556.
A Single Streak of Shadow
The Japanese command unit fleeing over the ridge maintained a spacing of six or seven paces.
It was a trained formation—a "rapid movement" column.
Their short bodies moved at a brisk jog, drawing out the breath of anyone watching.
Two guards kept glancing back as they ran.
At the center was the commander.
Four guards surrounded him in front and back—a textbook protective screen.
Behind them, dozens of samurai followed, stealing backward looks as they ran.
Park Seong-jin passed soundlessly over the pine needles, measuring the formation as it moved.
The first guard's stride.
The moment his center of gravity shifted.
The angle at which his ankle twisted.
The timing of his next step.
All of it was calculated in a single glance.
Park Seong-jin flicked a pine twig with two fingers.
Tick.
The sound was barely there.
One of the rear guards reacted—turning his head with a look that said sound.
At that instant, Park Seong-jin's fingertips pressed into the back of the man's neck.
A sharp tap against the cervical spine.
Crack.
The guard's knees buckled first as he collapsed.
The moment the man's sword slipped from his hand, Park Seong-jin was already behind the next guard.
As the second guard sensed something wrong and opened his mouth, the hilt of Park's saber jabbed beneath his Adam's apple.
Hrk.
As the man went down, Park slid low behind the third guard.
Before the guard could even turn, Park hooked the back of his ankle lightly with his toes.
Thud.
The man slid forward and rolled.
The saber's tip brushed past the rolling body.
There was almost no spray of blood.
Lowering himself onto the sand, Park watched only the enemy commander's movement.
The man ran with his sword at his waist—
a body that looked born for running.
The next instant, Park's body shot into the air.
He crossed the leader's path in a single bound.
He stepped on the wind.
Caught the rising current.
From exactly one jang above the commander's head, Park dropped straight down.
The commander sensed something and looked up.
At that moment, Park's knee slammed down on the man's shoulder.
Boom!
The commander crashed face-first into the sand.
His breath wheezed out through his nose.
Both arms twisted uselessly.
He flailed like a turtle on its back, but it was pointless.
As two guards rushed in, drawing their swords, Park seized the commander's blade.
A sharp twist of the wrist—disarming him cleanly.
The blade cut the air twice.
It drove into two chests in succession.
Thak.
Thud.
Both guards collapsed almost simultaneously.
The last remaining guard staggered back in terror.
Park grabbed the short, stocky commander by the collar and hoisted him up.
Park himself wasn't tall, but the commander was even smaller—
perhaps that was why they were called Wa.
The commander's feet lifted off the ground as his body dangled in the air.
Choking, he forced out a breath.
"Wh—what…"
Park said quietly,
"If you're a commander, die like one."
As the man struggled, Park's hand tapped lightly at his lower back.
Click.
The vertebrae locked.
The lower half of his body went rigid.
The commander lost all strength and folded.
Dozens of samurai rushing from behind charged toward Park.
Scores of Japanese blades lifted at once.
They closed the distance in quick, waddling steps, like ducks.
Park's blade swept wide in a horizontal arc.
A great semicircle was drawn.
Then an even larger arc overlapped it.
Where the silver crescents passed, human shapes split apart.
Blood burst from the severed planes like fountains.
With a single stroke, dozens fell.
The commander was still conscious.
His body was rigid, bound by his own spine.
Park grabbed the man by the nape and dragged him out of the pine grove.
The armor scraped through the sand, tearing apart.
The man's breathing broke into ragged gasps.
Turning toward the shoreline, Park spoke,
"Abandon your lord and you die."
"Resolve to die protecting him, and you live."
The commander shook his head wildly, unable to grasp the meaning.
Park kept his grip on the nape and walked back toward the battlefield.
Another group of soldiers rushed forward—
then stopped when they saw their lord captured.
They were men whose only reason to fight was survival.
If their lord died, their livelihoods died with him.
Park dragged the man by the edge of his armor like a dog.
A few rushed forward without thinking.
Park waved his blade, annoyed.
Three or four dropped lifelessly in a breath.
This was not cutting, stabbing, or striking.
It was the force that split people whole.
A path opened.
Where enemies had stood, the space before Park split cleanly apart.
===---*
A Single Streak of Shadow
Park Seong-jin emerged slowly from the pine grove, gripping the unconscious enemy commander by the nape with one hand.
He looked like a beast cutting straight through the battlefield.
The commander's feet dragged across the sand, carving long grooves.
Only rough breaths leaked from his mouth.
The Japanese defensive line still sat with shields raised.
Spears were leveled forward.
It was a posture meant for waiting on death.
When Park walked into the center of the formation dragging the commander, the entire line shuddered.
"Our lord has been captured!"
"That man did it alone!"
Fear and chaos spread in an instant.
Park lifted his saber lightly as he watched the reacting soldiers—
as if swatting flies.
A spearman charged.
A suicide unit, a red band tied around his forehead.
"Kii-yaaah!"
He screamed like a crowing rooster, limping forward.
The spear tip lunged toward Park's side.
Park didn't move.
He nudged his blade sideways.
"Hff."
The spear was pushed off-line.
The saber tip passed across the man's throat like a paper cut.
Blood exploded outward.
Park's stance never wavered.
The second and third attackers leapt in together.
The left soldier shoved his shield forward, throwing his weight behind it.
The right lunged with a short dagger toward Park's ribs.
Park's movements looked like a single action.
On the left, his saber skimmed over the shield and struck the wrist.
On the right, his foot shifted slightly and stamped the dagger wielder's knee.
Crack.
The knee folded, and the man collapsed.
A body once broken did not rise again.
It looked like a body that had lived only to break gloriously.
The saber moved once downward.
Once upward.
Slice.
Slice.
The two fell in opposite directions like puppets with cut strings.
Park's movements were minimal.
There was no flourish.
No killing intent.
No battle cry.
Each thrust dropped one man.
Each withdrawal left another coughing blood.
The enemy commander was dragged across the sand, barely conscious.
From the center of the formation, shield-bearing soldiers shouted,
"Stop him! Protect our lord!"
Dozens rushed at once.
Park drew a deep breath.
The sand around him seemed to twitch.
Boom!!
His foot kicked off the ground.
He crossed three jang in a single surge.
The saber swept through the spear shafts in one motion.
Five soldiers charging from different angles flew back in sequence—
ting—thung—bang—crack—thud.
A single road cut through human bodies.
Where Park passed, enemies collapsed on both sides.
Some clutched their throats.
Some held their arms.
Some bled silently.
As the terrified retreated, the road widened.
The commander was dragged through its center.
Park lifted the mud-soaked commander by the hair, holding him high for all to see.
"Look."
At that word, even soldiers deep in the formation raised their heads.
Park continued,
"You're dying right now because of this man I'm dragging."
Fear and despair spread from the heart of the formation.
Park threw the commander down at his feet.
The sand burst upward with a dull thud.