Black and White Martial Emperor

Half a day later.

“Heh-heh, it’s been a long time since you came to this man’s quarters, hasn’t it?”

“Has it?”

“We’ve been distant lately. I believe the last time was before the Demon-Sweeping & Evil-Smiting Field Forces set out.”

“I’m the type to forget trivial things quickly.”

Still prickly.

Mo Yonggun smiled faintly. Dang Gwan’s abrasive temperament was, if anything, invigorating to him. Dang Gwan clearly had his own wisdom and ability to handle situations, yet he never bothered to hide himself.

For a man like Mo Yonggun, who had spent his entire life hiding, striking from behind, building traps, and luring enemies in, Dang Gwan—who had reached the pinnacle of a clan with a bluntly honest arrogance—was a strangely fascinating kind of person.

“Now, have a cup. Dragon Well.”

As Dang Gwan accepted the cup, he asked,

“You said there wasn’t much left.”

“Heh-heh. It’s tea I only serve to honored guests. I don’t drink it for myself.”

“By ‘honored guests,’ are you talking about Je Gal Munho?”

Je Gal Munho.

Not “Je Gal Clan Lord,” not “Strategist Je Gal.” Just Je Gal Munho. Dang Gwan’s arrogance was as intact as ever.

Mo Yonggun nodded.

“Of course, Je Gal Clan Lord is an honored guest as well.”

He acknowledged it frankly. Dang Gwan, who had been watching him in silence, took a sip of tea.

“Was it discussed in advance?”

It was an abrupt question, but Mo Yonggun understood at once.

“You mean this Yangcheon matter?”

“That’s right.”

“Not long ago, Je Gal Clan Lord and Yeon Clan Lord came to see this man. They said they wanted to investigate Yangcheon, and asked me to lend them a scheme—how to approach without being discovered.”

“So you told them?”

“I did.”

“Why? Have you decided you want to reconcile with them now?”

That’s unexpected.

Was it because their natures were different? Or because the hell they’d crawled out of was different?

He hadn’t expected him to react so sharply to that point. In more ways than one, the man was invigorating.

“Reconcile... and what if I did?” Mo Yonggun smacked his lips and continued. “Letting them lower their guard, then cracking the back of their heads in a spectacular fashion—that’s not a bad method either.”

He went on, almost amused.

“Though I don’t know if they’d actually lower their guard after seeing me like this. If anything, they’d only grow more suspicious.”

Dang Gwan’s eyes—poisonous like Crane’s-Crest Red, sharp like Storm of Pear-Flower Needles—gradually eased.

“So you weren’t trying to join hands with them?”

“They’re not the sort who’d take my hand even if I offered it.”

“I understand what you mean well enough, but for the sake of smoother conversation, I’d like a more direct answer.”

Mo Yonggun smiled.

“I didn’t join hands. They are nothing more and nothing less than targets I must topple—or sacrifices for my hunger for power.”

Dang Gwan nodded.

“Then I’ll understand it as a period of temporary cooperation.”

“Exactly.”

Dang Gwan drank tea again. The heavy yet refreshing aroma loosened his body and mind into comfort.

“But is he really that dangerous?”

“You mean Yangcheon?”

“Yes.”

“How can a man who should know ask that? Each of the Thirteen Seats of the Sacred Heavens is a monster that shattered human limits. And Yangcheon is the strongest fighter among them—one who claimed a seat with his own hands.”

“I’m not saying I don’t know that. But force and strategy are separate issues, aren’t they?”

Mo Yonggun replied in a bitter voice.

“In truth, I also thought Yangcheon was nothing but a street brute who could only brawl. Until I received reports about him.”

“Then he’s got a brain?”

“I don’t know if he’s ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) a monster in that sense, but he’s at least not a man you can deal with halfheartedly.”

Dang Gwan’s gaze dropped hard.

Not someone to deal with halfheartedly? For those words to come from Mo Yonggun’s mouth meant the opponent was truly not ordinary.

Up to now, Mo Yonggun had only ever called two people “monsters.” But those two were merely young men overflowing with potential—not fully realized great vessels yet. Not disasters no one could bear.

Which meant Mo Yonggun’s assessment of Yangcheon was, in its own way, an exceptionally high appraisal.

“So that’s why you stepped in?”

“Hmm?”

“So that’s why you negotiated with them to be seated as the commander of this operation?”

Mo Yonggun gave a small snort.

“I wasn’t opposed to negotiating, but the one who proposed it first was actually them.”

Dang Gwan frowned.

“From Je Gal Munho’s side?”

“That’s right.”

“What kind of scheme does that fox have?”

“He has none. Not this time.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because he isn’t bold enough to play games with a problem this serious.”

“Hm. Then conversely, Je Gal Munho’s side may suspect you to some degree.”

In Dang Gwan’s eyes, Mo Yonggun was a man who could become bold enough, if the situation demanded it.

Mo Yonggun shook his head.

“They won’t put away their suspicion—but this time, they’ll be trusting this man as well. That’s why they came in person.”

“Why?”

“Because Je Gal Clan Lord understands me to some extent.”

“So Yangcheon really is that terrifying.”

Frost settled over Mo Yonggun’s face.

It was a rare expression. He was genuinely tense.

“It’s a hundred times harder to soothe and coax quick-eyed cats than it is to seize a pride of lions drunk on their own pride. And yet Yangcheon did it.”

“Gathering the Dark Path.”

“As Je Gal Clan Lord said in the meeting earlier, we are one step below the Dark Path in information power. But there’s only one reason we never cared about that until now.”

“Because they didn’t unite as one?”

“Exactly.”

Mo Yonggun’s eyes glittered.

“Whether Yangcheon did it alone or received someone’s help isn’t the important part. What matters is this: a fatal blade that casts its shadow over the entire Central Plains is now in Yangcheon’s hand.”

“Hm.”

“People say a hundred hearings aren’t worth one seeing, but I don’t trust that man called Yangcheon. To speak plainly, he isn’t a man worth joining hands with. Which means, to me, he’s a bomb that can never become an ally.”

Dang Gwan’s mouth curled upward.

“So it means we have no choice but to form a common front.”

“That’s what I think.”

Mo Yonggun let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Power is a demon. If you feed it on schedule and pat it into place, you can raise power like a dog—but if you make it beg and scavenge everywhere, from that moment on, it starts seeing even its owner as prey.”

“.......”

“Even if Yangcheon were a usable man, I have no intention of joining hands with him. Why? The moment I do, the dog I want to raise called power will go rabid—there’s no doubt about it.”

“Power...”

“I want to become a man who rules even power itself. I don’t want to become a slave to power and remain an ugly glutton for desire.”

Like so many powerholders throughout history?

Dang Gwan didn’t bother to spit out the words that had risen to his throat. Now wasn’t the time to sneer out of habit.

After staring at Mo Yonggun for a moment, Dang Gwan tossed his gaze out the window.

“He looked satisfied.”

“Hm?”

“Abbot Gonggong. Watching you and Yeon Hojeong—that little bastard—smiling and talking, he looked positively pleased.”

Mo Yonggun gave a short snort.

“You knew?”

“Abbot Gonggong is practically the chair of the Councilors’ Meeting. To a man who plays leader when no one else owns the seat, how ugly do you think it looks when a pack of mouths only fights over power?”

Sharp. Sharper than expected.

Mo Yonggun shook his head.

“One day he came to warn me with a single sentence. I told him I would, and sent him away.”

“He’s a half-baked bald priest throwing his weight around on nothing but the aura of towering authority. It didn’t look like prolonged dealings would do anyone any good.”

“True. Abbot Gonggong is a treasured sword with no hilt. There’s no one to hold him—and no one to fit him with a hilt.”

“Because he’s Shaolin?”

“Because he’s Shaolin.”

Mo Yonggun drained his tea.

“Anyway, setting my problem aside—what about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeon Hojeong. The Tang Clan craftsman’s capability he asked you for.”

Dang Gwan answered with a sour face.

“He came yesterday.”

“Hm?”

“The goods from the main house arrived. A gift to hand over to that bastard and the Evil-Smiting Corps.”

*****

Several wagonloads of carts rolled into the Army-Breaking Pavilion.

“Hm.”

After looking over the goods piled on the carts, Yeon Hojeong smiled in satisfaction.

“Good. As expected—top grade.”

Yeon Wi asked,

“Was it sent from the Tang Clan?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me see as well.”

When Yeon Wi lifted a round steel plate the color of ink, surprise surfaced in his eyes.

“Incredible.”

“Right?”

“To be able to process Ten-Thousand-Year Ink Iron this smoothly... I’d heard the Tang Clan craftsmen are unmatched under heaven, but that wasn’t exaggeration.”

“And look at the weight. They reduced it as far as possible while keeping the strength.”

“An alloy?”

“Probably.”

Yeon Wi clicked his tongue.

“Light armor enough for the entire Evil-Smiting Corps to wear...”

It was only natural that light armor used far less iron than heavy armor. And normally, light armor was often made by layering leather or cloth and attaching metal on top.

But the light armor loaded on the carts was different. The breastplates, arm guards, shoulder guards, and greaves were all Tang Clan secret alloy work, with Ten-Thousand-Year Ink Iron as the main component.

It kept supreme strength while cutting only weight—light combat armor made specifically for martial artists. It didn’t restrict movement and was light enough to suit martial artists with fast bodies.

Mookbi’s eyes sparkled.

“I think I only need the breastplate and shoulder guards.”

“No. Wear all of it.”

“Do I really have to?”

Yeon Hojeong nodded.

“As long as the weight isn’t a serious burden, it’s better to wear it no matter what.”

“Why?”

“Mass-producing uniforms or standardized weapons—whether in the army or by sect—is about belonging. And if training is solid and morale rises, group cohesion rises too.”

“Group cohesion...”

Yeon Wi nodded.

“Hojeong is right. The Evil-Smiting Corps is an armed group made up of sons and daughters from the Nine Great Sects and the great clans. They follow Hojeong well as Corps Commander, but there are still plenty who think of their belonging as their own sect, not the Evil-Smiting Corps.”

“Yes. And from now on, we should pay more attention to forms of address as well. Evil-Smiting Corps-only armor and forms of address. Even that small change can make us stronger.”

“A good idea.”

Mookbi tilted her head. It was still hard for her to understand.

Yeon Hojeong said to Mookbi,

“You have to do it.”

“Me?”

“When I’m not here, you have to train them.”

Mookbi’s eyes widened.

“M-Me?”

“I’ll tell you the schedule and the intensity. But you’ll have to adjust the gradual increases and the right rest on your own.”

“I... I’m not really good at that...”

“Do it even if you’re not confident. You’re the Deputy Commander of the Evil-Smiting Corps. When I’m not here, you’re the head of the Evil-Smiting Corps.”

“Ugh.”

“I’ll tell you one thing. A leader should understand the hearts of those beneath them—but you can’t start watching their faces for permission.”

Yeon Hojeong smiled.

“The you I know has more than enough ability. Trust yourself and lead boldly.”

“Ahem.”

Yeon Wi asked,

“Anyway, there are about five days left until deployment. Is there anything you need to prepare in the meantime? If there is, say it. Your father will help.”

“I’m fine. I think I just need to manage my body.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. But...”

Yeon Hojeong looked far to the west.

Beyond the wall, the countless halls and buildings lined up within the inner citadel of the Alliance of the Martial World.

And the place his awareness was aiming for among them was the Tang Clan.

“I’m thinking of bringing one more person.”