Chapter 223 — Dolhapsok's Eighth Mouke 2
The front line of the Eighth Mouke was torn open.
The torn place was only small enough for one man to pass through, but Yeongu's horse stepped into that narrow gap as if it were a broad road.
Wherever spearpoints gathered, he turned his wrist first.
With the edge of his shield, he pushed spear shafts aside, lowered his waist to avoid a strike toward his neck, and in the very next beat lifted his blade to cut the enemy's elbows and wrists.
A rider who lost his spear lost height on horseback, and a rider who lost height soon entered beneath Yeongu's banner.
"Haa!"
With the second battle cry, Yeongu kicked his horse's belly.
His horse passed through the tangle of men and horses as if leaping over it.
One heavy cavalryman blocked his path, raising his shield and holding firm.
Yeongu did not use his blade first.
He drove his left-hand shield straight in, pressed the opponent's shield sideways, and struck beneath the helmet at the chin with the end of the banner shaft.
The moment the rider's body bent backward, the back of Yeongu's blade struck his chest, and he was pushed from the saddle and fell to the ground.
The two standing behind that man lost direction.
Yeongu drove his horse's head between them.
When the spear of the rider on the right came too close, he pressed the shaft down with his elbow, and the blade of the rider on the left slid across the round face of his shield.
Yeongu's banner turned shortly and struck the left rider's wrist.
The banner bent the other way and smashed into the right rider's nape and shoulder.
The two horses struck shoulders and staggered, and through that gap, Yeongu slipped out.
The Eighth Mouke's front line had been pierced.
On the path Yeongu had broken through, a little over twenty riders lay fallen.
Some had gone down with their horses, some rolled on the ground after losing their spears, and some crouched with their hands wrapped around heads whose helmets had been knocked off.
A shield trampled under horse hooves lay overturned, and broken spear shafts were stuck in the grass.
Blood mixed with dust and made dark red stains.
Yeongu turned his horse's head.
The reins were pulled short, and the horse's forelegs scraped the ground in a half-circle.
When he looked at the enemy again, the Eighth Mouke was barely turning as well.
But the line from the first collision had already disappeared.
Those in front had gone too far forward, and those behind blocked one another's paths as they turned their horses' heads.
The mounted archers held their bows, but their own cavalry blocked the front, so they could not loose their strings freely.
Yeongu did not miss that disorder.
He first charged toward the rider who had drifted farthest outward.
He struck down the one who had broken away, hit the one who came to recover him, then drove back inward.
He did not face the whole by drawing one large circle.
Instead, he caught each broken knot and pulled it apart.
Everywhere he passed, small groups split apart, and once split, they gained no opening to come together again.
The first rider who charged thrust his spear long.
Yeongu lowered his body to the right and let the spear slide past.
The moment the spearpoint passed above his shoulder, his blade struck the lower part of the shaft.
The hand gripping the spear flew upward, and the banner shaft immediately drove into the rider's chest.
The rider was lifted from the saddle, then fell backward.
The second rider tried to crash into him from the side.
Instead of slowing his horse, Yeongu struck in one beat faster.
Before the shoulders of the two horses met, the edge of his shield pressed down toward the opposing horse's reins.
The horse's head twisted, and the rider's spearpoint twisted with it.
In that moment, Yeongu's banner came down from above and struck the helmet.
A dull sound rang inside the helmet, and the body left the horse's back.
The third and fourth came at the same time.
One carried a blade, and one lowered a spear.
Yeongu closed first with the one holding the spear.
A long weapon lost its strength once distance vanished.
When he brought his horse's head close, the spear shaft folded inward against the man's body.
Yeongu's elbow pressed the opponent's arm, and the pommel of his blade struck beneath the man's neck.
At the same time, the blade that came from behind was blocked by the shield and glanced away, and as Yeongu turned his body, he cut the hand gripping that sword.
The fight gradually became less a battle than a hunt.
Yet there were many hunters, and the one who looked like prey was alone.
That one took the right position first every time.
The soldiers of the Eighth Mouke were brave.
They did not retreat, and even while watching their comrades fall, they charged again.
That courage instead drove them more quickly before Yeongu.
Each time the banner flew, a man fell.
Each time the blade flashed briefly, a spear shaft was severed.
Each time the shield rang dully, someone's charge was bent aside.
Yeongu did not merely cut.
He struck, pushed, and pressed, breaking the balance of horses.
When a horse staggered, the rider's waist opened; when the waist opened, the gaps in the armor showed as well.
Thudududuk.
Thudududuk.
The sound of men falling from horses continued.
The sound of bodies hitting the ground, armor clashing together, spear shafts breaking, and horse hooves stepping on empty shields mixed into one.
Dust lay low, and within that dust, only Yeongu's red and blue banner kept rising and disappearing.
Wherever the banner was seen, someone fell.
Wherever the banner vanished, Yeongu's horse had already escaped in another direction.
Wanyan Zongwang watched the scene like a man who had lost speech.
He had stood in the vanguard with Yeongu before.
He knew how Yeongu tore through an enemy formation.
Horse, body, blade, shield, and banner were all joined by a single intention.
That intention was to move forward and break.
The Eighth Mouke turned for the third time.
Their breathing had grown rough, and white breath burst from the horses' nostrils.
Those at the front avoided one another's eyes.
The bodies of their brothers who had already fallen made it impossible for them to retreat.
So they charged again toward death.
Yeongu drove his horse toward them again.
This time, Yeongu did not aim for the center first.
He brushed in along the left edge.
Before the rider at the very end could react, the end of the banner struck his shoulder.
The moment the second rider turned his head to help that side, Yeongu turned his horse's head inward and entered behind his back.
The back of the blade smashed across his waist, and the shield shoved his flank.
When the two men fell, the entire left line folded inward.
Yeongu drove into that folded line again.
In a narrowed space, several men could not use their weapons at once.
The back of the man in front and the horse of the man beside them blocked one another's spearpoints.
Yeongu chose that narrow place.
The long banner moved widely.
It struck hands and arms, pressed spear shafts downward, and swept across heads and shoulders.
Once, twice, three times.
Each time he crossed the field, the number of soldiers remaining in the mouke visibly decreased.
At first, more than one hundred riders had tried to surround him.
Next, scattered groups chased him.
After that, several groups charged from different directions.
At the end, no one could hold the shape of the whole.
Each man saw only Yeongu before his eyes and charged.
They looked like moths rushing toward flame.
Yet they did not charge because they were foolish.
They charged because they had lost any place to retreat.
The command of the mouke, the name of the tribe, the blood of comrades, and the face of their commander pushed their backs.
All of it broke one by one before Yeongu.
Each time he swung the banner, men fell from horses and rolled across the dirt.
The mounted archers held their bows but could not draw their strings.
Their own men were too close, and Yeongu's movement was too fast.
The place where, just a moment earlier, they thought they could aim at his back became the chest of one of their own riders in the blink of an eye.
Each time Yeongu pierced through, heavy cavalry and mounted archers collapsed like bundles of straw.
Yeongu turned his horse's head one last time.
Several broken arrow shafts were lodged in his shield, and long scratches marked the shoulders of his armor.
A thin layer of blood and dust clung to the blade.
The red and blue banner had been torn along the edges by repeated collisions, but it still caught the wind and fluttered.
He drew in a deep breath and looked at those who remained on horseback.
The remaining men gripped their reins.
Their horses tried to move forward, and their hands stiffened for a moment.
That brief hesitation spread across the whole field.
For the first time, the charge of the Eighth Mouke was broken.
The shouting also died down.
Only the rough breathing of horses, the groans of the wounded, and Zongwang's voice shouting again from the distance could be heard.
In that gap, Yeongu halted his horse.
His posture was plain.
Too plain for a man who had just carved through the middle of more than one hundred riders alone.
Before him stood the shattered Eighth Mouke, and behind him, the path he had passed remained long in blood and dust.
Finally, Yeongu pointed at Dolhapsok.
He crooked his finger.