There were more dead than living.
Before Sinbong Gate had already become the far shore.
There were more dead than living.
Bodies swept by volleys of arrows were pushed up the steps and piled layer upon layer, forming a strange mound.
Yet the rebel retainers being pushed from behind could not accept that sight.
"There aren't that many enemies. Push through."
What remained to them was the sensation of not seeing.
They believed the enemy was unseen because there were few of them.
They thought that by staying in the darkness, they too could hide.
They mistook darkness for opportunity.
At that moment, within the very center of the darkness, a silvery-white presence slowly rose.
On the steps of Sinbong Gate, Park Seong-jin quietly revealed himself.
He wore no armor.
He carried no torch.
Yet his presence pressed down on the surroundings like moonlight.
They knew who he was.
They knew without being told.
They knew without him declaring it.
The greatest warrior of Goryeo.
A master of Hwagyeong.
The general who had led the battlefields of Liaodong and Jiangnan.
A warrior at the front of the rebels rolled his tongue.
"That… that is… the Hwagyeong—"
Before the words could finish, Park Seong-jin was already at the foot of the steps.
The rebels' eyes could not follow him.
It was not time that lagged behind, but their sense of position itself.
As Park Seong-jin's foot brushed the ground, dust briefly lifted.
In the next instant, the bodies of five strong men at the front folded softly at the waist and fell.
Only a single thin line of blood splashed.
It was less like a cut than the trace of something passing through.
Someone screamed from the rear.
"Stop him. Grab him. It's one man—just one man!"
But it was already too late.
Park Seong-jin no longer walked.
He did not run either.
He simply advanced, as if the world itself were pushing him forward.
He drew a breath and slightly raised his sword.
Each time that motion repeated, the front ranks of the rebels were erased wholesale.
Shhk.
Skak.
Ssshk.
There was almost no spray of blood.
The blade was too fast for blood to spill in time.
Forced forward by those behind them, the rebels advanced unwillingly—
straight into the blade.
Someone attempted to flee.
The moment he turned to run, his neck fell without a sound.
His body collapsed before his head even touched the ground.
The front was sealed.
The rear was sealed.
All directions were closed.
The rebel retainers screamed.
"Stop. Don't go forward."
But stopping meant being cut.
Advancing meant being cut.
Only the space where Park Seong-jin passed was left empty, becoming a path—
a path open to only one man.
A warrior murmured just before dying,
"This isn't… a battle…"
He was right.
A battle has exchanges.
This did not.
It ended the instant one passed through.
Park Seong-jin changed the air of the battlefield in a single sweep.
Fear exploded.
The rebel core collapsed.
The time he moved was no more than three or four breaths.
In that brief span, over a hundred from the front formation vanished like traces.
Only the scent of blood remained, carried on the wind.
Sheathing his sword, Park Seong-jin said,
"It's not one man."
"Even if a thousand come, the end is the same."
That single statement froze the entire rebel force.
At first, the steps before Sinbong Gate were black with rebel retainers.
No matter how much they were pushed back, more kept pouring in.
The flow looked like a black tide.
But the moment Park Seong-jin descended once, that tide broke completely from the front.
At first, no one understood.
Dozens of comrades who had stood at the front vanished in an instant.
There was no sound.
No screams.
No clash of armor.
Someone muttered,
"The front… it's gone…?"
The moment those pushing from behind saw the empty space ahead, they froze.
An empty front meant it was now their turn.
Fear spread like contagion.
A warrior turned and shouted,
"Back. Turn back—"
Before the words finished, his head fell.
His neck was severed like a radish and rolled across the ground.
The retainers behind screamed.
"Run— aaagh!"
But behind them were reinforcements pushing forward and commanders forcing advance.
Forward was sealed.
Backward was sealed.
The retainers shoved and pulled one another, falling into collective panic.
Someone wailed,
"Don't move. Please."
The wail was soon trampled out of existence.
Each time Park Seong-jin shifted to the side, dozens were erased like dust.
Some collapsed with twisted necks.
Some fell with their chests split open.
Some stopped, bodies cleaved in two.
It was so fast that screams always came late.
"A— aaagh!"
Those pushed from behind did not know why the men ahead were falling.
They simply stepped into the spaces left behind—and ended.
Someone in the rear shrieked,
"I can't go. That's not a human."
That scream shattered the rear ranks' illusion.
Forward was sealed.
Backward was sealed.
There was no path to live.
At that moment, collapse began from the rear.
Clatter.
Clatter-clatter.
Soldiers threw down spears and shields and sank to the ground.
Sinking became collapse.
Collapse became disintegration.
This rebellion had gathered with the belief that there was nothing left to lose.
But when death reached their throats, resolve evaporated in an instant.
Someone spat out a scream as if chewing it up,
"We were… insane… that thing… is that human?"
Those who broke first crawled along the ground, weeping, drooling.
"Spare me."
The words humans speak before death are always the same.
A black force of over a thousand turned into a formless mass within mere dozens of breaths.
Cut at the front, broken in the middle, scattered at the rear.
What had looked like a black tide was nothing more than drifting ash.
From the darkness before Sinbong Gate, Park Seong-jin slowly walked forward.
The rebels had never even imagined defeat.
They could only stare at him blankly.
Because of that one man, a thousand had collapsed.
It was a reality no one could believe.