Black and White Martial Emperor

Hojeong’s body checked for an instant.

The hand that had fired the Linked Palms flushed red. In that same split-second, Yeon Wi had nullified the strike with a palm of his own.

Vrrrrm!

A faint, upright aura rose from Yeon Wi’s extended hand.

Reverse Dragon Palm!

One of the Yeon Clan’s apex arts. Each single palm carried fearsome force, but above all it was a palm art peerless for counterstrikes.

Yet the one more startled was Yeon Wi.

“Linked Flying Swallow Palm?”

“Yes.”

Paaak!

Before the answer even finished, Hojeong charged again.

You’d think he was coming straight in, but in a blink he dropped his level and swept the Fangtian Halberd.

Even at close range, the halberd’s crescent blades skimmed precisely for the ankle. Long and heavy though it was, the weapon ignored distance.

Yeon Wi’s sword kissed the floor of the training ground.

Skraaaape! Clang!

The blade scraped the ground forward and knocked the halberd aside. Again, the Fangtian Halberd failed to reach its mark.

The ricocheting shaft drew a cunning arc and cut for Yeon Wi’s flank. It was faster than when the blade was swung.

Chzzheng!

Perfect.

Hojeong couldn’t help but be amazed. His father’s martial realm had entered a state where offense and defense were truly one.

Chzheng! Crack! Paaak!

No matter how many times the halberd swept, no matter how he tried to make an opening with free-sparring fists and elbows, he could not break through. Not a single telling blow was allowed.

To have polished it this far!

Even before inner power or sword-force, the martial way itself was near-perfect—nothing to add, nothing to subtract. It was, in the literal sense, completion.

Magnificent!

In the Dark Emperor days, Hojeong’s martial arts had far outstripped Yeon Wi’s.

But even then, he could not manifest so flawless a unity of attack and defense as Yeon Wi showed now. It wasn’t a question of realm so much as of specialty.

If Hojeong’s martial arts drew out his strengths to the extreme—

Then Yeon Wi’s martial arts were like a fortress of steel that permitted not a single flaw. Orthodoxy of orthodoxies, the very incarnation of the straight, white path.

Good.

A first bout with Father?

That thought had already vanished. Facing a martial artist the martial world could hardly produce twice in an age, Hojeong felt a hotter fighting spirit than ever.

Paaang! Pababak! Puh-oom!

Hojeong’s martial arts grew fiercer.

The heavy halberd climbed another gear. Within an unbroken flow, spear-staff technique hunted every inch of Yeon Wi’s body.

Chzzzzheng!

Every weighty attack was stopped.

That was fine. Hojeong trusted—his father would never be hurt.

Vwooom! Vwoom!

As speed rose, destructive power rose; as destructive power rose, his bodywork gathered spring.

A strange light flickered in Yeon Wi’s eyes.

Astounding.

He was genuinely startled by his son’s martial arts.

So fierce and exhilarating!

The thing anchoring the body’s center was Jade Wave True Qi, and yet the art was so ferocious you’d never think he had such a stable core circulating.

Had he lost the balance of offense and defense? Not that either.

Chzzeng!

A short, whipping steel cut met the spear-staff and held.

He replaced defense with offense—not blocking to block, but wrapping the enemy’s attack together and lashing it in one sweep: an extreme martial method.

At this level, you couldn’t nitpick that he was only attacking. Defense was attack, and attack was an even stronger attack. A battlefield style that hounded the enemy without end—a way of fighting that killed first to survive.

And beyond that...

Papapapapang!

Hojeong wasn’t just good with the spear-staff.

The instant a thrust came, a kick flew; block the kick and, as if waiting, his fists and palms were there. Slip past the fists and palms and the halberd was back; bat the halberd aside and a precise foot technique slipped in.

He carried a weapon without relying only on weapon-work. It was, in the plain sense, a fight. Not overpowering with sheer force, but digging into openings to topple the foe—close-quarters killing.

More impressive still was what those opening-seeking close-quarters tactics were built on.

Basics?

Yeon Clan’s Thirteen Fists, Linked Flying Swallow Palm, Empty-Sky Kick, Autumn Wind Step—

Every one a basic Yeon Clan art. They didn’t boast overwhelming power, but they were the arts that built a warrior’s fundamental literacy.

And with those, he was mounting attacks this efficient?

Even I might not do this so well.

They say a true brush master doesn’t choose his brush.

The saying fit his son exactly. With calisthenic-like basics meant to temper the body, he was facing the head of a Seven Great Clan.

Yeon Wi’s gaze changed.

Chzzzzheng!

A hard, whipping sword-beat drove Hojeong back in a sliding retreat.

He had seen enough of his son’s arts. From this alone he could judge the realm his son had reached.

As Yeon Wi was about to speak—

Paaaaang!

Hojeong lunged at a speed he had never shown before.

Closing in at once, he swung the Fangtian Halberd like an axe striking down.

Yeon Wi was taken aback.

Impossible!

That last sword-beat hadn’t been simple.

He had loaded it with strong spring-force to knock the opponent back. It should have taken all one had just to hold one’s center.

And yet he was on him this fast?!

Yeon Wi whipped his sword up in an instant.

CHZZZEEEENG!

The clash of spear and sword rang past the training ground and out beyond the Clan Lord’s hall.

It was the most explosive, powerful strike yet. Yeon Wi’s blade quivered, ever so slightly.

Whoosh!

Dropping in a lightning fold, Hojeong poured out a terrifying chain of linked techniques.

Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa.

Yeon Wi blocked with a hand from the gods.

So that was it.

At last, he understood why his son had driven himself through such extremity of training.

He did it to win this stamina.

Hojeong’s assault left no room to breathe.

Each blow emitted massive force. It was the textbook one-hit-suppression style—but to forge those explosive blows, beyond inner power, he needed a body of iron and a bottomless engine.

Hojeong’s martial arts were speaking—no, proving:

This is me.

This is the art I pursue. He sought extreme offensive power with no compromise.

Yeon Wi’s eyes slid shut.

KWAANG!

With a fearsome Stamping Step, his steel sword drew the form of thunderbolt.

Kwarung!

“Mmh.”

Hojeong’s body was shoved to the far edge of the training ground.

It was a tier beyond the earlier rebounding-force cut. Sharp pain spiked through both hands gripping the halberd.

“That’s far enough.”

Shing.

At some point, already outside the ring, Yeon Wi had sheathed his sword.

Regret tugged at Hojeong.

I almost had it in sight.

Assaulting his father’s ironclad art, he had grabbed a thread to draw out the White Tiger.

Incantation and insight alone were not enough to summon a Spirit. If he drew out White Tiger Qi—an offense-aspected spirit—his inner power, body, and entire martial system would leap.

Frustrating, but so be it.

If he could handle two of the Four Spirits, with training he could summon the others as well.

But not the White Tiger. Without a life-and-death enemy, it would not come easily. The Four Spirit Arts themselves were born on the battlefield.

Which only says how great Father’s martial arts are—that he could nearly drag the White Tiger out of me without a death match.

Relaxing his stance, Hojeong looked at Yeon Wi with a curious eye.

How did he forge an art like this?

Thoom.

Setting the sword on the rack, Yeon Wi asked,

“How was it?”

“Sir?”

“In your eyes—what was your father’s martial art?”

Light sparked in Hojeong’s gaze.

“I think it’s close to perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“Yes. There’s room to grow stronger, but you pursue a flawless completeness that permits no weakness. You seem to want the middle path—neither biased to attack nor defense, evasion nor counter.”

He said, calmly, that there [N O V E L I G H T] was room to grow stronger.

And even hearing that from his son didn’t offend—because his son had struck dead center.

“You saw it?”

“Isn’t it harder not to see? Every warrior has a specialty. But in you, I didn’t see such a specialty.”

“...”

“A martial art that encompasses all phenomena—that is your art.”

Honest surprise showed on Yeon Wi’s face.

“Your discernment is truly remarkable. My Way, which no one has pierced—my own son could read it.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

Watching him in silence, Yeon Wi sighed.

“I wished for you to follow me.”

“Sir?”

“Half a year ago, at the ancestral rites, you changed. I don’t know why, but as head of a house, I welcomed that change.”

“...Yes.”

“But now...”

“...”

“It leaves me a little... wistful.”

Hojeong smiled.

“If I’ve done something wrong, tell me. I’ll correct it at once.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. That’s why I’m wistful.”

Pride in his son, and regret, lay stark on Yeon Wi’s face.

“Before I am Clan Lord, I am father to two sons. I hoped my sons would step onto the same road as I. Call it greed; call it stubbornness—I accept both.”

“...”

“But you have already stepped onto a different road. Through your martial arts, I could dimly see what you pursue.”

“What is it?”

“You have no thought of becoming the Young Clan Lord of the main house.”

Hojeong’s face hardened.

It wasn’t only the son who hit the mark. Watching his son’s martial arts, the father had read his son’s heart exactly.

“After you changed, I wrestled with that question. Today I can be sure. Your intent reaches not for this place, but out toward the world.”

“...”

Hands clasped behind him, Yeon Wi looked up at the sky.

His eyes on the flawless blue held an unplaceable tenderness unlike his usual gaze.

“I didn’t tell you why I wanted to see your martial arts, did I?”

“...Wasn’t what you just said the end of it?”

“No.”

“Then what was the reason?”

“I wanted to glimpse, through your martial arts, whether you hold the mindset not lacking for a Young Clan Lord.”

“...!”

Surprise moved across Hojeong’s features.

Young Clan Lord...?

It was a post he had never once considered.

Yeon Wi shook his head.

“A pity. As Clan Lord I wished to test your capacity for rule; as a father, knowing your will isn’t chained to the clan, I found myself frustrated.”

“...”

“It seems, as ever, the world refuses to move by one’s will.”

Hojeong could say nothing.

After a long look at the sky, Yeon Wi turned.

“Splendid martial arts. Let’s trade hands often, from now on.”

“...Yes.”

“You’ve worked hard.”

He started back toward the Clan Lord’s hall.

Watching his father’s back, Hojeong spoke.

“Father.”

Yeon Wi turned.

Hojeong smiled.

“Though my aim is different, my heart is always here. To protect the clan, I will bare my sword against the world itself—even if they brand me a demonic tyrant.”

“Nonsense.”

Yeon Wi resumed his steps toward the hall.

“If the world dares call my son a demon, I’ll set that ‘world’ beneath my sword.”

“...”

“Rest.”