Black and White Martial Emperor

After Yeon Hojeong returned to the clan, the air across the Yeon household changed.

Put nicely, it ran hot. Put bluntly, it turned grim. The reason was entirely Yeon Hojeong.

The morning after he got back, he showed up at the Grand Training Ground.

The Grand Training Ground was an outdoor field anyone could use. They held unit reviews there, even family celebrations; the place was vast.

Yeon Hojeong started running—no plan, just the entire rim.

He ran and ran along a perimeter well over two hundred in length. That was his morning session.

After loosening up with that jog and eating a hearty lunch, his afternoon work was intervals—flat-out sprints, then slow runs, repeated.

The clan’s warriors were puzzled.

The First Young Master’s routine was, literally, conditioning. No one denies the importance of stamina, but every trained fighter has a regimen that suits their path.

So the First Young Master must be lacking in martial arts, they thought—and let it pass.

Next day.

He rose before dawn and ran again. But this time it wasn’t the same.

He wore a weighted vest rigged with iron chains—thirty catties.

The warriors were startled. That vest was a training tool the Yeon units only broke out for hell-week drills.

Before noon, weighed down by those heavy chains, Yeon Hojeong collapsed.

Of course he did. He was repeating all-out sprints without using True Qi; no matter how hardened you are, you can’t just walk that off.

Clicking their tongues, the warriors carried him to his quarters.

Next day.

He came back to the Grand Training Ground. After heavy meals and deep sleep he looked human again.

And he collapsed again. Still, he seemed to have covered another quarter-interval beyond yesterday.

Five days like that passed.

At last he coughed blood and went down. No matter how carefully you rest and feed yourself, push past the red line and you court hidden damage.

The warriors clicked their tongues—and couldn’t help admiring his steel. Whatever you say about “effort,” running until you black out is not something you do without a ruthless will.

Ten days later.

Having reset his body, he returned to the Grand Training Ground. And he wasn’t the same man who had kept falling.

He was faster. Lighter. He’d even wrapped heavy iron chains around both arms, yet his movement was markedly better.

That day, for the first time, he finished the full day’s training. The warriors drilling there applauded.

But that was when his training truly began. Day by day he went past his limit, and he set the intensity to be, without exception, harsher than the day before.

The warriors who had admired his grit yet secretly scoffed at the “simple” regimen began, as time went on, to look on him with reverence.

A month, two months, and then past four in a blink.

The new year turned, winter made its last stand—

—and Yeon Hojeong no longer wore the weighted vest and chains.

“Ready.”

“Begin.”

Thump!

Closing in with crisp footwork, Yang Heum swept his wooden saber across.

Sharper than before—an honest, straight cut for the midline, yet so fast that even a solid expert would struggle to meet it.

Sshk.

That lightning cut sliced empty air.

All Yeon Hojeong did was twist his torso and step. That single simple shift avoided the strike and, in the same beat, took the counter.

His fist tunneled toward Yang Heum’s flank.

Not fast—but timed to perfection. Yang Heum broke posture on purpose and flicked the fist away with a quick kick.

Because he’d broken posture by design, his center didn’t crumble. The instant he batted the fist aside, he unleashed the Three-Change Kick.

A rapid, single-beat series of kicks hunted the vital points of Hojeong’s upper body.

And then—Hojeong’s elbow stamped down on the sole of his foot.

Thud!

“Urk?!”

Yang Heum went rolling across the ground.

The Bubbling Spring acupoint in his sole took the shock, and his entire right leg felt numb. He scrambled into stance with impressive quickness.

His movement was excellent—flexible, springy; among the Azure Hawk Squad he was a standout.

But Yeon Hojeong’s palm was already resting on his chest.

...!

The color drained from Yang Heum’s face.

Yeon Hojeong stamped into the earth.

Whum!

“Gah!”

Yang Heum went flying and slammed into the ground.

Hoooom.

From the low stance and the extended palm, a faint shimmer rose. It was the Linked Flying Swallow Palm, one of the Yeon Clan’s foundational arts—practical like the Yeon Clan’s Thirteen Fists.

Yeon Hojeong grinned.

“You lost, didn’t you?”

“Kh—! I-I lost!”

Yang Heum hacked out thin coughs. A trace of blood tinged them.

Yeon Hojeong looked abashed.

“Sorry. My control still needs work.”

“N-no, sir! It’s my fault for taking it.”

That wasn’t the point. In a voice edged with disbelief, Yang Heum asked,

“That palm just now—was that the Linked Flying Swallow Palm?”

“Mm.”

“What?!”

Not only Yang Heum—every one of the twenty Azure Hawk troopers watching—started.

“Was the Flying Swallow Palm always this powerful?”

As foundational sets go, the Linked Flying Swallow Palm was more practical than the Yeon Clan’s Thirteen Fists.

But only that. Basics are basics; they don’t produce power past a certain ceiling. And, true to its name, the Flying Swallow Palm emphasizes quick, light hands that disable rather than a single crushing blow.

So a strike this heavy and grand? No one had imagined it.

Hojeong clicked his tongue.

“Look at my feet.”

He lifted his foot.

“—!”

First Squad of the Azure Hawks gasped. Where he’d stamped, the ground had sunk two finger-widths.

Hard earth, scooped out in the shape of a footprint. Enormous force.

“Stamping Step isn’t for startling people. It draws up rebound and earth qi to make your internal spiral and your force release bite hard.”

“...!”

“Whatever a technique’s flavor, if your Stamping Step is strong, you can decide a fight with a single hit.”

This is why Shaolin arts are so formidable. Their Stamping Step is said to suppress a myriad evils by itself. That’s how high its utility is.

And it was the same for Yeon Hojeong. His way in combat wasn’t quick, nimble chains of flurries—it was one heavy, stately blow to smother ten thousand changes.

“Then, all that running around the Grand Training Ground, First Young Master—?”

“Right. Besides extreme conditioning, it was to maximize how I apply the Stamping Step.”

After two months, something odd had begun to show in his running.

Sometimes he left no trace at all. Other times, his footprints bit deep into the ground. Depth and stride length were all over the place.

The warriors thought his stamina was see-sawing. In truth, he’d been honing the flow of force itself through Stamping Step.

“Amazing. Is that really possible?”

“Of course it is. You’ve never trained like this, have you? If you’ve never done it, it’s hard to believe.”

“Then should we train like you, First Young Master?”

“A foolish question. This is my own road in martial arts. You need to find training that fits you.”

He smiled.

“Basics always matter. But to see beyond them, you have to know your level, your bent, and what you’re after.”

“My head hurts already.”

“You planned to get stronger without even using that much head?”

“Urgh.”

“Take this chance and carve it in. What a person longs for sets the pace of their growth. If you reach for one, you’ll grow to one. If you reach for ten, you’ll claw your way up toward ten.”

“You mean—set goals?”

“Exactly. Big or small, the difference is stark between those who know where they’re going and those who don’t.”

The Azure Hawks’ faces went solemn.

Anyone could say such things. But over more than four months, Yeon Hojeong had proved them with action.

The same words land differently with context. The squad felt a quiet shock at his remarks.

Yeon Hojeong looked to the far side.

A few members of the Flying Hawk Squad were watching there.

“The same «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» goes for you. If you’re satisfied where you are, fine—but if you want more power than that, start by setting a goal.”

At that, one of the Flying Hawks raised a hand.

Yeon Hojeong lifted his chin.

“You.”

“Respectful greetings. I’m Yu Jiha of Flying Hawk, Third Squad.”

Younger-looking than he expected. About the same age as Yeon Hojeong, perhaps. At that age, making the Flying Hawks was a feat in itself.

“May I ask one thing?”

“Anytime.”

“Like the Azure Hawks, the Flying Hawks have their own unit regimen. To fulfill the unit’s role, we have to move as one.”

“And?”

“But the unit schedule is packed except for meals and sleep. It’s very hard to make time for personal training like today.”

“As I recall, unit training is entirely at the captain’s discretion. Telling me won’t help much.”

Yu Jiha flushed.

“Y-yes! I wasn’t blaming the unit drills—I wanted to ask if I could use sleep hours for self-work...”

He meant he was willing to cut sleep to train on his own.

“How many hours do you sleep?”

“I take four hours.”

“Plenty. You can trim a bit.”

“Y-yes. That’s why I’m asking.”

Hojeong snorted a laugh.

“Then just cut some sleep and train.”

“Ah... it’s just...”

“Don’t tell me there’s an idiot who’ll stop you from training on your own time?”

“N-no, that’s not it.”

“Then do it. You getting stronger is how the Flying Hawks get stronger. The Hawks growing stronger is how the main house grows strong.”

“I think so too.”

“But since you’re Flying Hawk, you don’t get to let overtraining hurt your unit performance. As long as you adjust that, I see no issue.”

Yu Jiha’s face brightened.

“Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. Anyway—work hard.”

“Yes!”

Yeon Hojeong turned back to Yang Heum.

“Your blade force is better than last time. I don’t know what you’re drilling, but I expect you’ll grow further.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m heading in.”

“Huh? First Young Master, aren’t you training more today?”

He shrugged.

“Today, even I plan to rest a bit.”

****

Naturally, he didn’t rest. Back in his quarters, he rolled straight into spearwork.

Stamina and Stamping Step at the Grand Training Ground; spear in the rear court at home.

It was a routine he hadn’t skipped a single day these past four months. The household warriors thought that once he finished conditioning, he slept. In truth, he never went to bed without swinging the spear for at least two hours.

It’s coming.

Crack-crack-crack!

Five firewood logs tossed into the air—each took a dozen spear thrusts. When they fell, they were ragged like clawed by a beast.

As expected.

Crossing hands with Yang Heum had shown him he’d stepped into a new realm. A little more refinement, and he could change weapons.

Thoom!

With a heavy Stamping Step, he was about to sweep the spear again—

—from far off, a knock sounded at the main gate.

“First Young Master. The Clan Lord calls for you.”

“Hm? What’s the matter?”

“I... don’t know.”

Yeon Hojeong scratched his head.

“Do I actually take a real rest today?”