Chapter 24: Gale (4)
The Jiuzhou Myeong Family was the clan that had emerged in the world three hundred years ago, during the most chaotic and glorious era of the martial world. They assisted the legendary master known as the Four Directions Martial Emperor—a figure still spoken of in awe today—and made monumental contributions to the downfall of the Blood Cult.
Afterward, they blended unique martial arts from beyond the western borders with Central Plains techniques, forging their own absolute arts. In just two hundred years, they rose to be called the Heavenly Number One Clan. That was the history of the Jiuzhou Myeong Family.
The reason they earned the title of the world's greatest was simple: they were strong.
Their influence rivaled the combined might of two of the Seven Great Families, and the new martial arts they developed were deemed superior even to the secret techniques of those great houses. Their financial power was unmatched among single factions, making the name "Heavenly Number One" well-deserved.
And Yeon Hojeong was provoking the third son of such a colossal power.
Myeong Horim's eyes darkened.
"Yeon Family's eldest young master, is it?"
You know me well.
"First, as the eldest here at this gathering, allow me to express my gratitude. For reining in that wild colt. It was a bit rough, though."
Yeon Hojeong couldn't help but chuckle despite himself. The guy, who couldn't be older than his mid-twenties, was talking like some elder. It was almost comical.
Myeong Horim ignored the laugh.
"I also see that your martial prowess is impressive. To subdue the Tang heir in a single move... now I know just how exaggerated the rumors about you are."
The rumors about Yeon Hojeong were famous among those in the know. Tiger father, dog son. His father, the current Yeon Family head Yeon Wi, was revered as the Judge Sword. Yet his eldest son was said to lack the talent and character to inherit the house.
But what he'd shown today was far too different from those tales.
"However."
Myeong Horim adopted a scolding tone.
"No matter how eager you are to prove yourself, you must distinguish between formal and informal settings. This is a gathering hall, not an arena."
"......"
"Let's tidy up the surroundings first. Once the mood settles, come pour me a drink."
"So."
"Hm?"
"You won't play?"
The room stared at Yeon Hojeong in stunned silence.
Myeong Horim burst into laughter.
"Playing with you isn't hard. Just know it'll be with drinks and laughs. Ah, and don't worry about the cup you threw at me. As you said, a mistake, right?"
Yeon Hojeong nodded.
Myeong Horim continued with a satisfied look.
"Good, very good. First, let's move the Tang boy..."
"If he won't come, I'll go get him."
"What?"
Whoosh.
Yeon Hojeong walked toward Myeong Horim. No lightness technique, not even a run. Just walking. Utterly natural.
Yet as he moved, the heavy air seemed to ripple and part like waves. The oppressive, stifling atmosphere made even those who wanted to stop him hesitate.
The moment Yeon Hojeong stirred, the banquet hall's air grew damp, as if soaked through.
Myeong Horim's eyes widened.
What is this?
It was a short distance. No caution in his gait—he strolled as leisurely as if on a walk, almost making one doubt any intent to fight.
But Myeong Horim felt every nerve in his body screaming.
He wanted to speak, but a bizarre pressure sealed his lips.
Thus, Yeon Hojeong reached right before Myeong Horim's nose.
......!
A distance where a punch would land instantly. Yeon Hojeong stopped right there.
The two locked eyes.
Ssssss.
Killing intent slithered up Myeong Horim's neck like a serpent. Subtle and flexible. Yet venomous. Savage enough to sink fangs into his throat at any moment.
What kind of killing intent is this...?!
Then, Yeon Hojeong flashed a faint smile.
Myeong Horim's body reacted on instinct.
Pang!
His fist whipped toward Yeon Hojeong's face. A punch without wind-up—swift and sharp for it.
Thud!
The thrust fist bounced upward. But Myeong Horim didn't stop. The killing intent coiling his throat urged him on.
His fists danced fiercely.
Papapapak!
Chain punches exploding the air in close quarters. The Myeong Family's Iron Chain Strike.
Not quite an absolute art, but highly effective in close brawls.
He'd reacted instinctively to the killing intent, yet restrained himself amid it.
Yeon Hojeong countered immediately.
Thuk! Pububuk! Teark! Paaaak!
Fists, palms, elbows clashed, drumming like thunder.
Yeon Jipyeong's eyes went wide.
That fist technique?
The fists Yeon Hojeong used to parry Myeong Horim's Iron Chain Strike were familiar even to him.
Yeon Family Thirteen Fists?!
Yes. Yeon Hojeong's bouncy, elastic fists were the Yeon Family's basic fist art.
But utterly unlike the one Yeon Jipyeong knew.
Using that like this!
The Yeon Family Thirteen Fists were meant more for subduing than killing. Yet no one used Yeon fists purely for restraint. Yeon warriors trained them to build flexibility and solid lower body—not for combat.
In short, unsuited for battle.
Yet his brother wielded this gymnastic art to exquisitely block the Myeong Family's brawling skill.
No. Not just blocking...
He was overwhelming.
Papapapak!
Myeong Horim stepped back a pace. Yeon Hojeong surged forward powerfully.
Peng! Pupupeng!
Short, snapping triple chain fists, followed by a forceful long fist push.
Yeon Jipyeong's eyes shook.
One Torrent Clear Slope!
Thud!
"Ngh."
Myeong Horim staggered back two more steps. Pushed, really.
He'd swept away the dense Iron Chain barrage, then unleashed a long fist that could shatter bones.
Myeong Horim glanced at his forearm. The well-trained muscle was already swelling red. A fraction off, and it would've snapped.
Strong!
To nearly break his arm from a fist without full inner energy.
Impossible.
Not some crude technique at a glance. Yet it cornered him like this. Terrifyingly precise form execution. Peak-master level, no exaggeration.
"Hey."
Startled, Myeong Horim looked at Yeon Hojeong. He'd already clasped hands behind his back, face etched with displeasure.
"You planning to end it with this childish tussle?"
"......"
"Guess I need to crush you with killing intent to get you serious?"
Myeong Horim's cheeks trembled.
He wasn't the eldest son of the Jiuzhou Myeong Family. But he'd lived representing it everywhere.
Now mocked like this by a kid a good eight years younger.
A memory he'd rather forget surfaced. A youth looking down at him, bloodied wooden sword in hand. That face—so like his own—brimming with thick scorn and contempt.
"You... punk...!"
Then—
"Enough!!"
Majestic inner energy boomed across the hall, shaking it all.
The entranced onlookers turned to the source.
There stood Namgung Hyeon and the Namgung Family warriors, lined up.
"What is the meaning of this?! Exchanging such fierce martial arts at a Seven Great Families gathering? Have you lost your minds?!"
A stern tone. Myeong Horim flinched instinctively. He'd swung on pure reaction to the killing intent. Guilt stung.
Namgung Hyeon eyed Myeong Horim coldly.
"Brother Myeong. You're the eldest here at this gathering."
"......"
"This is a gathering of later-generation disciples with decades of honorable tradition. I understand your anger, but you should've held back."
Clever words. Scolding Myeong Horim while condemning Yeon Hojeong's recklessness.
Namgung Hyeon turned to Yeon Hojeong.
"And Young Master Yeon."
Yeon Hojeong didn't even glance his way.
Namgung Hyeon felt rage surge. He'd already wanted payback for his sibling. Hated that this guy was close to Jegal A-yeon too.
And now causing chaos at a Namgung-hosted gathering? Fury boiled.
"Are you insane? Picking fights with another house's heir—what barbarity! No one like you in the history of later-generation gatherings!"
Still, Yeon Hojeong ignored him. The snub provoked endlessly. The guy clearly didn't care about his words.
"Do you find the Namgung Family that laughable?!"
Then Jegal A-yeon stepped forward.
"Young Master Namgung, that's not how you speak."
Namgung Hyeon's eyes wavered.
"A-yeon?"
"The banquet's halted. This isn't informal. Mind your address, Young Master Namgung."
"......!"
"Continue. Your words are biased. I get the host's frustration, but how can you side with one and speak so unfairly?"
"Unfair? What do you...!"
Jegal A-yeon said coldly.
"The one who ruined this gathering isn't Young Master Yeon—it's Young Master Tang."
"......!"
"Young Master Yeon was just trying to stop him."
"A-yeon—no, Miss Jegal. You saw it yourself. He wasn't stopping Young Master Tang, he was..."
"Didn't Young Master Yeon say it himself? A mistake."
"......?!"
"Young Master Myeong admitted it too. As far as I know, the Bi-san Yeon Family has no dark arts. The cup he threw to block Young Master Tang just went astray."
Jegal A-yeon turned to Myeong Horim.
"Right?"
Myeong Horim, staring blankly, sighed.
"Yes."
A single phrase burying the incident.
Namgung Hyeon's face twisted.
Jegal A-yeon looked at Yeon Hojeong.
"Young Master Yeon. Even I think you made a clear mistake. But to wrap this up, you should explain why you stepped in."
Yeon Hojeong, glaring at Myeong Horim, turned to her. Her expression was firm. But he read genuine plea in her eyes.
Suddenly, he felt someone tug his sleeve.
"Brother."
Yeon Jipyeong stood there. Surprisingly, no caution or urgency on his face. Eyes wide open, staring steadily—resolute.
And not just him. All eyes fixed on Yeon Hojeong.
Yeon Hojeong sighed inwardly.
Fine. Plenty of time.
In his past life, he hadn't even glimpsed the fiend's hem. Now, spotting its shadow felt like progress.
So he couldn't rein in his killing intent. When Dang Yangseon caused trouble, he'd even thought good timing. Chaos like this hid anything.
But here, restraint was best. He was Bi-san Yeon Family's eldest son, not Black Emperor Castle's lord.
He glanced at Myeong Horim again. The man flinched.
"Myeong Family arts live up to their fame."
"......"
"Impressive aura shaking the room. My fault for not curbing my burning competitive spirit."
Myeong Horim smiled. Forced, but there.
"Understood."
"Never permitted that tone."
"......!"
"Are we close enough for familiarity?"
Myeong Horim's face hardened.
Yeon Hojeong smiled. Natural, unlike his.
"My apologies. If chance arises, may I seek another lesson?"
"......Sure."
"Grateful."
Yeon Hojeong formally cupped hands before all.
"Sorry for ruining the mood with my shortcomings. As you see, I'm sorely lacking in discipline. Even Father sends me wandering for my foul temper."
Sudden self-deprecation. From someone who seemed above it, it softened the air. Even giggles erupted.
Yeon Hojeong caught the shift instantly. Though he'd lost control of his killing intent, he was the man who'd built Black Emperor Castle bare-handed. He knew when to show social grace.
"Tomorrow at the gathering, I'll pour a drink for each of you as atonement. Forgive this fool's rudeness."
Then Paeng Daeho bellowed.
"Nonsense!"
Eyes shifted to him.
Paeng Daeho feigned anger.
"One drink? Look at me! Forgiven with a single cup?!"
"Then what should I do?"
"Till noses bleed! If you stay sober while we all pass out, then forgiven!"
Yeon Hojeong smiled.
"Prepare for tomorrow."
Paeng Daeho roared with laughter.
"Kahahat! Love the spirit! A man's word is gold—keep it."
"Anyone but you, I'll topple for sure."
"Kahahaha!"
Paeng Daeho's sudden intervention revived the mood; Yeon Hojeong's deft response banished the tension.
Jegal A-yeon sighed in relief. Yeon Jipyeong smiled easily.
Namgung Hyeon's face was rigid; Myeong Horim couldn't hide his discomfort.
Thus, the incident concluded.
The biggest victim that day? Ultimately, the Tang Family. Self-inflicted.