Black and White Martial Emperor

“Mm.”

Mo Yonggun looked out the window.

The sun was setting.

“The day’s already going down.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa knit her brows. Being cooped up in the quarters all day had left her body feeling stiff.

“How do you think it went?”

“Who knows.”

It had been a full day stuck in one place, so it was understandable that Mo Yong Yeonhwa would toss out a pointless question like that. She’d never just sat and waited for contact to arrive without doing anything; of course she’d be itching.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa let out a sigh.

“I’d rather he be alive.”

Mo Yonggun let out a brief laugh.

“Of course he should be. Otherwise our trouble coming all the way to Henan would be for nothing, wouldn’t it?”

“That too, but—I really want to meet him and let him have it, properly.”

Mo Yonggun spoke with a roguish ease.

“Still, wasn’t he a man who almost became your husband, once?”

He meant when she’d made a business proposal to the Yeon Clan.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa lifted a shoulder.

“But he didn’t, did he?”

Mo Yonggun smiled.

She seemed a little bored, but that was all. His daughter remained as detached as ever.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa hadn’t taken a single step outside the lodgings even though he hadn’t told her not to go out.

She judged there was no point scattering the Beggars’ Union’s attention with useless movement. In a situation where they still didn’t know whether to take his hand or slap it away, rash motion was strictly forbidden.

To keep the great game in mind even in the smallest things—that was why Mo Yonggun favored Mo Yong Yeonhwa.

“The sun’s setting, so let’s have dinner too.”

“Yes.”

Mo Yonggun reached for the cord hanging in the air. Pulling it would ring a bell, and shortly a runner would come dashing up.

Just as he was about to pull the cord—

“......”

Mo Yonggun’s eyes flashed.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa tilted her head.

“What is it, Father?”

“The smell of blood.”

“Pardon?”

Mo Yonggun took his hand off the cord and looked out the window again.

A line of sound-transmission reached his ear.

[Young Lord Yeon has arrived.]

“...what?”

Surprise crossed Mo Yonggun’s face.

‘This fast?’

No—before that, had he actually survived the Azure Wolf Ghosts’ offensive? How?

“Father?”

“He’s coming.”

“Sir?”

“Yeon Hojeong is on his way.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa’s mouth fell open before she knew it.

“He beat the Azure Wolf Ghosts?”

Mo Yonggun did not answer.

The thought came to him that of course he had. He wouldn’t come looking for them without sweeping them aside.

At the same time, the thought came that it shouldn’t be possible.

“Didn’t they say he clashed with them at noon today?”

Once the Azure Wolf Ghosts locked onto a target and began to move, even at the fastest it took three to five days. They spent time wearing the target down, and at the decisive moment they stuck a blade in the neck.

It was the wolf’s nature, exactly. Wolves with good stamina chased and chased until the prey collapsed from exhaustion, and then finished the hunt.

And he had swept those vicious bastards aside in half a day? Alone?

‘Nonsense.’

It shouldn’t be possible.

Even if Yeon Hojeong alone had driven the Azure Wolf Ghosts hard, the ones left would not have hesitated to flee and hide. Hunting those down one by one was by no means easy.

‘Did the Beggars’ Union help? No way. If they know what the Ming Clan’s force is, they wouldn’t step in lightly.’

Just then—

Whoosh.

Mo Yonggun felt the blood smell thicken in an instant.

Thud. Thud.

The knocking at the door was fairly rough.

Mo Yonggun spoke evenly.

“Come in.”

Creak.

The door opened and a young man stepped in.

A tall, lean young man. His eyes were rather sharp, but he was a very handsome youth all the same.

Thump!

The floor shook.

The youth set down, by the door, an axe as big as a man’s torso, and drew ragged breaths.

“Forgive the intrusion.”

His whole body was smeared with blood.

His clothes were torn here and there, pierced in spots; the exposed skin was all stained with blood. A runnel of blood that had crossed his temple ran past his jawline and down his neck, and it still hadn’t dried.

He was covered in wounds and breathing hard. He had the look of a commander who had come through a melee.

“Are you the First Young Master of the Yeon Clan?”

“Are you the Clan Lord of the Mo Yong Clan?”

“I am.”

“I am.”

The young man—Yeon Hojeong—had eyes that flashed.

‘Mo Yonggun.’

He looked at him with surprise, but the expression as a whole held an unshaken ease.

A rough ambition that could set even the sky on fire lay hidden in those clear eyes. His thick lips, caged beneath a well-trimmed beard, were set with stubborn firmness, and his square jaw radiated resolve.

“......”

His fist tightened of its own accord.

If all that half-white hair and black beard were to go completely gray-white—

If a perfectly fitted frame were a touch diminished, but a far deeper gaze and a detached expression were drawn in—

If, instead of a luxurious silk robe, he wore snow-white martial clothes and a long over-robe—

‘The same.’

The Alliance Lord of the Martial World, revered as the Sword Deity—Mo Yonggun.

Exactly the same as when they’d met as the Dark Emperor and the Lord of the Black Emperor’s Citadel. Whatever differences in outward appearance, that uniquely seamless aura was unmistakably Mo Yonggun’s.

Yeon Hojeong took a quiet, deep breath.

Seeing this man in person made his feelings knot up. In truth, he was closer to disliking Mo Yonggun than liking him.

On top of that, he was the one who, at the end of his life, had ordered Tang Kwan to kill him.

‘If I die, who will stop you? The orthodox martial world as it is now... cannot stop the Black Emperor’s Citadel.’

‘I’ll apologize in the afterlife. Come with me.’

A precarious alliance or not, a comrade-in-arms was a comrade-in-arms. He had been killed, betrayed by a comrade. Of course his feelings toward Mo Yonggun couldn’t be good.

However—

“......”

The chill slowly left Yeon Hojeong’s eyes as he looked at Mo Yonggun.

“I am Yeon Hojeong of the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain in Jiangsu.”

He gave a crisp cupped-fists salute.

“I pay respects to the Clan Lord of the Mo Yong Clan.”

Mo Yonggun’s eyes lit.

In Yeon Hojeong’s gaze upon him, he saw a fragment of an emotion he couldn’t name. It felt like hatred, and it felt like wistfulness.

‘What is that?’

An unreadable feeling.

He could be angry—after all, Mo Yonggun had planted spies to topple his clan. But what was that wistfulness veiled behind the hatred?

“I am the one responsible for the Mo Yong Clan.”

Mo Yonggun smiled.

“So I at last see, in the flesh, the much-rumored Gale Lion.”

“Huu.”

Mo Yonggun rose from his seat and reached toward the large table set to one side.

“Sit there.”

“Then I will.”

Yeon Hojeong took a chair.

Despite being badly wounded and exhausted, there was no wobble in his gait. Mo Yonggun marveled at Yeon Hojeong’s toughness.

“Shouldn’t you receive treatment? Your injuries look quite severe.”

“I’m fine.”

He’d taken wounds like these more times than he could count. He’d fought day and night with worse hurts than this, too many times to number.

Yeon Hojeong smiled faintly.

“By the way, do you have any wine?”

“Wine? In that condition, are you sure?”

“I’m fine.”

“Heh.”

Mo Yonggun gave Mo Yong Yeonhwa a look.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa pulled the cord in the air. A short while later, when a runner arrived, Mo Yong Yeonhwa ordered a meal and wine.

Mo Yonggun sat across from Yeon Hojeong.

“I did not expect that this business would bring me not the Yeon Clan Lord, but his First Young Master.”

He gestured toward Mo Yong Yeonhwa.

“You’ll have met at the younger-generation gathering. My daughter, Yeonhwa.”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa smiled and offered a greeting.

“I’m Mo Yong Yeonhwa. We meet sooner than I expected.”

Yeon Hojeong, who had been quietly looking at Mo Yong Yeonhwa, gave a single nod and let it pass.

He had come to see Mo Yonggun, not Mo Yong Yeonhwa. Besides, he was busy mastering the tangle of feelings he held toward Mo Yonggun.

A faint change crossed Mo Yong Yeonhwa’s face.

Mo Yonggun burst out in a belly laugh.

“A taciturn man.”

“I’m awkward speaking with women. I ask your understanding.”

“So you’re a bumpkin in that regard? That is unexpected.”

Yeon Hojeong let out a brief snort.

Mo Yonggun’s eyes took on a curious cast. He wore a gentle smile, but his eyes were honed sharp, probing his counterpart.

‘Remarkable.’

He had sized up Yeon Hojeong’s fighting power at a glance.

Yeon Hojeong was strong. The inner power and killing will he held were in no way at a level one would call “younger generation.”

‘No, it doesn’t end there.’

Inner power was inner power—but the man himself simply looked strong.

An unbreakable strength, steel of steels forged by a peerless grand commander of /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the realm. From the chill in Yeon Hojeong’s aura, Mo Yonggun glimpsed the shadow of a divine weapon rarely seen anywhere.

Words slipped from Mo Yonggun’s mouth on their own.

“Did you wipe out all the Azure Wolf Ghosts of the Ming Clan?”

“You call them the Azure Wolf Ghosts?”

“You didn’t even know who they were?”

“I only knew they came from the Ming Clan.”

“Hahaha! How heartily refreshing.”

Mo Yonggun asked in a meaningful tone.

“So then, did you catch them all?”

Yeon Hojeong shook his head.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa’s lips curled a touch, as if she’d expected that.

Mo Yonggun cocked his head.

“Judging by your momentum I thought you’d cleaned every last one out, but not so?”

“I caught sixty-eight out of seventy. I took one arm from each of the remaining two and shipped them back to the Ming Clan.”

“...!”

“Don’t you think the Ming Clan Lord’s face will be something to see?”

Mo Yonggun’s face hardened.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa spoke, half exasperated.

“Young Lord Yeon. If that’s a lie for the sake of pride...”

Mo Yonggun raised a hand. Mo Yong Yeonhwa’s mouth closed of its own accord.

After studying Yeon Hojeong’s face for a long moment, Mo Yonggun spoke.

“Was it your intention to enrage the Ming Clan Lord?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll say this plainly—that was a bad move.”

Inwardly, Mo Yong Yeonhwa was dumbfounded.

Like her father, she could read Yeon Hojeong’s aura. But what she read was only abundant inner power and a well-ordered presence—nothing beyond that.

A vessel not yet complete. What her father, Mo Yonggun, saw—she could not.

Yeon Hojeong tilted his head.

“Why do you think so?”

“If you had annihilated them without a sound, the Ming Clan Lord would have grown cautious from here on.”

“He would.”

“And when he exercised caution—right then is when you should have struck. If you needlessly provoke his anger, Henan could turn into a hell of fire.”

Yeon Hojeong acknowledged it cleanly.

“That could happen.”

“Heh, are you trying to banter with me now?”

“Did you receive my letter well?”

“...?”

“You must have, else you wouldn’t be here. Then let me ask: no matter how rough and insufferably arrogant a fellow may be—on what would he rely to send such a letter to the Clan Lord?”

Mo Yonggun’s eyes flashed.

“You had something to rely on?”

Yeon Hojeong drew a letter from his breast. The letter was soaked with his own blood; it gave off a chill just to look at it.

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

A needless unease stirred in Mo Yonggun.

He slowly unfolded the letter.

“...Shaolin?!”

Yeon Hojeong wore a meaningful smile.

“I am certain, without a shadow of doubt, that there is a decisive move to topple the Ming Clan.”

“...!”

“But for that move to land properly, we need a buffer that keeps the Ming Clan checked, do we not? So I intend to summon a checking force we can trust. Well? Do you like my plan?”