The sun rose slowly, painting in gold the field that, just hours before, had been a stage for death. Mist still crawled among the bodies — hundreds of them. Some with eyes open, staring at the sky without seeing it. Others twisted in positions of pain or pleading. The earth was dark with blood, and the smell was a mixture of iron, burned flesh, and silence.
I walked among the dead.
My steps were unhurried. With each step, the muffled sound of bones and mud. Fallen spearmen. Swordsmen without arms. Archers still with arrows in their quivers, but with their throats cut. The wind pushed my gray cape, but my face remained unchanged.
Around me, the chaos dissolved into murmurs. Survivors wept. Some shouted names. Others knelt beside bodies. The vice-commander held the head of an old friend against his chest, sobbing like a child.
And I — I merely watched.
There was no sadness. No pain. Only bodies. Only endings.
"They died for me," I thought. "They died for the plan. And I... feel nothing."
I passed by a familiar face — the double. He lay with his chest open, eyes half-closed. The armor identical to mine still shone under the morning light. His mouth slightly open, as if trying to say something. The expression was one of fear. Or relief.
I knelt before him.
— You fulfilled your role — I murmured.
Nothing more. Cold. Honest. Practical.
I stood and kept walking. Each face was a possible memory. But I stopped keeping names long ago. The weight of memory is the enemy of decision. And the Path That Does Not Exist... allows no hesitation.
A Hidden approached silently, unmasked. A young face, but ancient eyes.
— Commander... what should we do with the bodies?
— Burn them — I replied. — All of them. Friends and enemies alike.
— Understood.
He vanished again, like mist returning to shadow. Soon, torches would be lit. And all that would remain would be smoke, ashes, and an empty field.
I paused for a moment atop a small rise, observing it all. The field. The blood. The victory.
And the emptiness inside me.
I turned and walked back alone. The silence behind me was the purest sound I know.
The bodies were already burning when we turned around.
There was no ceremony. No speeches. Only the creaking of armor, the brushing of cloaks against dust, and the sound of footsteps — organized, silent, lethal.
We marched back to Clan Jaegal.
At the front, me.
Behind, those who remained.
None carried pride. None shouted of victory. Because victory was just a necessary movement, not a reason for celebration. And all who had survived knew this. The Hidden, in absolute silence, dispersed before we reached the gates. They vanished as they had come — shadows that obey the gaze, not the clan's bell.
But this time, the gates were not empty.
A crowd waited inside. Men, women, children — all who had stayed, all who had feared the worst. Tense faces, eyes fixed on the dusty road that led to us.
When the gate creaked open and our silhouettes emerged in the morning haze, there was a suspended silence. A moment of pure uncertainty.
Then, I raised the dark cloth tied to the side of my horse.
With a single gesture, I threw Ryong Jeon's head to the ground.
It rolled until it stopped at someone's feet.
The eyes wide open. The mouth frozen in a final spasm of fury.
The crowd recognized him.
And the silence broke.
Screams. Applause. Tears. Nervous laughter. Mothers hugging children. Old men falling to their knees. A celebration both restrained and violent, as if years of oppression had finally shattered with that skull cracking against the stone.
— The Ryong leader is dead! — someone shouted.
— Vengeance! — another cried.
But I did not smile.
I walked through the crowd like a shadow returning to its place. Those in my path stepped aside, reverent or afraid. No one dared touch me. No one dared thank me out loud.
At the top of the main stairway, the old clan leader — my father — awaited us. Sunken eyes. Firm cane. Elders by his side.
Some looked at me with contained reverence.
— You won — he said.
I nodded, still covered in dried blood. — The Ryong Clan no longer exists.
I raised my gaze.
— And now?
— Come in — he replied, voice weaker than before. — We're not done yet.
I stepped onto the first stair.
And Clan Jaegal trembled.
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Trivia:
Number of soldiers:
— Jaegal Clan: 2,000
— Ryong Clan: 3,000
Result: Jaegal victory.