The Price of Greed (2)
Twaaaang!
“Hoo.”
The draw strength of the Hongryeon Palace was truly monstrous. She couldn’t even imagine what material it was made from.
I shouldn’t be drawing it with brute force.
With her abundant inner energy, she could fire off over seventy shots of the Nine Dragon Heaven Breaking Bow—excluding ultimate techniques—using the Hongryeon Palace. But Muk Bi knew the truth. It was because her inner energy control was lacking that she could only manage “as many as” seventy shots.
She needed far more refined control. That would reduce the force needed to draw the string and increase the number of shots she could fire.
“Ugh, my arms are starting to hurt more and more.”
At that moment, a deep voice rumbled.
“You’ve worked hard.”
“Gah!”
Muk Bi whipped around in surprise. There stood Yeon Wi.
“F-Father?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t slept? I heard you pulled an all-nighter.”
“I’m fine. One sleepless night is nothing.”
“Ah… Yes, sir.”
Muk Bi’s expression turned awkward in an instant. She respected Yeon Wi as an elder. He treated her well, and she knew it came from the heart. Still, he scared her. His emotionless face reminded her of the cold glares from her brothers in the past. Even knowing his intentions were different, the similar expression always made her shrink back.
Yeon Wi approached her.
“I saw it before, but this is no ordinary bow. The string’s tension defies imagination.”
“…Yes.”
“Show me your left arm.”
“Pardon?”
“…”
“Ah, yes, sir!”
Muk Bi thrust out her left arm. Yeon Wi grasped her forearm and circulated his inner energy.
Woooong.
A beautiful pale green energy flickered across her entire left arm. It was a qi that calmed the viewer’s mind.
Muk Bi’s eyes widened. The tense muscles in her left arm relaxed in an instant. It felt so good she nearly blurted out how amazing it was. Of course, she didn’t make that mistake in front of Yeon Wi.
“You hold the strength of a mountain, yet you can’t even utilize a third of it properly. Your qi manipulation is even worse.”
“Koff! Y-Yes, sir…”
“If you can fully unleash the potential within you and freely adjust your true energy, even I won’t be able to surpass you.”
Muk Bi jumped in shock.
“P-Please don’t say that, Father. I could never…”
Yeon Wi looked puzzled.
“Why not? If you’re to live as a martial artist, shouldn’t you aim to surpass me?”
“…!”
“I want both you and Hojeong to surpass me, reaching the realm of the Sacred Heaven Thirteen Seats and leaving your mark on the world.”
For a moment, Muk Bi felt a surge of emotion. There was no quiver in his voice, but anyone could tell it was sincere.
“Fortunately, your talent is exceptional, your foundations solid, and the power you hold is enough to overturn mountains and seas. If you don’t slack in your efforts, you’ll surpass me one day.”
“…Yes, sir.”
Yeon Wi nodded as he gazed quietly at her.
“Today, let’s examine your martial arts together. A few adjustments, and it’ll be vastly different from before.”
“Huh! R-Really?”
“This is the word of the Yeon family head. You can trust it.”
“Thank you!”
Yeon Wi liked Muk Bi’s innocent reaction. It reminded him of his eldest son. He knew the two were close like friends, but with a personality like this, he’d rather have her as a daughter-in-law. But who was he to force fate?
Yeon Wi didn’t defy the laws of causality woven by the flow of human affairs.
I wonder how Hojeong is faring.
Yeon Wi gazed northwest, toward the Moyong family’s Tamnang Pavilion.
What are you planning, Hojeong?
* * *
Moyong Gun thought to himself.
I’ve been underestimating that monster.
Mong Ui had mastered the Four Shadows Sword Technique? That wasn’t important.
What truly mattered was that he’d been observing Yeon Hojeong too sporadically.
Yeon Hojeong was a monster, no doubt. He knew that much. He’d just thought of him as a clever genius with great ambition and tactical insight—not someone who went this far off the rails.
They’d thrown Mong Ui in the prison? And not only that, but they’d broken him down pretty badly, too.
Surviving was impressive enough. But capturing him alive?
It meant they’d gone as far as torture for a live capture.
This kid isn’t from the White Path.
A subtle difference, but one that could shake the political landscape.
This one’s capable of any atrocity if needed.
He’d thought they were alike. Wrong.
Yeon Hojeong wasn’t cut from the same cloth. Moyong Gun knew his own limits clearly. That’s why he used subordinates for the dirtiest work and focused on recruiting talent.
Yeon Hojeong didn’t need to. He intended to handle it all himself.
“Let’s do the math… Heh.”
Moyong Gun rose from his seat, staring at Yeon Hojeong.
“I’d like to confirm something.”
“What’s that?”
Moyong Gun smiled faintly.
“Whether I can entrust you with command of an independent mobile unit free from alliance regulations. I want to see your skills firsthand.”
Yeon Hojeong furrowed his brow.
“A spar?”
“Exactly.”
“What happened to the abacus?”
“I’ve raised the stakes this high—why bother with calculations?”
“Hmm?”
“Just a light exchange of moves. No need to call it a formal spar.”
Hmm…
Yeon Hojeong looked up at Moyong Gun and smiled, rising from his seat.
“A chance to cross hands with the renowned Moyong family head? No reason to refuse.”
“Heh.”
He didn’t know the intent, but it was a lesson all the same. Yeon Hojeong had no intention of passing it up.
The two exited Tamnang Pavilion. He’d expected a casual clash in the rear garden, but no.
Moyong Gun led him to a vast plaza in the inner fortress, large enough to serve as a training ground.
“Let’s do it here.”
Yeon Hojeong glanced around. Quite a few people were passing by, staring at them. Both were too famous for anyone to hide their curiosity.
“No axe?”
“Left it at my quarters.”
“Heh, I doubt your skills drop much without it.”
Smoothly.
Moyong Gun clasped his hands behind his back with his left and extended his right palm forward.
“Come at me.”
Yeon Hojeong scanned the surroundings again. More people would gather soon. A spar between the Moyong head and the Yeon family heir? Irresistible spectacle.
Yeon Hojeong smirked inwardly.
Fox-like bastard.
Now he understood Moyong Gun’s aim. But it didn’t matter. He was on the verge of getting what he wanted—a little concession was fine. In a way, it benefited him too.
Smoothly.
Yeon Hojeong lowered into stance.
Moyong Gun’s smile deepened.
“Low center of gravity. Extremely stable.”
“Here I come.”
“Come.”
Thud!
Yeon Hojeong took one step. Moyong Gun’s eyes sharpened. That single step radiated overwhelming might.
Boom!
The step seemed capable of crumbling mountains, yet his instantaneous closing speed carried a noble grace. Unmistakably Yeon family footwork—blazingly fast yet stable. Even at the brink of exhaustion, it wouldn’t falter. A scholar’s dignity emanated from it.
Thud!
Yeon Hojeong, approaching at terrifying speed, slipped into his right blind spot in an instant.
Fast.
Faster than his footwork. A movement transcending human reflexes.
Yeon Hojeong’s fist arced in a crescent.
Whoosh!
Moyong Gun’s hand flashed like lightning.
Crack!
No qi seemed infused, yet sparks flew from his fingertips as he deflected the punch.
Yeon Hojeong’s movements accelerated.
Crack-crack-crack!
He stamped the ground repeatedly in a flash, advancing. A white vortex swirled around his twin fists.
White Tiger Martial Arts, Tiger King Nine Thunder Strikes fist form.
Boom-boom-boom!
Moyong Gun deflected the ferocious fist barrage with one hand—a skill beyond belief. Not relying on superior speed, he read the flow and parried. Far more difficult than power-based or elastic arts.
Crack!
Yeon Hojeong targeted Moyong Gun’s upper body and jaw, whipping up a left kick. Flexible yet sturdy kicking technique. His instinct for exploiting the widest opening was uncanny.
Whoosh!
Yeon Hojeong’s foot sliced empty air. Moyong Gun, dodging and pushing it down smoothly, glimpsed the killing intent plunging toward his crown.
Kaboom!
Yeon Hojeong’s foot shook the ground. Such force that his heel sank five inches into the bluestone pavement.
“Interesting body techniques.”
Moyong Gun, who’d shifted left, maintained his initial stance.
“Knowing the upper strike failed, you instantly pivoted to a downward smash. Reflexes like lightning aside, that control of power and flexibility is rare in the world.”
Woooong.
Clear, sky-blue true energy flickered around Moyong Gun’s right hand, pure as a cloudless sky.
“My turn.”
Whoosh!
Yeon Hojeong’s eyes flashed. Even foreseeing a frontal assault, his reaction lagged. It moved softly, then suddenly it was in his face. Pinnacle footwork.
Crack-crack-crack-crack!
Yeon Hojeong’s fists roared with tiger ferocity; Moyong Gun’s right palm emanated the dignity of verdant bamboo.
Boom-boom-boom-boom!
To chain White Tiger Martial Arts required explosive power and endless stamina. Its might was immeasurable. Yet Moyong Gun blocked the destructive fist absolute with exquisite handwork.
Divine skill.
Boom!
Screeech!
With the explosion, Yeon Hojeong staggered back three or four steps.
As expected, he’s strong.
No sword, but Moyong Gun was serious. The might of a Six Great Families head. Yeon Hojeong had grown enough to withstand his committed hand strikes without major damage.
“Impressive.”
Flutter.
Moyong Gun raised his right arm. The sleeve, torn and burst by Yeon Hojeong’s fist pressure, hung in tatters.
“Piercing my arts with bare fists alone—your title of Bisan Tiger Heir is well-deserved.”
Yeon Hojeong rubbed his chest. Beneath the spiraling tear in his robes from the solar plexus, firm pectorals and abs gleamed.
Yeon Hojeong glanced around again.
Murmur murmur.
Dozens of warriors now watched. Their faces flushed with excitement from the brief, explosive clash.
Yeon Hojeong cupped his fists.
“I yield.”
Moyong Gun smiled.
“In ten years, you’ll dominate the world. I’m in awe.”
His voice rang clear for all to hear. The crowd gasped at the lavish praise, eyeing Yeon Hojeong anew.
Yeon Hojeong smacked his lips.
“A shame.”
“What is?”
“If I’d known we’d spar here, I’d have brought the axe.”
Moyong Gun chuckled. As expected, he knew why he’d chosen this place.
“Showing your true power would’ve ruined the mystique.”
“Fair enough.”
“To gamble, you bring cards—not wilt before the stakes.”
“I didn’t know if it was a card or stake until I saw the head’s reaction.”
“What? Hahaha!”
Moyong Gun burst into hearty laughter. To outsiders, it sounded like mere martial talk. They marveled at Yeon Hojeong’s boldness and Moyong Gun’s composure.
Moyong Gun nodded, still smiling.
“Very well.”
Yeon Hojeong’s eyes gleamed.
“You’re not planning to add spice, are you?”
“I prefer plain. You should too.”
Kill Mong Ui or ship him far away—finish it cleanly. Yeon Hojeong wouldn’t ignore the warning.
If he kept squeezing Mong Ui, Moyong Gun would cross the line. He didn’t want that.
“No worries.”
“Heh, good.”
Moyong Gun, hands behind his back, turned toward Tamnang Pavilion.
“No spice. But some side vegetables are understandable.”
Yeon Hojeong’s eyes sharpened. He’d plant a few of his own in the independent unit.
“I’m picky about my food.”
“Don’t worry. They’re not veggies I grew.”
“Up to my taste, then.”
“Precisely.”
“Fine.”
Moyong Gun waved without turning.
“Don’t forget. This is just the beginning.”
Yeon Hojeong replied with a relaxed smile.
“I’d rather it be the end. Sincerely.”