Now, from atop a stone rise near the northern gate, Dokang surveyed the unfolding scene below. His men moved swiftly, striking down the startled guards of Sohyun with practiced efficiency. Every movement was sharp, coordinated. No wasted motion.
Dokang watched, arms folded behind his back, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. Good. Just as trained.
For a moment, Dokang allowed himself a quiet satisfaction. This was the strength he had forged with his own hands. The best of Ara Gaya. No force in Samul could match them.
But then—something shifted.
From the far side of the road leading to the gate, one of his men suddenly staggered. Dokang frowned, leaning forward slightly. A second later, the soldier crumpled to the ground.
A lone figure there, holding a steel blade. Not a soldier. A civilian?
He watched in disbelief as his men began to fall—each slain by a single stroke.
No clash? No warning cry? Just silence, and death.
"Sangjina?! No—he is the best of them!"
Dokang leapt forward, blade drawn, rushing toward the man who had just felled his finest warrior. The cloaked figure moved steadily toward the northern gate—calm, precise, unstoppable.
How is he able to do this? Dokang's thoughts raced as he watched, helpless, while his elite soldiers fell—one by one, as if the cloaked figure had been trained to hunt them specifically.
They wore the same uniforms as the guards.
How could he possibly tell? Why only my men? Why only the best?
A flash of steel—then a deafening clash.
Dokang barely raised his own sword in time to parry the strike. A steel blade had emerged from the stranger's back as if he had eyes in the back of his head, aiming straight for Dokang's throat.
His hands trembled.
"Wait! Who are you? Why are you—how are you targeting only my soldiers? Could it be… you found out the red armband on our left shoulders?"
The man chuckled, as if amused by the very notion. With a flick of his wrist, he whipped the steel blade through the air like a lash.
"Oh… So that's your mark? Me? I just cut down the ones reeking of bloodlust."
Clang! Clang! Hiss!
Dokang blocked the first two strikes—but the third moved like a serpent, curling low and slipping past his defense.
Pain bloomed in his side—sharp and searing.
"You're better than most," the stranger said with a wry smile.
Dokang had dodged just in time, but not without a price. His flesh had split open under the force, and the fire of pain burned deep beneath his skin.
"You're no Sohyeon soldier, not even from Samul Gaya, are you…" Dokang hissed.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Three more strikes came in rapid succession—and again, Dokang met each one, just barely holding his ground.
I blocked them… all three…
But even before the thought could settle, the man rose into the air—and with a blur of movement, delivered a spinning heel kick square into Dokang's chest.
The impact sent him flying. He tumbled across the ground, breath lost, armor scraping stone.
Still dazed, he scrambled to his feet just in time to raise his blade again, barely deflecting another slash.
"W-wait!" he gasped. "What if I made you an offer? What if I paid you double—twice what you've been promised?"
The man sneered, stepping closer, each footfall impossibly silent.
"Shut up. I have no business with trash like you."
A chill crept down Dokang's spine. How does he move like that… without even a single opening?
"Triple, then! I'll give you triple what they're paying—!"
He never finished the plea.
He couldn't even remember falling.
The world tilted sideways. His sword clattered from his fingers. His vision swam.
"Disappear already… pathetic worm," the man muttered, turning away toward the northern gate.
As his figure receded, Dokang felt darkness closing in. The pain dulled. His limbs grew cold.
"…At least… tell me who you are…" he whispered. "So I… don't cross over… blind…"
And with that, General Dokang moved no more.