Black and White Martial Emperor

“Clan Lord. A letter has arrived for the First Young Master.”

“Give it here.”

Yeon Wi took the letter, opened it, and his eyes lit.

‘Fast.’

He was already in Henan. Even on horseback that was an extraordinary pace. He must have changed mounts several times.

‘He means to make the Mo Yong Clan desperate.’

Yeon Wi grasped Yeon Hojeong’s intent at a glance.

Again he found himself surprised by his son’s capacity for action. He himself had piled up countless experiences as Clan Lord, but his son had not.

By moving with speed you throw the enemy into disarray. A flustered opponent exposes openings he never imagined, and the instant you strike through those openings, the enemy’s armament is stripped away.

It was the way of an old river-and-lake hand who had rolled every which way. Even Yeon Wi would have had trouble coming up with such a response on the spot.

Besides, when he caught the spies this time, he himself burrowed straight into the enemy’s camp, toyed with them, and forced the truth into the open.

It was a daring approach. It was wise forward drive. It was a way that did not shy from risk in order to defeat the enemy.

As a father he worried, but as a martial man he could only admire the response.

‘Be that as it may, since Hojeong has moved like this, the Mo Yong Clan will try to make contact somehow. But with the distance as it is, the odds are high they’ll seek aid from an ally they can trust.’

Yeon Wi’s gaze deepened.

He recalled his conversation with Yeon Hojeong before departure.

“It will be the Ming Clan without fail.”

“Do you have a reason to think so? In truth, there’s no shortage of powers the Mo Yong Clan could join hands with. There’s no need to drill with the clan called Greatest Under Heaven.”

“Even so, it’s the Ming Clan. It can only be the Ming Clan.”

“I’m asking why you think so.”

“......I can’t give you a definitive answer. But this trip to Henan will make it plain—who it is that has joined hands with the Mo Yong Clan.”

Even now it was a question. Why did he think the Mo Yong Clan had joined hands with the Ming Clan?

Yeon Wi, too, did not think the Mo Yong Clan would have undertaken this alone. The risk factors were too great.

But the organization they had joined hands with didn’t have to be the Ming Clan.

“.......”

However, there would be a reason his son had said as much. Through the string of incidents, he had come to trust Yeon Hojeong’s keen eye and judgment.

After a moment’s thought, Yeon Wi summoned Lee Baekhyeon.

“Get in touch with the Iron Cudgel Beggar branch master. Ask him to check whether there are any sects or organizations tied to the Ming Clan in or around Jiangsu and Zhejiang.”

“Understood.”

Hands interlaced behind his back, Yeon Wi sank into thought.

A clear murderous will glinted across his eyes.

“......If it really is tied to the Ming Clan?”

Then he would draw the Clan Lord’s Sword without a moment’s hesitation.

****

The youth led Yeon Hojeong to a sparsely traveled wood.

He guided him into the trees at sundown. Even knowing where the other side had come from, it could only be awkward.

But Yeon Hojeong’s face was the picture of indifference.

There was no trace of fear, unease, or suspicion. Nor did he show signs of tension or excitement.

Simply calm upon calm. At least outwardly, so it seemed.

The young man, Ming Do, furrowed his brow.

‘This punk doesn’t even get nervous?’

They had said the Greatest Under Heaven, the Ming Clan of the Nine Provinces, wanted to see him. No matter that he was the First Young Master of the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain, it was normal to feel tension.

But nothing like that showed in this punk.

“What’s that?”

“What is?”

“The axe.”

“My weapon.”

Ming Do let out a breath of disbelief.

“You use that big axe as a weapon? Not a sword?”

“Yeah.”

The Yeon Clan’s principal art was the sword.

Its swordsmanship was so outstanding that people said things like this:

“It isn’t as soft as Wudang’s sword, nor as delicate as Mount Hua’s. It isn’t as stately as the Namgung’s, nor as fierce as the Mo Yong’s. Even so, the Yeon Clan’s sword is strong. Its /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ uprightness is the orthodox of orthodoxies; in a sense, you could say it best suits the arts of the pure path.”

Though the Yeon Clan had been counted among the Seven Great Clans for only fifty years, it had won such renown not simply because it was righteous.

It was because they were strong. Their swordsmanship could rightly represent the Central Plains.

Even with such astonishing sword arts, their power among the seven was the smallest. A gentleman does not flaunt himself—that was why the martial world showered them with praise.

“Even as the First Young Master you use an axe as your weapon?”

“What of it?”

Ming Do’s brow creased even harder.

“I’ve been meaning to say this—how about you fix your tone.”

“And do you think your tone is full of courtesy?”

“.......”

True enough—he had told him, on first meeting, whether he’d make time or not. He didn’t have much room to talk.

Even so, Ming Do let his displeasure show, plain as day.

The Ming Clan was the clan called Greatest Under Heaven. It might be counted among the Seven Great Clans, but it was on a different level from the other six.

In the martial world, strength is power, and fame is status.

Put simply, the Ming Clan of the Nine Provinces was no different from the very top nobility of the martial world. Shaolin aside, it was not a house a small power like the Yeon Clan could dare to look up to.

‘Is this that age when he’s full of himself?’

Inwardly he sneered at Yeon Hojeong.

He’d heard the kid had made a very impressive showing at the younger-generation gathering.

It made sense his neck would get stiff. A punk who’d been mocked as a “tiger father, dog son” had even picked up that plausible nickname, Gale Lion.

‘Enjoy it while it lasts.’

How many masters had surfaced for a moment and then vanished without a sound? Ming Do thought Yeon Hojeong would be no different.

They walked on past the span of a two-beat watch, and firelight came into view.

Ming Do jerked his chin toward the campfire.

“Go on. There’s someone who wants to see you.”

“Sure.”

“Put that down.”

Ming Do pointed at the axe.

Yeon Hojeong chuckled and, without even answering, headed for the fire.

Ming Do’s eyes went cold.

“There’s a limit to how much arrogance I’ll indulge. Put it down. Now.”

Yeon Hojeong still walked on without a word.

Ming Do’s eyes filled with killing intent.

“You dare—!”

Just then—

“Leave him.”

A clear voice from somewhere.

Ming Do, about to act, flinched. The command had come from someone he could not defy.

In the end he could only glare daggers at Yeon Hojeong’s back.

Yeon Hojeong paid Ming Do no mind. He had no interest in small fry to begin with.

He turned over the voice he’d just heard.

‘Considerable.’

The inner force borne on that voice had uncommon depth. At this level it would not be wrong to call it the inner force of a pinnacle master.

‘You dragged quite a few along.’

What’s more, the human presences he felt were not one or two. They were huddled together so it wasn’t exact, but there had to be at least twenty.

His sense was exact.

“That’s an awfully big axe. It must be quite heavy, yet you lug it around neatly.”

As he neared the campfire, he saw a woman seated with some twenty-odd warriors standing behind her.

The owner of the voice was a woman. She looked about Ming Do’s age, with fine features set close and neat.

Yeon Hojeong cocked his head.

“So who are you?”

“Oh? Fresh. They said your temperament was rough—so it is, hm?”

The woman spoke with a laugh.

“I’m Ming Onji. You haven’t heard the name, have you?”

“No.”

“Hoho! Embarrassing a person, are we. Most at least say they’ve heard it.”

Thud.

Setting the axe down, Yeon Hojeong rested a hand on it and leaned against a tree, face blank.

“If you called me, say why.”

Ming Onji’s eyes sparkled like morning stars.

‘Not an ordinary temperament.’

Whether rough or timid, indifferent to others or brimming with wariness—

Any temperament would do. The real trouble begins when you don’t know the other side’s temperament.

By that measure, this youth named Yeon Hojeong was not ordinary. His tone was rough, but you couldn’t read what kind of temperament he had.

“By the way, where’d the Rear Beggar you came with go? I sent the kids to sweep the wine shops and they said he’d vanished.”

So in that brief moment they had searched the wine houses.

Yeon Hojeong tilted his head.

“He does as he pleases, so I don’t know. So—your business?”

“Ohh, I see.”

Ming Onji smiled bright.

“Came alone, did you? Guess you knew we’d show up?”

“I live a life with too many pests. Figured it’d be more of the same gnats this time, so I came.”

“If they’re gnats, should I swat them?”

“Are you gnats?”

It was a provoking tone.

Ming Onji’s face stayed calm, but the eyes of the warriors behind her changed.

They did not let killing intent leak. But the moment the order dropped, they looked ready to kill on the spot.

Even knowing the other side was the eldest son of the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain.

“Bold, aren’t you? Didn’t Ming Do tell you we’re from the Ming Clan?”

“What’s that got to do with anything when you’re turning yourselves into idiots worse than bugs?”

“Huh.”

At this point even Ming Onji found it hard to sit and listen in silence.

“If you keep coming out crooked like that, that won’t do. What if you get hurt before I even say my business?”

“That’s why I keep telling you to talk faster. I think I’ve said it several times already—are you slow on the uptake?”

Ming Onji’s eyes went wintry.

Even as the division chief of the Shadow-Death Division, the Ming Clan’s espionage unit, it was hard to keep perfect composure.

Contrary to appearances, she was already past thirty. But she wasn’t of an age that customarily led an intelligence division.

Which made it all the more remarkable. To head an espionage outfit at that age required outstanding ability and talent as foundation.

Maintaining composure was likewise one of her fine abilities. Yet this ill-mannered brat was shaking it.

“Amusing. You’re an amusing one.”

Ming Onji went on with a smile.

“You don’t like wasting time on pointless chatter, huh? Good. Let’s go straight to the point.”

“.......”

“How’s the Yeon Clan these days? Peaceful? No problems?”

A wintry smile touched Yeon Hojeong’s lips.

She said she’d get to the point, and asked about the Yeon Clan—as if the Mo Yong Clan hadn’t told them everything.

This is how those who live in so-called intelligence outfits or handle information tend to speak. They say they’re getting to the point, and then they lightly probe the other side.

It isn’t about confirming content—it’s about confirming the other side’s reaction.

Ming Onji’s expression, tone, and phrasing were those of someone thoroughly trained—put unkindly, the textbook patter of an intelligence operative.

“It’s a mess.”

“Oh? Something happen?”

“Some spectacularly stupid clan planted a few spies. Pulling them all out and setting things straight—my lower back’s about to ache from it.”

Ming Onji’s face hardened.

She’d meant to slip it in and fish, but he said it all outright. She was all the more surprised because she hadn’t taken him for the type to offer this up.

“You’d tell us that......?”

“And.”

Skkk.

Yeon Hojeong stroked the axe blade and went on.

“Looks like there were jackals too, who wanted to lick their chops and swallow the main house along with that stupid clan. Right?”

“......?!”

Was it the firelight?

Ming Onji’s eyes seemed to flicker more than usual.

“Funny when you think about it, isn’t it? The ones most pressed right now are the Mo Yong Clan, but you lot came to me first. The Mo Yong Clan aren’t such incompetents that they’d let you steal a march.”

“That’s......”

“That signboard ‘Greatest Under Heaven’—you won it in a pretty shabby way, didn’t you?”

Vvvvvmm.

A faint killing aura rose, seeping off the axe.

“Since you won it so easily, splitting it might not be so hard either. What do you think?”