Emperor Hikumbus had seen many rebellions in his seventy-two years, but the reports from Weeling were different. He realized that a traditional army could not catch a ghost. He summoned General Mo Fan, a man known for his cold patience and his expertise in mountain warfare.
"Bring me the head of this Revenant," Hikumbus ordered. "Or don't return at all."
Mo Fan did not march with heavy armor or loud drums. He studied the maps of the burned depots and the Bridge of Sunder. He realized Indra was using the geography of Ohm against them. To beat a wolf, Mo Fan decided to build a trap.
He baited Indra by moving a "vulnerable" caravan of high-quality medicinal herbs and silver through the Black Thistle Pass. He knew Indra's Warrior Society wouldn't be able to resist such a valuable target. To make it look real, Mo Fan hid his elite crossbowmen inside the grain wagons and buried his infantry under the loose soil and leaves beside the road.
The Ambush at Black Thistle
Indra and his thirty warriors descended from the cliffs at midnight. They moved like shadows, their feet making no sound on the dry leaves. Indra led the charge, his black spear leveled at the lead wagon.
As soon as his spear pierced the wood of the first carriage, Mo Fan's trap snapped shut.
"Fire!" Mo Fan shouted from the ridge.
The "grain" exploded as hundreds of Gamma crossbowmen stood up from the wagons. Simultaneously, the ground itself seemed to breathe as Mo Fan's hidden infantry rose from the dirt, surrounding Indra's small group.
For the first time in his life, Indra was surprised. But he did not feel fear; he only felt the familiar itch for victory.
"Form the circle!" Indra commanded. The thirty warriors backed into a tight ring, shields out.
General Mo Fan stepped forward, wielding a heavy guan dao (a long-handled curved blade). He was a master of timing. While his crossbowmen rained bolts down on the Warrior Society, Mo Fan charged Indra.
The clash of the black spear and the guan dao rang through the pass like a hammer on an anvil. Mo Fan was skilled; he used the weight of his blade to try and pin Indra's spear to the ground. He succeeded for a moment, the heavy curve of his weapon sparking against the black steel.
"You are fast, boy," Mo Fan hissed, "but you are outnumbered."
Indra didn't answer. He used the butt of his spear to strike Mo Fan in the chest, pushing him back. In one fluid motion, Indra spun the seven-foot shaft, catching three incoming crossbow bolts in mid-air and knocking them aside.
Indra realized his thirty men were dying. The Gamma infantry was too numerous. He had to change the flow of the battle. He ignored the soldiers and leaped directly at Mo Fan.
The two generals traded twenty strikes in ten seconds. Mo Fan cut Indra's shoulder—the first time Indra had bled in years. The sight of his own blood didn't slow him down; it made his movements sharper. Indra lunged, not at Mo Fan's heart, but at the ground beneath the General's feet. The heavy teak shaft of the spear slammed into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust and stone.
In the momentary blindness, Indra's spear blurred. He drove the point through Mo Fan's heavy bronze chest plate.
Mo Fan gasped, looking down at the black steel protruding from his back. Indra didn't look at his eyes. He twisted the spear and pulled it out.
With their leader dead, the Gamma soldiers hesitated. Indra didn't waste the second. He grabbed a torch from a fallen wagon and threw it into a pile of dry thistle. The fire spread instantly, creating a wall of smoke and flame.
"Retreat!" Indra ordered.
He and the surviving twelve warriors vanished into the smoke. Mo Fan had found success by wounding Indra and killing half his men, but the price was his own life.
Back in the safety of the deep forest, Indra looked at the wound on his shoulder. He touched the blood. For the first time, he felt something other than victory. He felt a cold, simmering hatred.