The supply depot sat above the pass, tucked under pines and canvas like a secret ashamed of daylight.
It used to feed caravans. It fed armies now. Tarps lay over stacked grain sacks, barrels of lamp oil, bundles of spare shafts, crates of dried meat. The outer gate stood closed. The locks hung intact. The watch bell remained tied to its cord.
Quiet lived there with too much confidence.
Seoryeon approached with eight men and the courier tethered to his belt. Kang Daeho stayed behind at the choke with the bulk of the line. Seoryeon preferred it that way. Fewer witnesses meant fewer opinions.
The air tasted dry. Smoke always carried moisture. Mountain mist always carried moisture. Dry air meant dust. Dust meant fire.
His Heart-Thread vibrated tight against his ribs, steady enough to lie to the men behind him. His sword rode wrapped at his hip. Cloth hid steel. Steel hid leverage. Leverage hid survival.
A sparrow hopped on a crate near the fence, pecked once, then flew away. Animals left places that promised death.
Seoryeon raised two fingers. His escort slowed. Boots shifted to shorter steps. Spears tilted forward. The courier's breathing tightened.
They reached the gate.
No guard called down. No eyes watched from the platform. The bell stayed silent.
Seoryeon lifted his sword wrap slightly and let torchlight touch the guard. Plain metal. Plain shape. Nothing about it looked worth killing for. People killed for less.
He signaled one man to open the gate.
The man's hands shook as he lifted the latch. Wood groaned softly. The gap widened.
A smell rolled out.
Old blood. Grain. Damp cloth. A faint sweetness that clung to the tongue.
Seoryeon stepped inside first.
The depot yard held stacks and lanes made from crates and sacks. Tarps hung like low ceilings. The ground was hard-packed dirt, scuffed with footprints that stopped abruptly near the inner racks.
The first body lay behind a crate.
A sentry, throat opened in a clean line, eyes staring at nothing. The cut sat at the front of the neck where breath lived. The hands had not risen in defense. The man had accepted the blade before understanding it.
Seoryeon crouched and touched the wrist. Cold. Stiff. The Heart-Thread was gone, leaving a hollow sensation in the air, like a plucked string that never vibrated again.
He moved deeper.
Second body. Same cut. Third body. Same cut. Each one placed with care, hidden behind supplies, arranged to delay discovery.
His escort's breathing grew loud. Fear arrived when the pattern became undeniable.
Seoryeon reached for a tarp corner and lifted it slowly.
Grain dust drifted up in a soft cloud and hung in the air like fog made of flour. It coated everything. Sacks looked powdered. Crates looked bleached. Even the dead carried a pale layer, turning skin into a dull mask.
Dust thick enough to ignite.
Seoryeon's eyes narrowed. His throat tightened.
Someone had shaken the sacks. Someone had thrown dust into the lanes. Someone had prepared tinder and waited for a spark.
He tightened the tether on the courier. "Close."
The boy stumbled forward, eyes wide, trying to keep his breath quiet. His Heart-Thread vibrated tight, thin, sharp.
Seoryeon led them into the lanes between sacks.
The depot held its breath.
A shadow shifted behind a stack.
A hook snapped low toward Seoryeon's ankle, aiming to tear his footing out from under him.
Seoryeon's sword met the hook with a hard ring. Metal scraped metal. His wrist stung from the impact. He released a short push through contact.
The hook jumped away, line broken. The attacker's forearm twisted with it, elbow bending too far outward. The attacker lunged anyway, trying to close and drag Seoryeon down into the dust.
Seoryeon stepped in.
He drove the point into the attacker's upper arm near the shoulder seam, where muscle met joint. The blade bit deep enough to anchor. He pulled sideways.
The attacker's shoulder yanked off alignment. Balance spilled into the sacks. The raider's free hand clawed for Seoryeon's sleeve.
Seoryeon slammed the pommel into the jaw hinge. Teeth clicked. The head snapped sideways. The raider's grip loosened. Seoryeon twisted the blade to widen the pain, then ripped it free. Dust puffed from the sack as the raider collapsed into it, coughing.
Seoryeon moved on.
Two figures emerged farther down the lane.
One carried a short sword, blade darkened with oil. The other carried a torch wrapped in cloth, flame hidden, heat contained. The torch-bearer's hands stayed steady. The shoulders stayed relaxed. The eyes stayed on the oil barrels deeper inside.
Seoryeon read the intent in the line of the body.
Fire.
The swordsman lunged first, point aimed for Seoryeon's ribs on the right side, hunting the softer gap under the arm.
Seoryeon parried with the flat. Steel struck steel. His forearm jolted. He released a pull through contact.
The enemy blade drifted inward across the attacker's own centerline. Elbow lifted. Shoulder opened. The attacker's ribs showed.
Seoryeon stabbed into the space beneath the collarbone, angled down to break the structure of the chest. He anchored and pulled a half-step.
The swordsman's breath broke. The shoulders sagged. Knees softened. The sword hand trembled. The blade dipped.
Seoryeon kicked the front of the knee. The leg folded. The man dropped, face twisting, throat making a wet, helpless sound as air refused to cooperate.
The torch-bearer sprinted.
Seoryeon chased, boots slipping slightly in dust. The courier stumbled behind him, tether tugging.
The torch-bearer turned and swung the wrapped torch like a club, aiming for Seoryeon's temple.
Seoryeon raised his sword to meet it. Contact rang. He pushed through contact.
The torch shaft jumped off line. The cloth shifted. A tongue of flame flashed through the wrap and met the dust cloud hanging in the lane.
The world paused for a heartbeat, holding a breath it did not deserve.
Air ignited.
Fire bloomed through the depot, silent at first, then roaring as oxygen fed it. Heat punched Seoryeon's face and stole breath. Canvas curled. Tarps snapped. Wood cracked. Dust turned into a bright wave that rolled down the lane and swallowed everything it touched.
Seoryeon threw himself sideways, dragging the courier by the tether.
They slammed behind a stack of sacks as flame tore through the path they had occupied. The sacks blackened instantly. The air thickened with smoke and grit.
Seoryeon's eyebrows singed. His throat tightened. Tears streamed from heat. His Heart-Thread vibrated violently, strained by forced breath. Snap-risk hovered close enough to feel like a knife edge behind the eyes.
The courier gagged and coughed, lungs rejecting smoke. His hands scrabbled at his own chest as if he could pull air out with fingers.
Seoryeon kept low and crawled, using sacks as a barrier, dragging the boy behind him. Each movement sent more dust up. Each puff made the fire hungrier.
A raider stumbled through flame, mask half-melted, skin blistered, eyes wide with panic. The man swung a blade wildly at the shapes in the smoke.
Seoryeon parried. The impact jolted his wrist. His grip faltered for an instant. His Heart-Thread thinned with the strain.
He forced the blade steady, stepped in, and stabbed into the raider's thigh close to the inner seam, where the leg carried balance. The steel anchored. Seoryeon pulled just enough.
The leg folded. The raider dropped, face hitting wood with a dull knock. The body twitched as smoke filled the mouth. The blade fell from slack fingers.
Seoryeon ripped his sword free and crawled again.
The interior became a maze of flame and collapsing stacks. Heat warped air. Tarps tore and fell like burning shrouds. Crates split as their nails loosened. The depot groaned under the weight of its own supplies.
A beam cracked somewhere above. Sparks rained down in short, sharp bursts. Each spark carried hunger.
Seoryeon dragged the courier around a corner formed by stacked sacks and saw the oil barrels ahead.
Two barrels lay already leaking, black liquid spreading across the dirt in glossy pools. A raider stood over them with a small flint.
Cord-level calm. Steady breath. A man shaped by discipline.
The raider looked up. His eyes met Seoryeon's.
The flint struck.
A spark jumped, missed, died in damp soil.
The raider struck again.
Seoryeon surged forward.
The raider drew a short blade and stepped in, point aimed for Seoryeon's belly, targeting the place that collapsed a man quickly.
Seoryeon parried. Contact rang. He pushed through contact.
The enemy blade slid outward, still close enough to graze Seoryeon's side. Cloth tore. Skin opened in a shallow line that burned immediately. Pain sharpened focus.
The raider crowded in, hunting space, trying to keep Seoryeon's sword pinned. The raider's free hand reached for Seoryeon's wrist, seeking tendon control.
Seoryeon shifted his grip and stabbed into the hip crease, where leg met pelvis, using the short distance to drive the point in deep enough to anchor.
He pulled hard.
The raider lurched forward, stance broken, weight tipping. The raider's hand missed Seoryeon's wrist and clamped empty air.
Seoryeon drove his shoulder into the raider's chest and slammed him back into the nearest tarp. Burning cloth stuck to the raider's sleeve and climbed fast. The raider's calm shattered. Breath turned ragged. Hands flailed, trying to strip flame away.
Seoryeon turned away and closed the distance to the barrels.
The torch-bearer's failure had started the fire. This raider intended to finish it.
He grabbed a barrel rim and shoved.
The barrel rolled, splashing oil in a thick arc. Fire met it and surged. Heat roared higher. The depot became a mouth.
Seoryeon's lungs tightened. His eyes narrowed to slits. He felt the world squeeze around his Heart-Thread, tugging at tension. The vibration in his chest grew uneven, a wire stretched too far.
He yanked the courier by the tether and moved toward the outer gate, following cooler air like an animal following instinct.
A crate toppled from above.
Seoryeon saw it late. He shoved the courier aside.
The crate clipped Seoryeon's shoulder and slammed him into the ground. Pain exploded down his arm. Numbness followed it like a tide. His sword skidded from his hand and struck dirt with a dull sound.
His Heart-Thread shuddered, vibration jagged like a wire struck with a hammer.
Smoke filled his mouth. His chest refused to expand. Vision tunneled. Sound became distant.
Boots scuffed near his head.
A figure loomed through haze, moving with steady steps.
Another Cord-level raider, face wrapped, eyes hard. A killing posture. The raider carried a thin blade suited for gaps, suited for ribs, suited for throats.
The point angled down toward Seoryeon's neck.
Seoryeon's left arm lagged. Shoulder pain stole speed. He reached anyway and caught the raider's wrist with two fingers and desperation. The point kissed skin, warm and sharp, then paused.
Seoryeon's right hand groped for his sword and found the hilt. His fingers closed. The weapon's weight settled into his palm like a familiar cruelty.
The raider pressed down, trying to drive the tip through.
Seoryeon twisted his wrist and brought steel up between flesh and point. Contact rang.
He released a short push through contact.
The enemy blade jumped off line. The raider's wrist flared open. Elbow lifted. Throat line showed under the wrap.
Seoryeon rose on one knee, drove his point into the soft tissue under the jaw, and anchored.
He pulled.
The raider's head snapped forward. Breath choked. The raider's knees softened. The blade fell from fingers that stopped obeying.
Seoryeon ripped his sword free and shoved the body aside. He stood, swaying, shoulder hanging half-dead, breath tearing through smoke.
The roof groaned again.
A beam cracked with a sound like bone.
Seoryeon ran.
Each step jarred his shoulder. Each breath burned. The courier stumbled behind him, tether tugging. Seoryeon dragged the boy forward with a jerk of the belt.
They reached the gate as the depot's interior collapsed inward.
Seoryeon burst into open air and fell onto wet dirt, dragging the courier with him. Cold ground slapped his cheek. Rain mist cooled the burn on his skin. He coughed until his ribs screamed.
Behind them, the depot folded into itself and belched flame and smoke up into the pines. Sparks drifted like insects.
Seoryeon lay on his side, blinking grit from his eyes.
His shoulder throbbed. His side burned where the shallow cut opened. His arm remained half-numb. His Heart-Thread vibrated faintly, unevenly, as if the wire had lost its clean rhythm.
His escort stumbled out one by one, faces smeared with soot, eyes wide. Two men did not emerge. Their absence sat heavy.
The courier crawled a few steps away and gagged, coughing blood-tinged spit into the mud. The boy's thread vibrated weakly from smoke damage, fray rising fast.
Seoryeon pushed himself up with his sword as a cane. His hand shook around the hilt.
He looked at the burning ruin and spoke with the calm of a verdict.
"Someone planned this."
One of the men swallowed hard. "Cult?"
Seoryeon watched the flames lick through what used to be food. "This needed timing. This needed dust in the lanes. This needed a spark delivered at the right moment."
He turned his head toward the pass below, where smoke still crawled and men still pretended order existed.
Seoryeon tightened the tether again. The courier stayed attached to his belt like a weight.
The boy stared up at him, eyes raw. "They wanted us dead."
Seoryeon's voice stayed even. "They wanted the depot gone. Bodies make the loss easier to explain."
He began walking downhill.
Every step sent pain through his shoulder. Every breath carried grit. His Heart-Thread trembled faintly under the strain, a wire scraped thinner by the day.
The depot burned behind him.
The pass waited ahead.
The next knife would come closer.