Chapter 49 – Fighting Alone Against Many
The Jurchen cavalry slowed their pace and began to circle slowly.
Youngwoo, as if annoyed, threw off his cloak and lightened his body.
The heavy armor layered over him only made things more uncomfortable.
Unlike when he was on horseback, his movements felt sluggish.
At the very least, he thought, he would take ten of them with him before he died.
Was this what they called the center of the mind.
Hoooooo.
He let out a long breath and found his calm.
At that moment, one of them rushed forward.
Breaking out of the circular encirclement, he charged straight at Youngwoo.
He thrust his spear forward in a straight line.
What was it they had said.
"We do not trade blows."
The words did not come to mind, but the meaning was clear.
Youngwoo stepped diagonally with his footwork.
Twisting his body into an angle that allowed an immediate counterattack, he deflected the spear.
At the same moment as the enemy's attack, his hwando stabbed into the man's waist.
The horse continued forward,
and the man fell helplessly from the saddle.
Having been stabbed through the waist, he could not rise.
He crawled on all fours toward his own side.
Red blood poured from his flank.
A human's will to survive is tremendous.
They crawl like that until the very end.
They live with everything they have.
He had seen it many times on the battlefield.
That was life.
The next one rushed in.
It was a similar attack.
A little faster.
Youngwoo evaded it in the same way.
At the same time, the hwando flashed.
The man's wrist was severed.
It almost looked as if he had run in just to have it cut off.
People say
that losing a wrist does not kill you.
That is wrong.
The artery is cut.
The blood pours out, and eventually you die.
That is why it is more terrifying.
Then, from the opposite side, another one charged in.
His breath rose sharply.
This would not do.
He could not evade.
He caught the incoming spear at his side.
The force of the charge flipped his body over.
But because he did not let go of the spear,
the rider lost balance and fell.
Youngwoo rolled once and got up.
He cut the man's throat as he struggled to rise.
It was the gap between helmet and armor.
The blade went in cleanly.
Bright red blood burst upward like a fountain.
It was the carotid artery.
There is no part of the human body that is unimportant.
Still, this place is especially vital.
There is no need to stab deeply.
A clean slice is enough.
Three.
Seven more.
But the situation changed.
Several cavalrymen lowered their spears and charged at once.
Youngwoo raised his iron-plated arm guard.
He twisted his body to the right.
A misdirected thrust slid past him.
A properly aimed thrust drove into him and pushed his body back.
He guarded his neck with desperate tenacity.
The force of the cavalry knocked him down.
But the blade did not stop.
The hwando flashed.
A horse with its foreleg cut off thrashed wildly.
Its rider fell, collapsing together with another.
Rolling, Youngwoo grabbed the leg of a fallen enemy.
Then he thrust upward.
Armor does not protect the underside.
"Aaaaargh!"
What kind of wound produces such a scream.
A tearing scream followed from behind.
At that moment, another dismounted enemy rose and brought down his hwando.
That weapon was Youngwoo's own achievement.
He blocked it with his own blade.
Almost at the same time, his left hand moved.
At the moment of the block, a short sword flashed.
The man's side split open.
His body convulsed.
The tremor traveled into Youngwoo's left hand.
It was the thrashing of a body that had sensed death.
The short sword would not come free.
Without hesitation, Youngwoo let go of it.
He stepped back.
He saw the man's eyes as he collapsed.
Fear of death.
A stunned expression.
A face he had seen somewhere before.
The face I will wear, before long.
I know it too.
That is how it will be.
After that, his memory blurred.
He fought.
I am a soldier.
I do not bow.
I do not yield.
I do not compromise with the enemy.
I am different from those who scheme in the shadows.
That is who I am.
As his breath rose, his body began to turn.
Each time it did, the hwando danced.
Striking.
Cutting.
Thrusting.
Carving through.
It felt as though he had never fought this well before.
The sword forms he had learned flowed out as they were.
They had told him to lay breath upon them.
It had never been easy.
But in the face of death, desire vanished.
And then, it worked.
Breath followed the body.
The body became light.
Deflecting the charging spears,
he cut down his enemies one by one.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
How many men can one man kill.
At that moment, a spear struck Youngwoo's abdomen.
His body was pushed back as he fell.
He grabbed the spear with his left hand.
With his right, he struck the man's face.
The face crumpled horribly.
A face he had seen somewhere before.
A face that, under different circumstances,
might have shared a drink with him.
That face collapsed.
Not long after, ropes came flying.
Youngwoo swung his blade.
But they did not cut.
The ropes wrapped around his body.
He tried to pull and tear them apart with his hands.
Another rope flew in.
Two.
Three.
From all sides, the ropes tightened.
At last, even his arms could no longer move.
Ah.
They had said the neck must be protected by oneself.
He tensed his body and resisted.
But it was useless.
The ropes tightened.
His breath was cut off.
His body was dragged toward where they pulled him.
He collapsed, powerless.
He had killed many.
Even if it was a dog's death, he had done enough.
Yes.
He had lived hard.
He had done his best.
He had not forgiven those he hated,
and he had lived with desperate tenacity.
Still, he had lived well.
In his early twenties.
It was regrettable, but there was nothing to be done.
Even if he were to return, nothing would change.
He would make the same choices again.
And in the end,
he would arrive here once more.