Assassination – So-un's Interrogation
So-un kept his distance and followed slowly across the blue-green grassland.
Even after being discovered, the man swung his sword a few times on his own when So-un did not launch a proper attack, then sheathed it in frustration.
So-un's behavior—clearly showing no intent to strike—was deeply strange.
Yet he was undeniably the enemy.
The scout tilted his head.
There were many strange men in this world.
There was no reason the army would be free of them.
So-un continued to trail him at a steady distance.
Whenever the man tried to change direction, So-un would block his path.
At other times he simply rode alongside him, keeping a small gap.
The scout grew suspicious.
He was unmistakably dressed as a White Dragon Rider.
Horse, armor, weapons, bow, small shield—exactly as rumored.
From a distance he had clearly seen him break away from the White Dragon formation.
Yet there was no hostility.
No attack.
And still, the man could not land a blow on him.
So-un evaded effortlessly.
It was obvious he was at least one level higher.
There was one certain rule for surviving the battlefield.
Never charge recklessly at someone stronger than yourself.
For more than a decade as a forward scout, that rule had kept him alive.
If the blade told him it was hopeless, he fled.
That was wisdom.
But this one kept following.
No attack.
No questions.
"Why are you following me, bastard."
He muttered to himself.
No reply.
As if the boy were deaf.
Just that steady distance.
He glared.
He spun back and slashed wildly.
The boy avoided everything with ease.
If he ran, he was followed.
If he lunged, the boy retreated lightly.
…The scout changed direction.
Running was the best option.
He wheeled downhill along a narrow path.
A steep descent.
Perhaps he could outrun the horse.
He leapt and stumbled down the slope, panting hard.
No sound behind him.
He turned quietly.
Nothing.
Perhaps the boy had given up.
"Gone. The little bastard's gone."
He straightened in relief—
—and the boy stood before him like a ghost.
Of course a rider could circle faster.
That was natural.
Still, he could not understand what the boy wanted.
He refused to climb back uphill.
He raised his sword close to his face, eyes blazing.
"Ten-year brat. I won't retreat anymore. Let's die together."
He hurled himself forward, blade thrusting with all his strength.
So-un saw everything.
He merely shifted slightly to the side.
A gentle press of his heel against the horse's flank.
The horse stepped aside.
Nothing extraordinary.
The scout missed completely.
His center of balance failed him.
He tumbled down the steep slope behind him, having forgotten the terrain.
He rolled and rolled.
Bruised eyes, torn skin, blood.
His neck ached.
One arm hung numb.
His sword was gone.
He staggered up and looked around.
The boy was nowhere in sight.
"Ten-year brat. This time he's truly gone."
A horse whinnied behind him.
The boy was there again.
"Speak already.
What do you want.
Kill me if you're going to.
What are you doing."
So-un finally spoke.
"I followed because there are a few things I wish to know."
A young voice.
Very young.
Hidden under helmet and armor.
The scout reached instinctively for his sword.
It was gone.
"Ten-year brat. Riding a horse and mocking an elder."
"In battle, age is irrelevant.
I did not mock you.
You ran, struck, fell, and rolled on your own.
Is that not so."
The words were correct.
He had done everything himself.
"If you hadn't been there, would I have done that."
"Then perhaps the place where I stood was inconvenient for you.
If so, that was not my intention."
Polite speech.
Infuriating.
"So what is your intention."
So-un did not answer.
He asked instead:
"You are Imperial Guard troops."
"Imperial Guard my ass.
We're conscripts.
Some Imperial men mixed in, maybe.
Why."
"I was told five thousand Imperial Guards."
"Don't talk nonsense.
He said give him five thousand and he'd suppress the rebels, so they scraped together five thousand from everywhere."
"Him."
"Zhang Shiqi.
We call him that bastard.
Close to the Emperor, they say.
It's always those types that cause trouble."
"Zhang Shiqi."
"He commands this expedition."
"You even changed how you say his name.
You don't seem to like him."
"No one does.
Why, you planning to befriend him."
"No."
"I plan to kill him."
The words were calm.
Too calm.
A boy in armor, speaking of killing a commander as if stating weather.
"Why."
"So you may live easier,
and we may live easier,
and perhaps this chaotic age may grow a little better."