Black and White Martial Emperor

“Brr—cold. Why did it turn chilly all of a sudden? Roaming around with nothing but a sack for clothes, I’m going to freeze to death.”

His body was shivering, but his face was bright.

“Finally here!”

Ga Deoksang gazed at the vast manor. More precisely, he was feeling out the presence within.

‘As expected—plenty.’

He sensed innumerable people. The surprising part was that most of them were masters worthy of being called first-class.

Ga Deoksang rubbed his hands, excitement on his face.

‘So these are the heirs who’ll carry their clans. Even the bodyguards they sent are solid.’

More than the bold, confident qi of the younger generation, the secretive, razor-edged qi of their escorts left a deeper impression. Of course—if you’re sending successors into the Orthodox martial world where anything can happen, attaching top experts is only natural.

“Well then, shall I go take a peek at the young masters and ladies’ faces and—”

Right then—

“And you are?”

“—Hrk!”

Ga Deoksang snapped upright and looked back.

A middle-aged swordsman stood there. His expression was hewn from stone, but the blade-like current of his qi was striking.

Ga Deoksang cleared his throat.

‘There I go making that mistake again.’

If you can’t even sense a swordsman with this much qi walking up on you, you don’t deserve to call yourself a martial man. Once he focused, he was the type to forget the world around him.

“You’re holding a formidable inner reserve. Doesn’t seem you’re a common beggar... Beggars’ Union?”

“Yes, Gale-Sword.”

Shin Mo’s eyes narrowed.

“You know me?”

“Haha. A man who begs for meals needs quick wits at least.”

The Beggars’ Union’s martial skill rivals the Nine Sects and One Union—but their true specialty, astonishingly, isn’t martial skill.

It’s information. In white-path intelligence, the Beggars’ Union stands at the top. Naturally, to belong to the Union, you must be quick on the uptake and sharp of mind.

Shin Mo glanced at Ga Deoksang’s waist.

‘Eight knots?’

An eight-knot cord.

A flicker of surprise crossed Shin Mo’s face.

“Rear Beggar?”

Ga Deoksang scratched his head, sheepish. A flurry of white dandruff fell.

“I’m just a meal grub who still gets thrashed by my master at this age.”

He put it lightly, but no one in the world dares look down on the Beggars’ Union’s Rear Beggar.

The Beggars’ Union is ranked alongside the Nine Sects and One Union and the Seven Great Clans. As a single organization, they have the most disciples—hence the other name, the Hundred-Thousand Beggars’ Union.

King of every beggar scattered across the Central Plains. The biggest mover in the white-path information world.

Ga Deoksang is the heir-apparent to that man.

Shin Mo cupped his fists in salute.

“My apologies for the discourtesy. I didn’t realize you were the Union’s Rear Beggar.”

“Oh, please don’t! That’s too much courtesy for a lowly beggar.”

A giant of the martial world who can still declare himself lowly without flinching.

That—if anything—made him seem greater. Though it was their first meeting, Shin Mo could be certain Ga Deoksang was no easy man.

“And what brings you here so early in the morning...?”

“Ah! Ahahaha! I just had business nearby, and what do you know—the Seven Great Clans’ younger generation are holding a gathering. I thought maybe I could scrounge a cup or two and was poking around.”

Light flashed in Shin Mo’s eyes.

There was no way a Rear Beggar of the Beggars’ Union only learned of the Seven Great Clans’ gathering just now. He’d come to learn something—no doubt.

“My regrets. I’m a Yeon clan man; I’ve no authority to let you in.”

“Eh, it’s fine! A beggar shouldn’t trouble the hosts of a feast.”

Shin Mo nodded.

“Then I’ll head in first.”

“Yessir, go right—huh?”

Ga Deoksang cocked his head.

“What’s with that bundle, though?”

“Ah, this...”

Shin Mo cleared his throat.

“An errand for our First Young Master.”

“An errand? What errand weighs that—”

“I’ll be going.”

“Eh? Ah, yes! Please, go on in!”

Shin Mo entered the manor.

Ga Deoksang’s eyes sharpened.

“First Young Master, Yeon Hojeong.”

The one who burned alive the villain who set the fire at Choseong Pavilion. The First Young Master of the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain—once widely rumored to be a hound under the authorities.

He knew Shin Mo was Captain of the Azure Hawk Squad, and that he had performed greatly at Choseong Pavilion. But even so, he didn’t ask this chance-met swordsman about Yeon Hojeong. He figured the man wouldn’t tell him anyway.

‘These things are best done by teasing it out face-to-face.’

Ah, I’m looking forward to this.

Ga Deoksang banged on the closed gate.

“Hey in there! Throwing a feast or something? Smells divine this early! If there’re leftovers, spare some for me!”

****

“Huff!”

Drenched in sweat, Yeon Hojeong tossed the iron staff aside.

He had risen at first light and, straight through to now—hour of the dragon—he had swung the iron staff without rest.

‘Whirlwind Staff Method is fine at this level. I can move on to the spear.’

His body still wasn’t as tempered as he wished, but the basics of staff-and-spear work were definitely in his muscles. He had eyed spearwork while training the staff, but actually swinging a real spear with a live blade was a different matter.

The progress was far faster than expected. As he learned the Black Tortoise, the finesse of his arts returned to life, and the time it took to set things in his body halved again.

‘The spear... I shouldn’t skip it.’

His true weapon was a massive axe weighing dozens of catties.

To wield that axe like an extra limb, he had to master spearwork to the level of an adept. With his Black Tortoise Qi deepening by the day, spearwork would settle into his body quickly.

‘Weapons aside, it’s also crucial to awaken all of the Four Spirit Qi. Preferably starting with the White Tiger.’

If the Black Tortoise within the Four Spirit Arts specialized in absolute defense, then the White Tiger specialized in an attack that never yields an inch. For close battle and driving advance, nothing matched the White Tiger.

Thinking of the Four Spirit Arts, his thoughts slid to the one called the Four Directions Martial Emperor.

‘A flawless art of offense, defense, and evasion—and he wielded a golden dragon?’

Yeon Hojeong stroked his chin, face set.

‘There are plenty of arts that raise offense, defense, and evasion to a high level. But the “golden dragon” part snags.’

If that man truly was a full heir to the Four Spirit Arts—

‘That means he reached for Yellow Dragon Qi.’

Yellow Dragon Qi was the ultimate essence of the Four Spirit Arts.

He believed there was no such thing as Absolute Unrivaled in this world—but if anything came close, it was Yellow Dragon Qi. Even Yeon Hojeong, in his days as the Dark Emperor, had not managed to enter its threshold; that’s how steep a mystery it was.

‘If one can draw out Yellow Dragon Qi, I’d be confident against anyone. At least in this life...’

This time, he would not leave behind the same regrets.

Yeon Hojeong forcibly set aside thoughts of the Four Directions Martial Emperor. He had hounded Je Gal Ahyeon for details, thinking the man might be an heir to the Four Spirit Arts—but this wasn’t the time to chase the past of someone whose face he didn’t even know.

After rinsing off with cold water and returning, Yeon Hojeong felt a presence inside the room.

“Jipyeong?”

“Yes, brother.”

Yeon Jipyeong greeted him with a smile.

“You washed up?”

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t eaten, right? Let’s go together.”

“Let’s.”

The Yeon brothers left the room and headed for the dining hall.

On the way, neither spoke. Yeon Hojeong was naturally a man of few words, but given Yeon Jipyeong’s ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) temperament, the silence was unexpected.

Yeon Hojeong glanced at him.

Yeon Jipyeong’s expression was bright. But his eyes were sweeping the surroundings, sharp and constant.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Sir?”

“I asked what you’re thinking.”

“Ah—nothing.”

Yeon Hojeong looked at him for a beat, then sighed.

“You don’t need to be that on edge.”

“Sir?”

“I mean, no need to tense up over yesterday.”

“Ah...”

Yeon Jipyeong scratched his head.

“Just in case, that’s all.”

“Sorry. I’ve probably made you worry for nothing.”

“No, brother. Yesterday happened because of the Tang Clan’s First Young Master. You did nothing wrong.”

His face was genuinely earnest. He wasn’t saying it to please; he meant it.

Yeon Hojeong tilted his head.

“But going a round with the Ming Clan’s Third Young Master...”

“Haha, I’m trying not to think that far.”

“Hm?”

Not think about it? What was that supposed to mean?

Yeon Jipyeong smacked his lips.

“On the way here, I realized something. I really was just a frog in a well. The world’s far more interesting than I thought—and that much more dangerous.”

True enough.

“But you were different, brother. No matter how I looked at it, it didn’t fit the house law of our main line—but you had a firm self and a clear conviction.”

A curious light came into Yeon Hojeong’s eyes.

He stated—confidently—that it didn’t match the Yeon clan’s law. That meant he truly understood the clan’s teaching well.

“I’m not as smart as you, brother. But I do know this one thing: you would never do anything that harms our clan.”

“...”

“Whether your way of handling things is right or wrong—I’ll think on that later. What matters is that I trust you, and you don’t waver. That’s the point.”

Yeon Jipyeong smiled.

There was a strength in it not typical of a fifteen-year-old.

“I also didn’t know your martial skill was that strong. Looks like I’ll have to learn from you from now on.”

Yeon Hojeong’s gaze deepened.

Not so. If anything, he felt he should learn from Yeon Jipyeong.

A younger brother who had lived by the clan’s teaching his whole life. He might have been flustered by his elder’s drastic words and deeds, but he hadn’t abandoned his trust in him.

He had done his share of worrying on the way here—now he would trust his brother and follow.

‘I didn’t know he had this in him.’

Strong.

Perhaps his younger brother was born with a hardy nature; he’d simply had no reason to show it until now.

“Then why are you scanning the surroundings like that?”

“You said it yourself, brother. In this world, killers can be born in temples and saints can rise from back alleys.”

“Mhm.”

“Who knows? After yesterday, someone might try to harm you.”

Yeon Hojeong snorted.

“Even if someone does, you think your skill would be enough?”

“Why are you like this? I’m not on your level, but I’m decent in my own right.”

For his age, “decent” didn’t cut it—he was remarkable.

Yeon Hojeong scrubbed his brother’s hair into a mess.

“Gyaaah!”

“Don’t waste strength. Ease your mind. If anything happens, I’ll stop it.”

“You’re ruining my hair!”

“That’s the point, you brat.”

His tone shifted, subtly.

When he’d returned to the past and was inside the clan, he spoke just like this. But since stepping into the world, the way he treated his brother was less like an older brother and more like a father.

Just as Yeon Jipyeong said—it was dangerous. To protect him, the manner of a forty-six-year-old Lord of the Black Emperor’s Citadel had surfaced on its own.

But Yeon Jipyeong was not weak. Seeing that, Yeon Hojeong could treat him as he had inside the clan.

“Anyway—what’s for breakfast today?”

“I don’t know either. But from the smell, I’d say braised pork belly.”

“Meat in the morning, huh. Money must be rotting in piles.”

Just then—while the brothers were chatting their way to the dining hall—

“BUUURP! Man, am I getting old? Just this much and I’m stuffed!”

A beggar kicked the dining hall door open and came out thumping his belly.

A beggar had waltzed in—yet not a hint of contempt showed in the eyes of the younger generation who saw him. Some distaste, perhaps.

Light flashed in Yeon Hojeong’s eyes.

‘A beggar? Beggars’ Union? The cord... eight knots?’

He looked at the beggar’s face. The beggar looked back at his.

In that instant, Yeon Hojeong saw a vision of the past.

A gallant man who never stopped his hearty laughter even as he stroked his filthy half-white beard. One who knew the Lord of the Black Emperor’s Citadel’s true identity—and never spread it through the Orthodox martial world.

The Beggars’ Union’s supreme head who helped him drive the Cult of Perversity to the wall, one of the few magnanimous souls who treated the demonic sovereign the same as the white-path leadership.

Yeon Hojeong overlaid the old memory upon the beggar’s face.

If that dirty, pitch-black beard were a little longer, the hair half-white—

If the lines at his eyes and mouth were deeper, his wild hair tied back—

If eight knots became nine, and at his waist hung a handsome short baton inlaid with green jade—

“Ga Deoksang, Dragon Head Union Master?!”