Black and White Martial Emperor (Wuxia Novel)

Pa-pa-pa-pang!
A tightly clenched fist burst the empty air again and again.

This wasn’t fistwork without inner power. A fist steeped in stout inner force was a weapon in and of itself. Fistwork at the pinnacle—each punch with strength enough to bore through a log and smash stone.
Even sweating buckets, the merciless fist practice didn’t stop. If anything, the longer it went the more it caught momentum—fist-speed climbing ever higher.
Tiiing!

In the midst of long fist practice, Yeon Hojeong hooked the fallen spear with his instep and flicked it up into his hand.
In one natural motion he gripped the spear—and swept it with a terrifying rush.
Puh-puh-puhng!

The long spear spat fire.
A spear is a heavy weapon, a long weapon. It’s easy to throw a single powerful strike, but hard to unfold linked-chain techniques.
But Yeon Hojeong’s spearwork was different. However he swung, he drove in explosive blows in a torrent, and the gaps between one attack and the next were shockingly narrow.
After sweeping the spear for a long while, he reversed his grip on the shaft—and hurled it.

Puuuck!
The spear punched through a thick log and buried itself in the earth.
Frightening power.

“Huff… huff.”
It was practice so intense it wrecked his breathing. As Yeon Hojeong drew rough breaths one after another, a deep blue aura shimmered over his body.
His ragged breathing settled to normal at once. Even if True Qi made oxygen uptake easier, the speed was excessive.

“Hoo.”
Yeon Hojeong sank down onto the flat ground.
A weighty voice came to him.

“Is your training finished?”
He lifted his head.
In the distance, his father stood with his hands behind his back.

“You’re here.”
“It looks more like venting than training.”
“……”

“To restore a disordered breath that quickly is very difficult. Extreme physical tempering seems to be working.”
“I see.”
It was a fine moonlit night.

Under a bright downpour of moonlight, Yeon Wi came and sat beside him.
“You’re a proper master now. Worthy of being called a top master.”
“Thank you.”
There was no true feeling in his voice. For him to be pleased at something this small—the future drawing near was far too horrific.

Yet Yeon Wi showed simple astonishment at his son’s realm.
At nineteen, a realm higher than the heads of the clan’s armed units.
No matter how advanced the arts he’d learned, the growth rate was inexplicable. Among the rising talents of the Seven Great Clans of the day, was there anyone his age who’d built this level?

Setting Shaolin, Wudang, and Mount Hua aside, you wouldn’t easily find it even among the Nine Sects and One Union. Considering his level half a year ago, this pace would be hard to find even combing the histories of the martial world.
Despite such an astounding feat, the son wasn’t satisfied. If anything, he wore the look of a man for whom this was still far off.
Not that he didn’t know how outstanding his realm, growth, and skill had become.

In a passing tone, Yeon Wi said,
“Something weighing on you?”
Yeon Hojeong couldn’t answer.

He could have said there was nothing—that it was simply part of training. But in this state, he didn’t want to lie to his father.
“It was excessive.”
“Sir?”

“Your killing will.”
Yeon Hojeong’s eyes trembled.
“You felt it.”

“If I couldn’t feel that, how would I be called clan lord of the Yeon?”
He had been reining his killing will without pause. He might leak it unconsciously, but he didn’t scatter it indiscriminately.
But Yeon Wi was Yeon Wi. Considering the distance from the Clan Lord’s hall to the guest quarters, his sensitivity beggared belief.

“What is it that makes you that angry?”
Yeon Hojeong looked at Yeon Wi.
Under the moonlight his father’s face, unlike usual, looked a touch kind.

For an instant, his chest surged.
“There are men aiming for the main house.”
He wanted to say it. At least for this moment, he wanted to tell his father everything.

But he couldn’t.

Outwardly indifferent to others, his father was delicate enough to watch every move. He would try to learn how he knew, why he hadn’t said it until now, and whether it was truly # Nоvеlight # fact.
Regrettably, that wouldn’t do. If history held, the Ming clan’s raid was less than a year away. It might come sooner.
“I’m just… stifled.”

“By what?”
“Many things.”
Yeon Wi fell silent a moment.

There was something he wanted to tell his son. But looking at him now, it felt unnecessary to bring it up.
He drew a book from his bosom and handed it to Yeon Hojeong.
“What is this?”

“Take it.”
There were no characters on the cover.
Curiosity made him open it—and his eyes flew wide.

“It’s a hand-copied manual. Once you’ve learned it all, burn it.”
“How is this… to me…?”
“Watching your martial arts, I thought about what you lack.”

He had considered his martial arts. From a man who would never seem to do so—that made his heart feel strange.
“Your arts assume no follow-up—they go for a single decisive kill. At least, that’s the momentum. There’s room for further tempering, yes, but your strong stamina has been the nourishment that births that explosive offense.”
“……”

“But look. Just now your breathing broke badly. Why? Because the arts you unfold consume stamina too heavily.”
“That’s true.”
“You’ll grow far more from here. But getting there is the problem. And if I hand you a footwork that excels at evasion, with your disposition you’ll never retreat.”

A perfect read.
Yeon Hojeong could, if needed, choose flight, concealment, evasion—whatever it took. But if he judged there was no need, he would press no matter what and fell the enemy.
His disposition simply did not retreat. It was battlefield martial skill: kill first to survive before you are killed—that was his way.

“So I prepared that.”
He looked at the three characters on the first page.
Reverse Dragon Palm.

Half a month ago, when he sparred with his father, his father had used this counterattacking art. Its power in a single strike was tremendous, but it showed its true worth when countering; it was one of the Yeon clan’s mainline arts.
“The rivers and lakes are terrifying. No one fights you while considering your condition. You may manage just fine—but isn’t the martial world a place where even a first-rate can die to a third-rate’s knife.”
Yeon Hojeong’s eyes shook.

“You knew?”
Yeon Wi shook his head.
“I didn’t. Not until just now.”

“……”
“I was debating when to give it to you. It’s a little late, but with your talent you’ll be able to use it in real fights shortly.”
His grip tightened on the secret manual.

Truth be told, his father’s worry was needless—because Yeon Hojeong possessed the Four Spirit Arts.
If Black Tortoise covered absolute defense, and White Tiger covered offense without retreat, then Azure Dragon handled evasion and counterattack.
Black Tortoise rarely saw use outside extreme situations; Azure Dragon did not. Its skill set buttressed his extreme disposition—arts of many uses.

‘……’
But no matter how superb a transcendent art the Four Spirit Arts might be—how could it be more precious than his father’s heart in handing this down?
“I accept it with thanks.”

Yeon Wi rose.
“When do you plan to leave?”
Yes.

Yeon Hojeong intended to leave the clan.
If he stayed only within the clan, it would be hard to stop the Ming invasion. He would see and confirm with his own eyes, then fight—that was the method he had learned in a life of battle.
“If nothing arises, I intend to leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow… tomorrow.”
Yeon Wi closed his eyes.
What his father was thinking, Yeon Hojeong did not know.

After a moment, Yeon Wi said,
“Follow me.”
 

****
Contrary to expectation, Yeon Wi took him out of the clan grounds.
The market street was quiet. Past midnight—of course it was. Aside from a few taverns selling drink late into the night, everything was dark.

Skirting Ancient Sun Pavilion and heading some distance from the river, father and son arrived at a small forge.
Tang! Tang! Tang!
Past midnight, and still someone was hammering. Even five streets away, the heat rolling out was tremendous.

Yeon Wi spoke.
“Master Pyeon. It’s me, Yeon Wi.”
Ting!

The hammering stopped.
A moment later, an old man with a white beard walked out from the forge.
Short, but with a body built like iron.

Despite the cold, his upper body was bare. Thanks to that, his bunched shoulders and thick chest were fully revealed.
“You’ve come?”
From the clear, ringing tone one might expect a rough manner, but his voice was unexpectedly calm.

“Forgive the late hour.”
“Nothing to forgive. And the young man beside you?”
“My eldest son.”

Yeon Wi said to Yeon Hojeong,
“Pay your respects. This is Pyeon Ilgang, Divine Smith.”
He didn’t know who he was, but he was no ordinary man. Yeon Hojeong cupped his fists in salute with crisp form.

“I’m Yeon Hojeong. It’s an honor to meet you.”
The old man smiled. For a man who had lived his life working fire and iron, his expression was as warm as a spring wind.
“No doubt he’s your son—those eyes are fierce. It’s like seeing you in your youth.”

“Was I like that?”
“People were afraid they’d get cut if they got too close. Still, compared to your son you were a gentleman. If you were a treasured blade, your boy is a divine sword—his edge is honed to a hair.”
A hint of a smile touched Yeon Wi’s lips.

Pyeon Ilgang looked at Yeon Wi as if surprised. He had never once seen anything like a smile on Yeon Wi’s face.
“So you have aged after all.”
“So it seems.”

Pyeon Ilgang looked Yeon Hojeong up and down.
“Curious. The eyes are a mirror image, but the aura is wholly different. Even as your son, he isn’t still.”
“……”

“Not a sword… an axe?”
Yeon Hojeong’s eyes flashed.
Pyeon Ilgang wasn’t a martial master. He had learned inner work, but only as nourishing arts. Even so, at a glance he’d picked out Yeon Hojeong’s main weapon.

‘Impressive.’
Whatever the field, once you reach the realm of a true craftsman, the eye with which you see the world is different.
A good smith is a warrior’s friend. From this alone—seeing his temperament at a glance—you could guess Pyeon Ilgang’s skill.

“So the piece I ordered half a month ago…?”
“Yes.”
“Heh-heh, I’m seeing many unexpected sights tonight. So you didn’t put a sword in the eldest’s hand, when he’s the one to inherit the clan?”

Yeon Wi shook his head.
“So—is it not ready yet?”
“Hardly. I finished two days ago. It wasn’t forging anew—just reworking an existing piece.”

“Bring it.”
“Wait here.”
A moment later, Pyeon Ilgang returned carrying a weapon.

Yeon Hojeong’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Heavy is heavy. You mean to grip and swing this? You’ve built tremendous skill for your age.”
Thud!

The vibration that traveled into the ground was immense.
It was an axe—an axe, but enormous.
A war axe: a thick shaft about six feet long, its axe-blade as big as a grown man’s torso. Its shape and size were near identical to the axe Yeon Hojeong had used in his past life.

“Take it.”
As if bewitched, he took the haft.
The weight pouring through his arms was tremendous.

‘Heavy. Heavy, but…’
The feel coiling into his hands was perfect. Call it consonance—the match was flawless for gripping and sweeping.
He looked to Yeon Wi.

“A heavy weapon takes on its wielder more than any common saber or sword. Your arts are excessively extreme—unless it’s the moment you must, don’t swing this.”
Yeon Wi gave Pyeon Ilgang a nod.
“You’ve worked hard.”

“Heh, hardly work. Had I known it was a gift for your son, I’d have inspected it once more.”
With trembling eyes, Yeon Hojeong looked at his father.
Yeon Wi turned.

“Let’s go.”
Watching his father’s back as he set out first, Yeon Hojeong bowed his head to Pyeon Ilgang.
“Thank you.”

Pyeon Ilgang smiled.
“It’s a very sturdy fellow—won’t break easily. Use it well.”