you? They're just trapped beasts fighting tooth and nail. What's so commendable about their dying struggle?"

Eagle Eyes Old Seven slowly raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before settling on the flickering bonfire, as if recalling the scene in the valley. "A trapped beast will fight, indeed. But did you notice how well they coordinated? Their formation, though simple, was quite methodical. Especially that leading female officer," he paused, as if recalling that figure. "Even at the final moment, attacked from all sides and severely wounded, she showed no sign of retreat. Her eyes were quite fierce."

"Fierce? Fierce is useless!" Scarface sneered. "Didn't she still get chopped down by my sword? A woman is a woman. No matter how fierce she is, she's still made of water at heart and can't withstand a single blow! The look in her eyes at the end was more of despair, wasn't it? Hahaha!"

"Despair is a given," a man in charge of processing the prisoners (though this time, there were hardly any survivors) said with a sinister smile. "In such a desperate situation, it would be strange not to despair. However, I heard these female soldiers seemed to be from the 'Falcon Squad'. It's a very impressive name, but what happened? They became fertilizer in our Broken Soul Valley. Not even a bone is left."

"Falcon? I think it's more like a pheasant!"

"Hahaha! Team Pheasant!"

A new round of ridicule broke out again.

Hawkeye Seven didn't argue, merely shaking his head gently as he continued polishing his blade. Unlike the others, he wasn't completely blinded by the thrill of victory and their inherent prejudices against women. He acknowledged that the individual strength of these women soldiers was no less than their own, having simply been ambushed in a trap, their defeat was inevitable. However, something about the women soldiers in this battle defied simple categorization as "vulnerable." It was a courage that knew no bounds, a spark that remained unextinguished in the face of absolute darkness. Even if this spark was ultimately ruthlessly extinguished, it had once existed; he couldn't deny it.

"It's a shame, it is." The triangular-eyed scout spoke again, a lewd smile on his face. "So many beautiful young girls, each one as beautiful as a flower, were killed like this. It's really...tsk tsk...what a waste of resources."

His words immediately attracted several malicious glances.

"What are you thinking, kid?" Scarface patted his shoulder, his tone ambiguous, "Don't forget the Holy Envoy's orders. This mission, no one will be left alive, especially these female soldiers. They know too much, and we can't leave any trouble for the future. Besides, in a place like this, there's no time to play tricks on you. A quick victory is the best way."

"I'm just saying, Scar." Triangle Eyes smiled awkwardly. "What do you think they want? They have a peaceful life, but they have to run to this godforsaken place to work. Aren't their families worried?"

This question seemed to make the atmosphere slightly more tense. After a brief silence, a bearded man who had been silent until then said in a deep voice, "Perhaps... they have their reasons. Just like us, following the Holy Envoy, don't we also live with our lives on the line?"

The bearded man's words stunned many. Indeed, why did they become Black Scorpions? For money? For power? Or was it simply because they had nowhere else to go and were taken in by the Holy Envoy? Perhaps they had never truly pondered this question.

Scarface glared at the bearded man fiercely. "What nonsense! How can we be the same as them? We are fighting for the great cause of the Holy Church! We are fighting to overthrow those arrogant hypocrites and establish a new order! What about them? They are nothing but running dogs of those hypocrites, sacrificial offerings for the corrupt dynasty! Their death is not a pity!"

His voice was impassioned, as if to encourage himself and others, emphasizing the "righteousness" of their actions. However, in this remote mountain village, facing the flickering campfire and each other's tired faces, these words seemed a little pale and powerless.

"Funerary offerings...?" a younger Black Scorpion member whispered. He had only been with the Black Scorpions for a short time, and his face still held a touch of innocence. He recalled the looks in the eyes of the dying female soldiers in the valley: some filled with anger, some with resentment, and some with a kind of... calmness he couldn't understand. Was that truly the look a burial offering would have?

"What's wrong? Little Sanzi, are you scared?" Scarface noticed his abnormality and shouted, "I've already killed them, why are you pretending to be merciful now? Don't forget, kindness to the enemy is cruelty to yourself! If you sympathize with them today, you will be the one to die tomorrow!"

Xiao Sanzi was frightened by Scarface's roar and quickly lowered his head, not daring to say anything, but the strange feeling in his heart could not be shaken off.

Hawkeye Old Seven saw all of this and he spoke again, his voice still calm: "Whether they were burial objects or not is not something we should discuss. We have completed our mission, and that is enough. We have done what the Holy Envoy asked us to do, and that is more important than anything else." His words were like a basin of cold water, extinguishing the inappropriate discussion that had just arisen.

"Seventh Brother is right!" Scarface immediately agreed, as if he wasn't the one who had been so irritable just now. "Why think so much? Drink! Eat meat! Celebrate our great victory! Those women? They're just stepping stones on our road to success, a handful of dirt in the Valley of Broken Souls! In a few days, when the miasma dissipates and the wind blows away, who will remember them?"

"Yes! Drink! Eat meat!"

"For the Holy Church!"

"For the Holy Envoy!"

Everyone seemed to have found a new outlet for venting. They raised their wine bags, drank wine in big gulps, and ate meat in big mouthfuls, trying to use alcohol and noise to dispel the remaining depression in the valley, as well as those thoughts about the female soldiers that made them feel a little uneasy.

However, even amid the loudest laughter, certain subtle sounds still flow quietly in the corners.

"That... I seemed to see a female soldier with a photo in her arms. It fell out when I knocked her down. It seemed to be a child..." A very low voice was almost drowned out by the noise.

"Tsk, what bad luck! You deserve to die for bringing these things into battle!" The person next to him spat.

"I remember a female soldier who could have broken through, but she rushed back to protect the others..."

"You're just stupid! Trying to be a hero! You'll still die in the end!"

"Their singing... did you hear it? At the very end, when the song was about to end, it seemed like someone was humming..."

"Singing? I didn't notice it, maybe it was the death wail!"

These fragmented arguments are like stones dropped into a lake, stirring up a few ripples before being quickly eclipsed by larger waves. No one is willing, nor dares, to deeply consider these issues. Acknowledging the opponent's "bright spots" seems to undermine the legitimacy of one's own victory. They are enemies, losers, and "women," and that's enough. Everything about them, including their courage, their sacrifices, and their emotions, should be scorned, ridiculed, and completely erased.