Tigers and Lions Are Different (1)
Whoosh!
Yang Cheon, stripped to the waist, stared into the massive bronze mirror.
Reflected within was a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard. Though over sixty, he possessed a body that transcended limits and the pinnacle of inner energy.
Yang Cheon raised a hand to his chest.
The middle-aged man in the mirror did the same.
His fingers traced the center of his chest, and a faint, sharp pain seemed to flare. Shadow Emperor Divine Palm. The Shadow Emperor's techniques were the signature arts of the Saum Sect Leader.
Yang Cheon had never encountered such a divine yet sinister skill before, despite having experienced countless martial arts across the Central Plains. Every strike—fist, palm, finger, or kick—was vicious beyond measure.
"They say that once struck by the Shadow Emperor's arts, the heart vessels will rupture sooner or later, killing anyone."
It was a troublesome technique, yet Yang Cheon had seen many lethal arts that could end a life with a single blow. Several of his own penetrating techniques belonged to that category.
But the Shadow Emperor Divine Palm was different.
"It targets the heart vessels without fail. Nothing else. It exists solely to rupture them."
A terrifying killing art, yet not particularly efficient. Inner energy strikes that penetrate the body and explode can vary wildly in timing depending on the technique, the practitioner's realm, and intent. A strike might fester for a month before bursting blood vessels or organs, or it might detonate internally in an instant.
The key difference was uncertainty—where the hidden force would erupt. It was lethal, but luck might cost only an arm, or heaven's favor might see the weakened energy burst only the skin before fading.
The Shadow Emperor's art was precise. It focused entirely on rupturing the heart vessels for instant death.
Terrifying, yet if one protected the heart vessels with true energy in advance, the chance of death dropped dramatically. Those who had never faced it before found it as dangerous as any hidden strike, but once its nature was known, the threat plummeted.
Unless the gap in skill was vast, a single hit would not kill. With proper defense, one might suffer internal and external injuries, but the heart vessels could be shielded.
"In other words, drawing the Shadow Emperor's arts means the user intends to kill without fail. Surviving it risks exposing one's own weakness to the world."
Yang Cheon glared at his reflection. Flames seemed to burn in his eyes, laced with dreadful killing intent.
"I clearly blocked his technique."
The golden palm print on his chest was merely a mark, or so he had thought. After losing consciousness once, he had focused his awareness on it repeatedly.
Yet no matter how many times he examined it—dozens, hundreds—he found no flaw. It was truly just a trace, causing no disruption to his inner energy or any other problem.
"I checked every nerve, every layer of subcutaneous fat, every muscle fiber. Still nothing."
Perhaps the Saum Sect Leader's mastery of the Shadow Emperor Divine Palm had reached a transcendent level, allowing him to inflict only internal damage or unconsciousness rather than immediate death. Yet Yang Cheon should have noticed such a thing. That was what troubled him.
"Why…?"
Thoughts chased one another in circles. Staring hard at the mirror, Yang Cheon eventually sighed.
"This isn't the important matter right now."
More pressing issues remained.
"They've already seized the government offices in Henan?"
Yang Cheon felt a surge of disbelief.
"These bastards are recklessly bold. Even if they're targeting the Central Plains, I never imagined they'd reach as far as the imperial administration."
He recalled Moyong Gun's face—twisted with loathing and rage.
"I'll ask again. Did you join hands with the Saum Sect? Are you in league with the Three Sects?"
"Why can't you answer? You used the barbarians as your backers, signed a contract with me while knowing nothing, and planned to hand the Martial Alliance—and eventually the entire Central Plains—to them? Are you truly claiming you're not in league with the Three Sects?"
Yang Cheon ground his teeth.
"These bastards…!"
Rumble!
The entire hall trembled from the force of his fury.
He was angry—furious that a mere Moyong family head had dared hurl such words at him. He was angry that such things had unfolded in places he did not know, beyond the reach of even the most powerful figures in the martial world.
And he felt ashamed.
"Have I fallen so far that I must endure such insults from a man like that?"
It was not Moyong Gun who shamed him. It was himself.
Yang Cheon, who had been radiating inner energy in his rage, let out a long sigh.
"I'm tired."
He wanted to rest, to think of nothing. But he could not. He was no longer a free man. As the lord of the Black Dragon Department and leader of the Underworld Alliance, he could not afford a single wasted day.
"Will you stand with us?"
Yang Cheon closed his eyes.
"Join hands with the orthodox factions and bring down the Three Sects?"
Why did his chest feel so heavy?
He recalled Moyong Gun's words once more.
"The orthodox and unorthodox have clashed for centuries, yet we are still people of the Central Plains! Even if our values and cultures differ, we are the same Central Plains people! Yet you allied with foreign powers to build your strength and act so arrogant? Can you truly claim you're not in league with the Three Sects?"
It was nonsense. Considering the wretched lives the unorthodox had endured under the orthodox hypocrites, Moyong Gun's words were far too self-centered.
Still… the unorthodox were not blameless either.
"The Three Sects? Or the Martial Alliance? Who exactly must I face? No—must I face anyone at all?"
Yang Cheon sighed again.
"I don't know. I truly don't. Was I always this foolish and incompetent?"
He had given Moyong Gun his answer. He would clear the path and offer some assistance in capturing Yayul Jeok.
That response itself proved he had failed to make a cold, decisive judgment. Yayul Jeok was a vile beast sent by the Three Sects. He should have pledged full support, not mere aid. Better yet, he should have declared he would capture and punish the man himself before they even asked.
If he had truly resolved to strike the Three Sects, those words would have been the natural response.
"What am I even fighting for…?"
Just then—
"My lord!"
"What is it?"
"The commander of the Martial Alliance's Righteous Army requests an audience!"
Yang Cheon's face twisted savagely.
"Cut the nonsense. Tell him that if he doesn't pass through Hunan within three days, I'll capture and kill every last one of them!"
That was his current reality. Being summoned by the Moyong family head alone was infuriating enough—now some mere army commander wanted to see him?
"I'll slaughter them all!"
Baek Seo's voice came again.
"My lord."
"What now?"
"If he were not someone I know, I would have reported this for immediate disposal as well."
Yang Cheon roared.
"What nonsense is this? Speak clearly!"
"It is Jeong."
"What?"
"The former head of the Intelligence Department—Jeong."
"…?!"
Yang Cheon's eyes flashed.
He thrust out a hand toward the stone door.
Rumble!
The heavy stone door swung open under his overwhelming force.
Baek Seo knelt before the open doorway, his voice trembling slightly.
"The commander of the Martial Alliance's Righteous Army, the Righteous Army of Justice—Yeon Hojeong."
"…!"
"That man is the former Intelligence Department head, the one who claimed to be a descendant of the Mukjong Gate—Jeong."
Flash!
Yang Cheon's gaze blazed like fire.
* * *
"Hoo…"
A faint wisp of vapor escaped with his soft exhale.
Hunan was warmer than Henan, yet the mountain air beneath the night sky remained cold.
Yeon Hojeong gazed up at the star-filled heavens and closed his eyes.
I can feel it.
A low, resonant hum vibrated through the air.
He could not pinpoint its origin, but it was unmistakable. The air in these mountains—and beyond—had changed.
I can feel it. Killing intent beyond imagination.
A bitter smile curved Yeon Hojeong's lips.
As expected of a master who has reached the Limitless realm. Even at this distance, I can sense the air trembling.
It was not his five senses. It was his sixth.
Since entering Hunan, Yeon Hojeong's perception had grown razor-sharp, and with each passing moment it honed further, slicing through the air in every direction.
Thud.
Yeon Hojeong set down the Mad Dragon Axe and stroked the jaw of his warhorse, Red Wind.
Red Wind snorted, its massive frame rivaling even the legendary Red Hare. Stronger than the finest blood-sweat horses and more powerful than any steed from the western regions.
After a long moment of petting Red Wind's jaw and muzzle, Yeon Hojeong spoke.
"I'll be back shortly."
Moyong Woo and Muk Bi rose at once.
"We'll accompany you."
"Yes."
Yeon Hojeong shook his head.
"This is a meeting with a bitter friend and enemy alike. I don't want to drag others along."
"But…!"
"If a fight breaks out, no one's safety can be guaranteed. Charging in as a group would only provoke Yang Cheon unnecessarily."
Yeon Hojeong smiled.
"Don't worry. The Yang Cheon I know would never raise his fist against me."
"…Will you be all right?"
"I will. Of course I will."
Crack!
Yeon Hojeong lifted the Mad Dragon Axe and rested it on his shoulder before turning away.
"Rest well. I'll return before dawn."
"…Yes."
"And Kang Liang."
Kang Liang emerged from the shadows.
Yeon Hojeong glanced at him.
"Want to see your enemy's face?"
Kang Liang nodded.
"It wouldn't hurt to take a look beforehand."
"Beforehand?"
"He's a man destined to die by my sword. And just so you know, even if it's you, big brother, I won't hand over his life."
Yeon Hojeong chuckled.
"You've got guts. Fine. Let's go together."
Leaving the Righteous Army of Justice encamped in the mountains, Yeon Hojeong and Kang Liang crossed more than fifty li.
Before long, a vast clearing appeared before them—flat, pristine, and eerily bright beneath the moonlight.
And there, two figures waited.
Yang Cheon.
Seated on a flat rock with fingers interlaced, Yang Cheon looked like a lion poised to strike—savage and overwhelming.
He radiated no deliberate aura, yet his presence was immense. It was the image of a lion moments before the hunt.
Yeon Hojeong strode forward without hesitation.
Then—
"Disciple."
Though the distance was considerable, Yang Cheon's calm voice reached them clearly.
"That damned bastard walking over there—why don't you test whether he's real with your martial arts?"
Boom!
The moment Yang Cheon finished speaking, a powerfully built woman lunged forward at incredible speed, fist extended.
Lightning flashed in Yeon Hojeong's eyes.
Crash!
Yeon Hojeong repelled the woman with a devastating strike from the Mad Dragon Axe and spoke in an even tone.
"Quite the reunion for hot-blooded men. Swinging fists before even exchanging words?"
"……"
"You've been well, Vice Lord Yang."
Yang Cheon lifted his head.
For an instant, the moonlight seemed to shatter, and the world filled with nothing but darkness.
"…You little rat."