Chapter 48 — Left Alone
As expected, the man at the very front was Lee Young-woo.
Seo Ui-taek's force advanced without hesitation.
Not far behind, Yoon Ji-woong cast occasional glances—thin, crooked, calculating.
Once battle begins, it is common to push the one you despise to the very front.
The simplest way to kill a man.
Even if the army wins, the one at the front dies.
They rode hard toward the Jurchen camp, pitched some twenty li away.
Spotting the signal banners planted by the forward scouts, they increased their speed.
It was like a man who already knew the ending, turning the pages faster.
Looking back, the main force had begun to lag.
"They're moving too fast."
Young-woo spoke, but no one answered.
He wanted to say they could be swallowed by the enemy and die before support arrived.
The words did not leave his mouth.
Those riding beside him were of the same breed.
If this were truly an interception, they would have harried from a distance.
But they did not.
The moment the enemy came into view and the distance to the forward unit closed, they charged.
Young-woo could not hold back.
"Hey—are we just charging in?"
Yoon Ji-woong's lips twisted faintly.
"Then you'll all die."
To throw a small vanguard into a massed enemy—
such a tactic.
The distance collapsed.
One hundred fifty jang.
Enemy cavalry burst out from the perimeter, moving roughly, spreading their wings.
Arrows began to fall.
They needed to change direction.
They did not.
They kept charging.
A group of enemy riders swung wide to the flank.
A sweep.
The rear was closing.
"You idiot—turn the line!"
Yoon Ji-woong looked straight ahead.
"Everyone—long spears!"
No preparatory volley.
They charged.
One hundred.
Fifty.
Young-woo lowered his spear.
"Charge! Charge!"
There was only forward now.
Damn fools.
And then—
A thought flashed through him.
He was the target.
What should he do?
His master's words rose in his mind.
No plan came.
The flanking force sealed the rear.
Late-arriving riders closed the sides.
A cavalry force without movement had only one end.
Death.
Moments later, the two forces collided.
There should have been a crash—
steel striking steel, a burst of sound.
There was none.
They passed through each other.
Softly.
Like a parade.
The two lines crossed and went on.
Only Young-woo struck.
The first man fell.
His spear drove into the next man's belly.
He twisted the shaft to take another—
A heavy blow came from behind.
Something was wrong.
He was fighting alone.
The men who had ridden beside him were gliding past the enemy, brushing by without resistance.
He turned.
When had he come so close.
Not an enemy.
An enemy.
Yoon Ji-woong smiled—low, vile—and drove his spear in.
The blade punched through his back.
It stopped.
The armor beneath his clothes held.
The point did not pierce through.
Young-woo folded at the waist and twisted.
The spear slid aside.
He seized the reins.
"You bastard."
Another spear came.
He turned his blade and barely deflected it.
Another strike came from the side.
At his face.
He leaned back.
His heel struck the horse's flank—
As he sprang free, a blow slammed into his side.
A face filled his vision.
The men who had ridden with him—
all of them—were enemies.
The impact bent him sideways.
The shaft warped under the force.
In the next instant, the horse lurched hard.
Balance broke.
He was thrown.
Unhorsed.
The armor had stopped the blade, but not the force.
His body lifted into the air.
A moment.
Yet time stretched, thin and long.
His back faced the ground.
Roll.
The body moved before thought.
His back struck.
He twisted.
Thud.
The shock ran up his spine.
He rolled.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Dust rose.
The moment he stopped, he sprang up.
Without looking, he threw himself sideways.
Three lances struck the ground where he had stood.
A heartbeat slower, and they would have gone through him.
He drew his hwando, breath tearing from his chest.
Blade in hand, he widened the distance.
The Goryeo troops who had come with him were already far away.
He searched for his horse.
It was gone.
A cavalryman without a horse is prey.
The enemy closed in.
Ten jang away.
The Goryeo line, which had crossed cleanly, fled without loss.
Seo Ui-taek's main force receded into the distance.
Only then did he understand.
This operation—
its purpose was him.
To cast him into the enemy's hands.
What would that traitor report to General Lee Hee-song.
No.
They were the same.
Those who claimed ignorance while allowing evil to stand—
they were worse.
He wanted to take one of them with him, like a drowning man dragging another under.
Even that was not easy.
The enemy cavalry drew a slow circle around him.
Their eyes held nothing human.
Cold.
Hard.
Like men forged of iron.