Conflict (8)
“Family Head, preparations are complete.”
“Mm, good work.”
Moyong Gun took a sip of his liquor. The fragrant, potent brew felt like fire scorching from his throat down to his stomach. Even he had rarely tasted something this close to pure distillate.
His gaze on the cup was utterly serious.
To think I’d end up meeting the Tu Wang like this.
He was the one who had proposed the meeting in the first place, but now that it was actually happening, the feeling was profoundly strange.
The Tu Wang.
Sungcheon Thirteen Seats. The name alone proved he was in a league above other masters, the pinnacle of the martial world.
Among them, the Ten Immortal Emperors of Sungcheon were said to outrank even the Three Armies in both age and martial prowess.
The Tu Wang was among the youngest of those Immortal Emperors—even if “young” still meant past sixty.
A black path hero who proved his strength to the world with nothing but his fists, unbound by any profound enlightenment of the martial way.
What made the Tu Wang stand out among the Immortal Emperors was his crude martial arts and gambler’s temperament. Most viewed the Immortal Emperors as otherworldly transcendents from beyond the heavens, and the Three Armies were no different. But not him.
He was a warrior of this world, one who had upended the Central Plains with his grounded nature and techniques.
A private audience with such a legendary master…
After a deep breath, Moyong Gun cracked a faint smile.
Am I actually nervous?
The head of the Moyong family, tense before a mere meeting. It bruised his pride. Yet he accepted the unfamiliar sensation as it was.
No bruise to pride. It’s only natural against such an opponent.
Even without the man’s stature, tension was warranted. This was no casual encounter but an official one.
At that moment, Muyeon spoke.
“He’s not the type, but… if anything goes wrong, we’ll blow this whole area to hell in an instant.”
Moyong Gun shook his head.
“Of course. But a man like Yang Cheon won’t lash out just because things don’t go his way.”
“But he is from the black path.”
“He’s the Tu Wang first and foremost.”
“If I may be so bold… You’ve never even seen his face. How can you be so certain?”
“Not certainty—trust.”
There was tension, yes, but equal excitement flushing his cheeks red.
“At this level, some things become clear without needing to meet. Yang Cheon is like that. He’s a different breed from the vile likes of the Blood Jade Demon Lord or the Mad Soul Ghost Lord.”
A black path figure who had united countless factions into a massive alliance. Accomplices surely helped, but that didn’t change his role as its leader.
One needed a certain dignity to helm such an organization. Yang Cheon had earned ample respect simply by keeping his identity hidden as master of the Muk Ryong Bu.
He was truly a cut above the likes of Guo Jun, the Blood Jade Demon Lord, or Qu Jing, the Mad Soul Ghost Lord—worst of the Three Armies and fellow Sungcheon Thirteen Seats.
“That said, the world turns in unpredictable ways. We must prepare thoroughly even for the slimmest chance.”
Moyong Gun had chosen this location himself. The building was rigged with countless explosives and hidden weapons.
They wouldn’t kill Yang Cheon, of course. Even Moyong Gun himself would take heavy wounds but could escape. Still, they’d buy time—and every measure was in place to flee the county within half a gak if needed.
“Oh, and.”
Moyong Gun frowned.
“No separate word from Yeon Hojeong?”
“None, sir.”
Strange.
He could’ve at least dropped a hint.
A meeting with the world’s Yang Cheon. Given Yeon Hojeong’s handling of matters so far, he’d have reached out at least once, intel theft or not.
Must be busy.
The puzzlement passed quickly. It was plausible enough. And with separate word from Huigae Gadeuksang, nothing major had gone wrong.
“Family Head.”
“Hm?”
“Word just came from their side. They’re half a shi away.”
Moyong Gun drew a deep breath.
What on earth does Yang Cheon want with me?
* * *
There it is.
Yeon Hojeong’s gaze overlooking the county from the peak was icy cold.
Just like Moyong Gun.
Despite the county’s size, he’d pinpointed the exact building.
Easy escape routes. Alleys aren’t too tangled, but they lead straight to the river and mountains. High experts are surely posted along them.
Moyong family warriors lay in ambush everywhere, no doubt.
I don’t know how many, but they’re meaningless against Yang Cheon’s arts. Moyong Gun knows that too. Still, they’ll buy time.
Yeon Hojeong smiled coldly.
He’ll be quite flustered.
He hadn’t informed Moyong Gun of Yang Cheon’s situation—or that he’d be coming in his stead.
Not just to see the man squirm, though that might be amusing. He wouldn’t risk danger for something so trivial.
I trust you’ll handle it properly, Moyong Gun.
Then Cheong Ho approached.
“Intelligence Chief.”
“Speak.”
He’d first met Cheong Ho, of the Twelve Branches Gods, upon entering Hunan. Neither dragged past friction into duty.
“Time to head down, I’d say.”
Why wait here?
Yeon Hojeong shook his head.
“A bit longer. Contact’s coming soon.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ll see.”
Cheong Ho stepped back, puzzled.
Not even the Twelve Branches Gods knew everything about the Muk Ryong Bu. With no organizations under them save personal subordinates, they weren’t privy to internals.
Su Ryong spoke.
“The moment the Intelligence Chief meets the Moyong Head, position personal subordinates a hundred jang out. Thoughts, Cheong Ho?”
“Wise.”
Gwang Gyeon scratched his head.
“What could go wrong? Moyong Head ain’t crazy enough to touch us.”
“You never know. He thinks the Deputy is coming.”
“Huh?”
Gwang Gyeon gaped at Yeon Hojeong.
“No word to the Moyong Head?”
Yeon Hojeong nodded.
“The Deputy reached out first. If he sent a proxy for some reason, this meeting would’ve been off.”
“Mm.”
True enough. Gwang Gyeon’s eyes gleamed.
“Then why not shrink to fifty jang? No offense, but if Moyong Head flips…”
Sending a proxy without warning? Enough to anger anyone.
Yeon Hojeong shook his head.
“Your four seniors’ men at a hundred jang, the one entering with me within thirty.”
All Twelve Branches Gods nodded. Optimal given the county’s layout.
“Who for the entry, then?”
Yeon Hojeong grinned at Hwa Won. She startled inwardly, her complex gaze meeting his.
“Hwa Won senior.”
“...Yes.”
“You’ll come with me.”
“M-Me?”
“Problem?”
“...No.”
Gwang Gyeon coughed dryly.
“Any reason for the monkey—er, Hwa Won? Me or Hwan Sa would be…”
“Hwa Won senior’s features are quite striking. Not sure the effect, but she’ll ease tensions better than most.”
Su Ryong chuckled unwittingly.
“Fair point. No man hates a pretty woman.”
Laughter rippled. Oddly, Hwa Won stayed quiet—uncharacteristic. Normally she’d erupt in curses, but she just stared at Yeon Hojeong, eyes wavering.
Gwang Gyeon smirked at her.
“What, burdened? Say so—I’ll swap. I’m pretty handsome myself.”
Hwan Sa shook his head.
“Handsome man’s no use.”
“Just flirt a bit. Who knows? Moyong Head might swing that way.”
“Gwang Gyeon.”
“Ahem!”
Hwa Won ignored the jabs. She couldn’t muster anger.
What’s going on?
She was genuinely flustered.
Why’s he still fine?
Yesterday’s liquor held Ban Si Dok, a delayed ultra-toxin. It fatigued slowly at first, sapped stamina visibly after a day, and dissolved inner energy for coma after two—without an antidote, even the Shaolin abbot would fall. Only Sungcheon Thirteen Seats might resist.
Yet Yeon Hojeong was too fine. Not weary—in fact, increasingly vibrant, smile constant.
Did he notice?
Impossible. Her refined Ban Si Dok was colorless, odorless, undetectable even to qi flow.
Even if he did, no antidote means he couldn’t be this fine.
Then—
Fwudduduk!
A black bird soared from the horizon. Not a crow—a pigeon, feathers gleaming unnaturally. No ordinary messenger.
Yeon Hojeong took it, unfolding the leg-tied letter. His eyes flashed.
It’s done.
Practical team and “they” were in position.
Should be starting now.
The group eyed him curiously. An unfamiliar messenger from the Muk Ryong Bu.
Fwoosh.
He burned the letter; the pigeon shot skyward.
“Let’s go.”
“Yes!”
Paak!
They descended the mountain in a breath, entering the county.
Parasak.
Deep in, the Twelve Branches Gods—all but Hwa Won—scattered. Bickering aside, they handled business.
And after one gak.
Yeon Hojeong reached the rendezvous and flung the door wide.
“...?!”
Striding in, he spotted Moyong Gun. Smiling, but eyes trembling fiercely.
Clunk!
Door shut.
Yeon Hojeong cupped his fists crisply.
“Greetings. I am Jeong, Intelligence Chief of the Muk Ryong Bu.”
Moyong Gun rose slowly, returning the gesture.
“Moyong Gun of the Moyong family.”
“I’ve heard much of your esteemed reputation.”
“That said…”
Moyong Gun’s smile twisted bizarrely—an expert would sense the anomaly instantly. Hwa Won missed it; she was preoccupied.
“Intelligence Chief… Where’s the star of the show?”
“Internal matters required me, the Chief, as proxy.”
Yeon Hojeong smiled coldly.
“You’ll allow it?”
Moyong Gun’s eyelid twitched.
“...Have a seat.”