Black and White Martial Emperor

Flash!

A thread of blue radiance seeped into the cliff face.

Sss—

Where the blue light struck, a sword scar about ten feet long appeared on the cliff.

It was a startling sight. Even though he had driven out a supreme sword energy, there was no slicing whine or thunderous boom—only a scar carved cleanly in stone.

That meant the sword energy’s cutting power was immense. Compress the destructive property of force to the limit, and nothing remains but the cut itself.

It was a realm ordinary masters couldn’t even dream of. Even a lifetime devoted to the sword would struggle to reach such astonishing skill.

“Mm.”

The elderly man tilted his head at the sword scar etched in the cliff.

“So it’s still beyond me? I thought this time might do it.”

Srring.

The sound of the sword sliding into its scabbard flowed as smooth as water.

The elderly man stretched wide.

He looked to be in his fifties, yet his bare upper body was sheathed in tremendous muscle. Far from dull, the compressed mass was hard as chert.

“Hoo... I’ll have to devote myself to the sword for a while. A mere ten feet—still a long way off.”

Just then, a lovely voice came.

“If you say that, you make me feel terribly small.”

“You’re here?”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa looked at the cliff and smiled bright as sunlight.

“Magnificent. To leave a sword scar like that from this distance. When will I even be able to imitate it?”

“Heh, there’s no greed like overreaching greed. For your age, forging that much skill is already remarkable. If I think back to my own, being called a genius would not be too much for you.”

“Don’t lie. I heard that by my age, Father had already brought the North Wind Sword to great perfection.”

“Perfecting a martial art and realizing it are separate things. My attainment might have been higher, but I didn’t have your gift for bringing it out so naturally. You’re entitled to pride.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa lifted a shoulder.

“I always feel pride. I simply think the more excessive the ambition, the better.”

“Not wrong—but if you get eaten by that ambition, you can regress.”

“I’m not that foolish, Father.”

“Hah. Whose daughter do you think you are.”

The elderly man—Mo Yonggun—laughed heartily.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa laughed back and drew a letter from her breast.

“Good news arrived.”

The corners of Mo Yonggun’s mouth rose on their own.

It was a red letter. His heart was heating already.

He took it, opened it—light flashed in his eyes.

“The Ming Clan succeeded, it says?”

“So it does.”

“Now that they’ve found the source of their martial art, will the lifespan problem be solved?”

“That we don’t know. The Ming Clan’s martial art is strong. It lacks little compared to our clan’s.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa gazed at the cliff.

“Is it comparable to that supreme sword power?”

“That, too, I can’t say. I did once lightly trade hands with the Ming Clan Lord.”

“Huh? I never heard that.”

“It wasn’t a life-and-death duel—we simply confirmed each other’s caliber. Nothing to trumpet about.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa’s eyes shone.

Within the household, she was the one Father told the most. He shared everything down to trifles.

But not everything. There were a few things even his own daughter didn’t hear.

That was why she respected Mo Yonggun. Even standing at the apex of the clan, he remained thoroughly wary of his surroundings—cautious and razor-edged; she wished to emulate it.

“How was it? The Ming Clan Lord’s martial art.”

“Formidable.”

“There aren’t many people you call formidable.”

Mo Yonggun shook his head.

“Among the Seven Great Clans’ lords, not one is easy. Publicly they say the Ming Clan Lord and the Yeon Clan Lord vie for the top, but you never truly know until blades cross.”

“You mean, like you, the other clan lords are concealing their strength?”

“Of course. Unlike the Ming and the Yeon—two newer houses—the five with long tradition never reveal their full hand.”

His eyes deepened.

“Even accounting for that, the Ming Clan Lord’s skill was tremendous. If they’ve found the mainline art, I expect it won’t fall behind our secret teachings.”

“Amazing.”

“They haven’t kept the name Greatest Under Heaven till now for nothing.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa smiled slyly.

“A pity. They won’t get to use that title anymore.”

Mo Yonggun read the last part of the letter.

As if for emphasis, though in fine brush, the stroke was thicker than the rest.

“Tsk, tsk. Ming Clan Lord. Finding your ancestors’ martial art was fine, but your greed ran too far. How can you shamelessly call yourself ‘greatest under heaven’ after killing hundreds of blameless laborers?”

Amazingly, Mo Yonggun knew everything the Ming Clan had done.

It was a covert system planned meticulously from the day he became Clan Lord. He had planted “eyes” not only in the Ming Clan but across all families within the Seven Great Clans.

In some, he had even infiltrated professional spies and established secret passages and safe houses within their estates. Most notably, the Yeon Clan.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. It required astronomical sums and trustworthy hands. Even for Mo Yonggun, it wasn’t a thing to set up in a mere dozen years.

That grand undertaking had been carried out with his predecessor—his father.

“I proved my ability to my father, your grandfather. Even while cutting down my own brothers.”

“I know, Father.”

“And you are proving the ability you bear to me. When you’re confident, bring me the board you’ve drawn. If it’s a plan worth satisfaction, I’ll entrust the clan to you.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa smiled full of confidence.

“Everything is coming together. Don’t worry.”

“Heh heh heh.”

Mo Yonggun liked his daughter’s boldness very much. His sons’ talent was no ordinary thing either, but they never tried to cross the line.

That was why he favored his daughter. Mo Yong Yeonhwa, who had inherited his blood as-is, possessed a cold iron heart—one who would cut even blood kin if need be.

A talent far more important than a mind that had reached divine craft: ruthlessness.

“By the way, has there been any separate word from the Yeon Clan?”

“No. Not yet.”

Mo Yonggun clicked his tongue.

“What a frustrating man. Famous for a sword method said to cleave even the waves, yet in matters like this he’s timid.”

“He seems the type who dislikes risk at the root.”

“That too. Even in his youth the Yeon Clan Lord had no interest in expanding power.”

“And this time he’ll be all the more cautious. It’s not common to receive three proposals for business. He must be deep in deliberation.”

Mo Yonggun smiled.

“If he wants to preserve even his clan’s line, he’d best agree without fuss.”

Just then—

In the far distance, a warrior in black night-clothes with his face veiled ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) came racing in.

Slip.

Kneeling before Mo Yonggun, the warrior spoke in a stiff voice.

“Clan Lord.”

“What brings you at this hour?”

“A problem has arisen.”

“A problem? What kind?”

“There’s been no contact for five days from the handler we planted on the Yeon side.”

Mo Yonggun’s eyes went cold.

A handler was required to report progress once a day. Even when things blew up, it rarely went past three days.

Five days without contact meant he had to assume something had happened to the handler.

“Could the Yeon Clan have noticed? That shouldn’t be possible.”

He hadn’t thought Tae Gyeong would be the one to get caught. It isn’t as easy as one thinks to suspect a Chief Steward who’s put down roots in a clan for nearly ten years.

The real problem was the true spy and the handler. Even if Tae Gyeong had the bad luck to be taken, Na Il and Jang Hak must not be exposed. From the start, those two were the real ones. Tae Gyeong was nothing but wrapping to fully plant Na Il and Jang Hak.

“It’s hard to determine the exact situation. For now we’re probing the Tongcheon Corps—their information broker.”

“Find out swiftly.”

“Yes.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa knit her brows.

“What could it be? Jang Hak is a first-rate handler. He’s not someone who makes mistakes.”

“No human can make none. We’ll have to judge whether it’s external factors—or something else.”

She shook her head.

“Just in case, we should consider the worst.”

“Of course. If the Yeon Clan truly has noticed the spy’s existence, we’ll have to bury it before any chatter leaks.”

Mo Yonggun frowned.

“Huh! Must I draw the blade already.”

****

“...in total, seven sites.”

“I see.”

“It seems...”

Lee Baekhyeon, who had been hesitating, made up his mind and spoke.

“Our clan, too, should fortify the whole estate like the others.”

Though its time among the Seven Great Clans was short, the clan’s own history stretched over a hundred and fifty years.

But aside from a few ruined spots, the Yeon Clan’s main buildings still kept the look their forebears had used. There was nothing to take and nothing to hide, so they’d seen no need to rebuild.

Yeon Wi had been the same.

In truth, he held little attachment to buildings at all. He left them as they were because his predecessor—his father—had insisted.

But now, with matters as they were, there was no help for it.

“Call for Old Pyeon.”

“Do you mean Pyeon Ilgang, the Divine Smith?”

“Yes.”

Lee Baekhyeon tilted his head.

“No one needs to speak of Master Pyeon’s skill, but... isn’t he a blacksmith, not a man of earthworks or defensive mechanisms?”

Yeon Wi looked at him.

Lee Baekhyeon started and bowed his head.

“My apologies. I’ll bring him at once.”

“...Old Pyeon is—”

“Sir?”

“Old Pyeon has close friendships with the greats of mechanisms and arranged defenses.”

“Ah!”

“Bring him.”

“Y-yes! Understood.”

Lee Baekhyeon left the Clan Lord’s hall.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Yeon Wi’s figure at the window looked unusually lonely for him.

Yeon Jipyeong sighed inwardly. Even without saying it, he could tell his father was feeling hemmed in.

Of course, he himself had been shaken. Chief Steward Tae Gyeong had been kind to him, too.

But not as hard as it was for Father. As a man—and as head of the clan—the blow was heavy.

“Fa—”

“Then let’s wrap up and be on our feet.”

Startled, Yeon Jipyeong looked at Yeon Hojeong.

Yeon Wi turned.

“You’re going?”

“Yes.”

Yeon Jipyeong cocked his head.

“Going? Brother, where are you going?”

Yeon Hojeong smiled.

“A little trip into the Central Plains.”

“Eh?!”

What in the world, all of a sudden?

Yeon Wi asked,

“You haven’t set a destination?”

“That’s precisely what I meant to consult with you about, Father.”

“Mm?”

Yeon Hojeong picked up the letter on the table.

“We’ve caught the spies on our side, so we can breathe. But what do you suppose they’re thinking over there? They must be flustered.”

“Of course.”

“In that case, we have to see what follow-up measures they take.”

Light flashed in Yeon Wi’s eyes.

“We’ve erased all of Mo Yong Sega’s shadows. It’ll be hard for them to grasp our situation, so they’ll likely try to find out through the Tongcheon Corps.”

It was a precise read.

Yeon Hojeong was a man who had waded through every kind of asura field where lies ran rampant. Yet even without such experience, Yeon Wi was anticipating how the enemy would move.

Innate wisdom and ability don’t go anywhere. Yeon Hojeong’s burden eased a measure.

“Exactly. If they publicize this, the only ones who suffer are they themselves—so they can only approach it carefully.”

“The problem is what comes after. The moment they learn our state, I can’t get a feel for what they’ll do.”

So it was.

Yeon Wi had almost no personal ties with Mo Yonggun. He didn’t know the man.

To infer methods, you have to know your opposite. Not building familiarity with others was Yeon Wi’s weakness.

“In short, each of us doesn’t know the other’s situation.”

“Right.”

“And yet their first move is predictable.”

“That as well.”

“In that case, our choice is singular.”

Yeon Wi and Yeon Jipyeong turned to Yeon Hojeong.

A meaningful look came over Yeon Hojeong’s face.

“First, we muddy the enemy’s view—then we strike from a point they cannot anticipate.”

“...?!”

“Thinking of it that way... the place I need to go is decided.”