Black and White Martial Emperor

“Ah! Supreme Commander?”

After spending the past few days regrouping and chatting with Mo Yong-woo about one thing or another, Mookbi seemed to have grown more accustomed to calling Yeon Hojeong “Supreme Commander” than “Young Master Yeon.”

“You’re back.”

“Yeah.”

Yeon Hojeong looked somewhat weary.

He did not appear to have fought any battles, but the exhaustion in his eyes made him look like a man returning from a hundred of them. His mental fatigue must have been that severe.

“Did everything go well?”

“Well enough.”

“That’s a relief. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Thanks.”

“You should get some rest first.”

“No. There’s something I need to do before that.”

Yeon Hojeong headed straight for the Demon-Sweeping Corps’ quarters.

The enormous estate the Beggars’ Union had secured was spacious enough to house both the Evil-Smiting Corps and the Demon-Sweeping Corps with room to spare. Of course, if the Demon-Sweeping Corps had not suffered such heavy losses, things would have been considerably tighter.

“Supreme Commander?”

Mo Yong-woo, who had been directing training, lowered his sword and approached. Surprise showed on his face.

“Are you finished with your business?”

“Yeah.”

Mo Yong-woo turned around and shouted.

“All units, assemble.”

SWISH!

The scattered Demon-Sweeping Corps soldiers converged at once and formed ranks.

Unlike the comparatively free-spirited Evil-Smiting Corps, the Demon-Sweeping Corps moved with strict precision. The atmosphere suited Mo Yong-woo perfectly.

Yeon Hojeong spoke calmly.

“At ease.”

Mo Yong-woo opened his mouth.

“At ease.”

Even at Mo Yong-woo’s command, the soldiers did not truly relax their posture. Only the rigid look of soldiers in formation softened into the tired eyes of exhausted men.

Mo Yong-woo smiled.

“Did things turn out well?”

“More or less. Looks like we’ll be staying here for a while.”

“I see.”

Mo Yong-woo did not press for details.

Yeon Hojeong asked,

“Where are they?”

The question came without context, but Mo Yong-woo understood immediately.

“I’ll take you there.”

“All right.”

In truth, there was hardly any need for guidance.

About a hundred and fifty meters from the Demon-Sweeping Corps’ training ground stood a large altar densely packed with more memorial tablets than one could easily count.

Yeon Hojeong walked up to the altar and silently looked over them.

There were more than two hundred tablets, each only about half the size of a normal memorial tablet. They had needed to make them smaller to fit them all on the altar.

After staring at them for a long while, Yeon Hojeong knelt and lit incense.

Mo Yong-woo stood nearby, while the Demon-Sweeping Corps remained lined up at a distance, every eye fixed on Yeon Hojeong.

Rustle.

After lighting the incense, Yeon Hojeong simply dropped down where he was and looked up at the tablets.

Mo Yong-woo spoke.

“Supreme Commander.”

“Go do what you were doing.”

“Pardon?”

“You were in the middle of training, weren’t you? Finish it. Don’t mind me.”

“...Understood.”

Mo Yong-woo returned to the training ground and formed the Demon-Sweeping Corps into ranks again.

“We start again from the central formation!”

“Yes, sir!”

And so Mo Yong-woo and the Demon-Sweeping Corps threw themselves back into training.

All the while, Yeon Hojeong carefully read each and every name written on the memorial tablets.

There are so many.

So many of his subordinates had died.

He had always known the Demon-Sweeping Corps was large, but seeing the tablets made the scale of the loss real in a way numbers never had.

Far too many of his men were dead.

It had been their first deployment since being incorporated into the Righteous Justice Corps.

Given the nature of the mission, casualties had been inevitable. No—casualties would have been inevitable on any mission.

But there was one thing Yeon Hojeong could not forgive himself for.

Your deaths were not meaningless. But if I hadn’t let him escape, you wouldn’t have died.

That place where he had first met Sima Hyeon.

Of the two people who had launched the surprise attack there, Yayul Jeok and Soh Bang, Yayul was the one they absolutely had to capture.

Of course, Soh Bang was more deeply connected to the Perverse Lust Cult. The existence of her Blood-Drinking evil qi and Blood-Drinking Palm alone made that obvious.

But for the sake of peace in Guangdong Province, Yayul Jeok took priority over Soh Bang.

Capturing Yayul had to come first.

Soh Bang came second.

Yeon Hojeong had failed to do that.

Sima Hyeon’s unexpected action?

Yeon himself had failed to anticipate it.

In the end, allowing Yayul Jeok to escape had been his own mistake.

And that mistake had cost more than two hundred of his subordinates their lives.

It really isn’t easy. Not at all.

He had lost countless subordinates even in the days when he was the Dark Emperor.

People sometimes said that losing someone close—a friend, a subordinate, a superior—was devastating at first, but after enough repetitions, one gradually became accustomed to it.

Yeon Hojeong was different.

He had been different as the Dark Emperor, and he was different now.

Losing subordinates was something he could never grow accustomed to.

He had merely become better at keeping his expression calm, better at hiding the feeling that his heart was being torn apart.

The pain itself only deepened with time.

How many more subordinates will I lose from here on?

For a commander, experiences like this were inevitable.

How many names will I have to fit inside this little head of mine?

Whenever one of his subordinates died, Yeon Hojeong memorized their name.

It did not carry any particularly grand meaning.

The dead could no longer speak. He could neither help nor hurt them. He could not know what they wanted.

The only thing Yeon Hojeong could do for them was remember their names until the day he died.

From his days ruling Black Emperor’s Citadel as the Dark Emperor to this very moment.

The names of more than ten thousand dead subordinates were carved into his mind.

He remembered which organization they had belonged to within Black Emperor’s Citadel, which division they had served in, and what work they had done.

Because he wanted to remember them.

So that the dead would not die twice, Yeon Hojeong had resolved, as one who ruled over others, never to forget their names.

Because he knew that true death came when no one remembered you anymore.

I know you wrote wills before we marched out. I dare say my three-character name probably wasn’t written in any of them. If so, then remembering you is the only thing I can do for you.

After looking over the memorial tablets for a long time, Yeon Hojeong quietly began moving his lips.

With his Four Spirit Qi complete, the capabilities of his mind were on an entirely different level from those of an ordinary person.

Even before considering adaptability or creativity, his mind itself was extraordinarily optimized for storing information.

That was why Yeon Hojeong simply refused to retain knowledge or information he considered useless.

He had not known about the Martial Emperor of the Four Directions, nor had he known the secret spiritual pills of the various sects, because he had never bothered to store such things in his mind to begin with.

Instead, his head was packed with an immeasurable number of names.

And every one of those names gave him a sense of responsibility he could never escape.

Yeon Hojeong closed his eyes.

With them shut, he repeated the names of his dead subordinates over and over again.

He repeated them until he would never need even a moment to think—until, if someone asked him who a particular subordinate had been, the name would leave his mouth without the slightest hesitation.

That was how Yeon Hojeong memorized the names of his fallen men.

Night came, but he did not leave.

Dawn broke the following morning, and still he remained.

Three days passed that way.

At first, the Demon-Sweeping Corps soldiers had watched Yeon Hojeong in confusion.

As time passed, that confusion became worry—and then emotion.

Was it merely for show?

Someone of the Green Mountain Tiger Commander’s stature had no need for such theatrics.

More importantly, Yeon Hojeong was the sort of man who would not do something he did not truly mean even with a blade at his throat.

Still, they had thought that as a human being, perhaps he at least ought to appear mournful before the surviving soldiers.

That was how they had first interpreted his actions.

They were wrong.

For three full days, Yeon Hojeong did not drink even a single sip of water.

He did not sleep.

With his eyes closed, he continuously repeated the names of the dead soldiers.

That could never be called an act for appearances.

Even for one’s own flesh and blood—no, perhaps even for family—mourning like this would not come easily.

And then, on the third day.

Just as the Demon-Sweeping Corps was finishing its training, Yeon Hojeong rose from where he had been sitting.

Even a master under heaven would stumble if he abruptly stood after sitting in the same position for three days.

And Yeon Hojeong had not so much as taken a sip of water.

Yet his stance did not waver in the slightest.

He looked far more gaunt than he had three days ago, his body visibly thinner.

But his eyes had become deeper and calmer.

Watching him, Mo Yong-woo struck the ground with his sword sheath.

THUD. THUD.

Every member of the Demon-Sweeping Corps immediately formed ranks.

They stood in the same places and the same posture as three days before.

But the way they looked at Yeon Hojeong was completely different.

Without even glancing at them, Yeon Hojeong started toward his quarters.

Then Mo Yong-woo called out.

“Supreme Commander.”

Yeon Hojeong stopped and silently looked back.

Mo Yong-woo smiled.

“Do you have any further orders for us?”

Yeon Hojeong stared at him for a moment, then glanced toward the soldiers.

“Don’t die.”

The instant the words left his mouth, every member of the Demon-Sweeping Corps bowed their heads.

“We obey!”

Their thunderous voices shook the entire estate.

Yeon Hojeong gave a faint chuckle and resumed walking.

Even after he disappeared from sight, the Demon-Sweeping Corps remained bowed for a long time.

Not one of them tried to straighten first.

It was respect.

He had given them no flowing speech.

He had not bent them beneath some terrifying display of authority.

Yet Yeon Hojeong’s actions had drawn genuine emotion and loyalty from them.

Sometimes actions conveyed intent far more clearly than words ever could.

Yeon Hojeong had not done any of it for that purpose.

But in his figure, the Demon-Sweeping Corps saw another commander they could serve for years to come.

“At ease.”

Only after Mo Yong-woo gave the command did the soldiers finally straighten.

“That concludes today’s training. Return to your quarters and rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Demon-Sweeping Corps quietly dispersed.

On the way back to his quarters, Yeon Hojeong continued turning the names of his dead subordinates over in his mind.

Then, suddenly, he looked up at the sky.

WHOOOSH.

For Guangdong, the weather was unusually dry today.

The wind was cool as well, making it pleasant to walk.

And across that sky, a long cloud twisted like a dragon.

Yeon Hojeong’s pupils widened.

The Yellow Dragon.

He remembered his conversation with Tamgyeong.

I’ll come see you soon. You weren’t planning to leave until you had seen Guangdong properly stabilized anyway, were you? Let us meet again in a few days.

Let me ask you something.

Ask whatever you wish.

Why are Buddhist masters so obsessed with immortality? Regardless of whether such a method exists, isn’t that an improper pursuit for people who have devoted themselves to the Dharma?

Ha ha. I can see why it would look that way. No—if one thinks deeply about it, you are not wrong.

So you know, and you’re doing it anyway?

If it is a sin, then a sin it may be. But the secret of immortality must share something with the secret of reincarnation. We merely seek to approach it academically.

And do you truly believe it will end as an academic pursuit?

It must.

Yeon Hojeong stared up at the sky with deep eyes, then frowned and muttered,

“You can only live so fiercely because you get one life, you stupid bald monks. Immortality, reincarnation—I don’t need any of it. If even one person remembers my name, that is enough.”