Black and White Martial Emperor

FLAP!

Bare-chested, Yangcheon stood before a massive mirror.

A neatly bearded man in late middle age stared back at him. Though he was past sixty, his body had surpassed mortal limits, and his Inner Qi had reached its ultimate height.

Yangcheon raised a hand to his chest.

The man in the mirror did the same.

Slowly, Yangcheon rubbed the center of his chest. A faint prickling pain seemed to stir there.

Yin Desolation Divine Palm.

The Yin Desolation arts were the Perverse Lust Cult Leader’s primary martial art.

Whether fist, palm, finger, or kick, every aspect of Yin Desolation was manifested as a vicious killing method. Even Yangcheon, who had traveled across the Central Plains and experienced martial arts beyond counting, had never before encountered anything so godlike.

I heard that anyone struck by Yin Desolation will sooner or later suffer a ruptured heart meridian. Death is inevitable.

It was a troublesome martial art to contend with, but Yangcheon had seen many killing methods capable of endangering one’s life with a single successful strike. Some of his own penetrating-force techniques belonged to that category.

But Yin Desolation Divine Palm was clearly different.

It always targets the heart meridians. No other part of the body. Its sole purpose is to rupture the heart meridians.

It was an astonishing killing art, but at the same time, it could not be called especially efficient.

Hidden force, formed through the emission of Inner Qi, possessed the nature of penetrating the body and exploding within it.

Depending on the martial art, the practitioner’s realm, and the intent behind the strike, the moment of detonation could vary wildly. When hidden force was layered with qi and driven into the body, a victim might suffer for a month before blood vessels or internal organs ruptured. Or the body’s interior might explode in a single blow, killing the victim instantly.

The important point was that no one could know where the hidden force would erupt. That was why it was so deadly. But with luck, one might lose only an arm. With heaven’s blessing, weakened hidden force might rupture only the skin before dissipating.

Yin Desolation was different. It was a martial art devoted solely to rupturing the heart meridians and killing its opponent instantly.

Terrifying though it was, if one protected the heart meridians with True Qi in advance, the chance of death dropped sharply. To someone who had never encountered it, it was as dangerous as any other hidden-force technique. But once its characteristics were understood, its threat diminished drastically.

Unless the difference in martial ability was overwhelming, a single successful hit would not be fatal. No—if one defended properly, internal and external injuries might still be unavoidable, but the heart meridians could certainly be protected.

In other words, to bring out the Yin Desolation arts means that he intended to kill his opponent without fail. If someone survives after facing it, its weakness may be exposed to the whole world.

Yangcheon glared at his reflection.

His eyes burned like fire, steeped in dreadful Killing Intent.

“...I clearly blocked that man’s technique.”

The golden palm mark stamped over his chest was nothing more than a trace. Or so he had thought.

Then, after losing consciousness once, Yangcheon had focused his attention on the mark.

Yet no matter whether he examined it dozens or hundreds of times, he found nothing wrong. It truly was nothing more than a mark. It had not disturbed the flow of his Inner Qi or harmed his vital essence in the slightest.

I examined every nerve, every layer of subcutaneous fat, every neural connection in my muscles. And still, there was nothing.

Perhaps the Perverse Lust Cult Leader’s understanding of Yin Desolation had surpassed all limits, allowing him to control it so precisely that it caused no more than internal injury or unconsciousness.

But there was no way Yangcheon himself would have failed to notice such a thing.

Why...?

One thought gave rise to another.

After staring hard at his reflection for a long time, Yangcheon finally sighed.

“This isn’t what matters now.”

More precisely, there was an even more important problem waiting for him.

“...They have already taken control of Henan’s authorities?”

Yangcheon could scarcely believe it.

“They are acting so recklessly it is absurd. Even if their aim is the Central Plains, who would have thought they would reach as far as the authorities?”

He recalled Mo Yonggun’s face.

That terrifying face, twisted with loathing and fury.

“I’ll ask you again. Did you join hands with the Perverse Lust Cult? Are you in league with the Three Creeds?”

“Why can’t you answer? I asked whether you are such a pathetic man that, with barbarians at your back, you made a contract with an ignorant fool like me and intended to hand over the Martial Alliance—then the whole Central Plains—to them!”

Yangcheon ground his teeth.

“These bastards...!”

KURURUNG!

The entire hall shook beneath the blaze of his fury.

He was angry.

Angry that he had been subjected to such abuse by a mere Mo Yong Clan Lord.

Angry that something like that had been happening beyond his knowledge—beyond the knowledge of a man with enough power to exert overwhelming influence over the martial world.

And ashamed.

Have I fallen so low that I deserve to be insulted by the likes of him?

He was not ashamed before Mo Yonggun.

He was ashamed before himself.

Yangcheon’s Inner Qi flared in anger before he finally let out a long breath.

“I’m tired.”

He was tired. He wanted to rest without thinking about anything at all.

But he could not.

He was no longer a free man. As the head of Ink Dragon Manor and the Dark Path alliance, he could not afford to waste even a single day.

Would you join us?

Yangcheon closed his eyes.

Join hands with the Orthodox Path and bring down the Three Creeds?

Why was his chest so tight?

Once more, Yangcheon remembered Mo Yonggun’s words.

“The Orthodox and Dark Paths may have clashed for hundreds of years, but we are still people of the Central Plains! Our values may differ, and our cultures may differ, but we are all people of the Central Plains! Did you lean on foreign powers, build such influence, and then strut about as though you were something grand? Can you truly say that you are not in league with the Three Creeds?”

It was absurd nonsense. Considering the miserable lives that people of the Dark Path had suffered at the hands of hypocrites from the Orthodox Path, Mo Yonggun’s words had been far too self-centered.

Still... the Dark Path had not been clean either.

The Three Creeds? Or the Martial Alliance? Who am I supposed to face? No, is this even a situation where I must face either of them?

Yangcheon sighed.

I don’t know. I truly don’t. Am I really this stupid and incompetent?

He had told Mo Yonggun that he would clear the way and offer some help in capturing Yayul Jeok.

Those words alone proved that he had failed to make a cold judgment. Yayul Jeok was an evil beast dispatched by the Three Creeds.

He should not have said he would offer some help. He should have said that he would spare no effort in supporting them completely. No, before asking for their help, he should have said that he would capture and beat Yayul Jeok to death himself.

At the very least, if he had truly resolved to strike at the Three Creeds, that should have been his response.

“What am I even fighting for...?”

Just then—

“Manor Lord!”

“...What is it?”

“The commander of a Martial Alliance field-force unit requests an audience with you!”

Yangcheon’s face twisted savagely.

“Quit talking nonsense. Tell him that if they do not pass through Hunan within three days, I will hunt every last one of them down and kill them!”

Yes. That was where he stood now.

The thought of personally responding to the summons of a mere Mo Yong Clan Lord was already enough to make his blood boil, and now the commander of some insignificant unit wanted to see him?

Damn it!

Then White Rat spoke again.

“...Manor Lord.”

“What now?”

“If he were not someone I recognized, I would have dealt with him first and reported it afterward.”

Yangcheon roared.

“What nonsense are you talking about? Explain yourself in detail!”

“It is Jeong.”

“What?”

“The former Director of the Intelligence Division. Jeong.”

Yangcheon’s eyes flashed.

He stretched out a hand toward the stone doors.

KUGUGUGUNG!

Under an overwhelming act of controlling objects through empty air, the heavy stone doors flew open.

White Rat was kneeling before the open entrance.

“What did you just say?”

White Rat’s voice trembled faintly.

“The commander of the Martial Alliance field-force unit, the Righteous Justice Corps, is Yeon Hojeong.”

“...!”

“That man is the former Director of the Intelligence Division, Jeong—the one who called himself a descendant of the Martial Sect.”

FLASH!

Yangcheon’s eyes blazed.

*****

HOOO...

A faint plume of vapor escaped with Yeon Hojeong’s soft exhale.

Hunan was warmer than Henan. Even so, the mountain air was cold beneath the night sky.

After looking up at the stars scattered overhead, Yeon Hojeong closed his eyes.

I can feel it.

WOOOOONG. WOOOOONG. WOOOOONG.

He could not tell where it was coming from.

But he was certain. The air around this mountain, and beyond it, had changed completely.

I can feel it. Killing Intent beyond imagination.

A bitter smile touched Yeon Hojeong’s lips.

So this is what it means to face someone who has reached Limitlessness. We are this far apart, yet I can still feel the air trembling.

It was not something he sensed with his five senses.

It was his sixth sense.

Since entering Hunan, Yeon Hojeong’s senses had sharpened to an extreme. That sharpened awareness had only grown keener with time, scouring the air in every direction.

THUD.

Yeon Hojeong set Mad Dragon down and stroked the jaw of his warhorse, Red Wind.

SNORT.

Red Wind was immense and powerfully built, like the legendary Red Hare. Its stamina surpassed even that of a blood-sweating horse, and its strength exceeded that of any steed from the Western Regions.

After stroking Red Wind’s jaw and muzzle for some time, Yeon Hojeong spoke.

“I’ll be back shortly.”

As though they had been waiting for it, Mo Yong-woo and Mookbi rose.

“We are coming with you.”

“Yes.”

Yeon Hojeong shook his head.

“I’m going to meet a detested friend and sworn enemy—a man I both care for and hate. There is no need to drag a crowd along.”

“But...!”

“If a battle breaks out, no one’s safety can be guaranteed. If we all go in a pack, we will only irritate Yangcheon for no reason.”

Yeon Hojeong smiled.

“Do not worry. The Yangcheon I know would never point his fist at me.”

“...Will you truly be all right?”

“I will. Absolutely.”

SHNK!

Yeon Hojeong drew Mad Dragon, rested it across his shoulder, and turned away.

“I will be back before dawn. Get some rest.”

“...Yes.”

“And Gangryang.”

Gangryang, who had been hiding in the darkness, rose to his feet.

Yeon Hojeong glanced at him.

“Do you want to see your enemy’s face?”

Gangryang nodded.

“It would not hurt to see him beforehand.”

“Beforehand?”

“He is a man who will one day die by my sword. Let me make this clear, Brother. Even you will not be getting his life.”

Yeon Hojeong let out a quiet laugh.

“You certainly have nerve. Fine. Come along.”

After stationing the Righteous Justice Corps in the mountains, Yeon Hojeong and Gangryang traveled more than twelve miles.

Before long, a broad clearing came into view.

Moonlight poured down over the unnervingly flat, immaculate expanse.

Two figures stood there.

Yangcheon.

Yangcheon sat on a flat boulder with his fingers interlocked. He looked like a crouching lion, so menacing that the air itself seemed to recoil.

He did not release a single qi wave, yet his presence was overwhelming. It was like watching a lion in the instant before it hunted.

Yeon Hojeong watched him in silence, then strode forward without hesitation.

Just then—

“Disciple.”

Though they were still some distance apart, Yangcheon’s calm voice reached Yeon Hojeong and Gangryang with perfect clarity.

“Why don’t you use your martial arts to test whether that damned bastard walking over there is the real thing?”

PAAAAANG!

The moment Yangcheon finished speaking, a sturdy woman charged forward at astonishing speed and threw a fist.

Lightning flashed in Yeon Hojeong’s eyes.

KWAAAAANG!

With a devastating blow from Mad Dragon, Yeon Hojeong drove the woman back and spoke in an even voice.

“A fitting reunion for hot-blooded men. Fists before we even exchange a word?”

“...”

“Have you been well, Vice Manor Lord Yang?”

Yangcheon raised his head.

In that instant, the moonlight seemed to collapse, and the world seemed to fill with darkness alone.

“...You rat bastard.”