160.blue arc cleaved the air.
Jang Sigi raised his hand and signaled to the three guards riding some distance behind him.
The three horsemen immediately wheeled their mounts and charged to intercept Soun.
In that instant, Soun's calculation proved correct.
Had Jang fled back to the main body, a clash with thousands would have been inevitable.
Blood would have flowed like a river.
A single misjudgment born of contempt would now spare many lives.
The three guards drew their blades at once.
They drove their horses forward and fanned out.
A triangular formation—like the character 品—closed in from front and flanks.
Steel flashed.
Sunlight struck their blades like lightning.
Three against one.
Soun steadied his reins and drew a slow breath.
Then he released a low shout.
"Haah."
The sound split the air across the open field.
He drew his hwageuk.(spear with blade)
It was far longer than a common spear.
At the slender shaft's end, a spearhead and a curved blade were forged together.
It had been crafted specifically for him.
His hands were small; a standard infantry spear was too thick for a firm grip.
Only the shaft had been made thinner—so he could command speed and precision.
The three officers roared and charged.
Hooves hammered the earth.
Dust burst upward.
Distance collapsed in a heartbeat.
Blades poised to fall from above, to sweep from left and right, to converge in a killing cross.
Soun had no intention of prolonging this.
Against multiple foes, the hwageuk revealed its true worth in a single stroke.
He swung it wide and horizontal.
There was no flourish.
No wasted motion.
Only a single line drawn through space.
At the blade's edge, a bluish radiance flared.
Sword-force shimmered along the tip.
The air tore before steel could even touch flesh.
The three men—still beyond the reach of the weapon—were flung into the air simultaneously.
It was a divine technique.
The blade had not touched them.
He had merely traced a broad horizontal arc across their chests.
From the hwageuk's edge, force extended outward.
Their torsos were cleaved cleanly in two.
Upper and lower halves parted as though cut by an invisible edge.
Even severed, their horses ran on.
The mounts, bearing the lower halves of their riders, bolted in terror.
Blood scattered across the field in red sprays.
A crimson line etched itself along the earth.
Jang Sigi's eyes widened like lanterns.
Three men felled in a single stroke.
Even he could not accomplish such a feat.
Only now did he understand—
this was a foe he could not overcome.
The distance from his main force struck him like a blow.
He turned and saw the youth riding toward him.
A memory surfaced—an intelligence report he had once dismissed.
The enemy killed commanders first, slowing marches and assaults by decapitation of leadership.
He had heard it.
He had not heeded it.
Now the truth cut deeper than steel.
It was too late.
For an instant, he considered flight.
Instead, he drew his spear.
The enemy wielded a polearm.
He wielded a spear.
Once he held a spear, he had never known fear.
If he endured only a few exchanges, the vanguard would arrive.
That was enough.
He convinced himself of it.
"Haah!"
He leveled his spearhead high and spurred his horse.
In mounted combat, half the battle belongs to the horse.
Speed amplifies the strike.
His startled mount surged forward with a shrill cry.
Two riders hurtled toward one another.
Then arrows came again.
He wore full armor.
Arrows posed no true threat.
Yet these wavered through the air toward his face and toward his horse's eyes.
They were not meant to kill—
but to disturb.
A moment's distraction at the instant before collision could prove fatal.
"Damn it, not now!"
He swept his spear and struck one arrow aside.
But there were two.
As he deflected the first, the second fell in its wake.
Yang Johwi had loosed them nearly at once.
There was no time to evade.
He knocked the second away in urgency.
The two riders were a breath from impact.
That breath—
Soun seized it.
In deflecting the arrows, Jang's upper body had opened.
Half his torso lay exposed.
A narrow line between neck and shoulder.
Soun's hwageuk traced it.
The distance remained long.
The blade did not physically reach him.
Yet a blue arc cleaved the air.
One exchange.
Jang Sigi's head lifted from his shoulders in a fountain of red.
His body remained in the saddle for a heartbeat, swaying.
The severed head struck the ground.
The riderless horse reared high and screamed.
Four horses now ran masterless.
Soun turned north-northwest without hesitation.
He rode at full speed.
A dozen cavalry guards gave chase, too late.
The distance had already opened.
Yang Johwi lowered his bow.
From afar he watched the scene unfold as if painted upon a scroll.
One stroke.
A head parted.
Bodies cleaved.
There had been no prolonged clash.
No exchange of blows.
No parry and counter.
Only a single passing line.
A strange hollowness touched him.
What, then, had all this preparation been for?
The silver spent.
The stage built.
The temptation crafted so carefully.
Against Soun's martial might, it seemed mere decoration.
Had none of it been necessary?
To draw out the enemy commander, take his head, and depart—
was that the entirety of Soun's design?
Doubt stirred within him.
Jang Sigi was dead.
Five thousand Imperial Guards halted.
They stopped in the broad center of the official road.
Blood and silence settled together.