Chương 122: When Dragons and Tigers Collide

They had said it was luck, nothing more. That his skill did not measure up. That one man—Jang Sang-geun—would be enough to crush him and bury him without a trace. But the reality refused to bend to that certainty. He was being pressed, little by little. Yet he endured—clinging to the reach of his long weapon, leaning against the clean, unyielding form of Jang Sang-geun's sword. Step by step, breath by breath, he held. And then something shifted. As time passed, the weapon no longer felt foreign in his hands.

It moved with him. It answered. What had been awkward became fluid—what had been unfamiliar, instinct. Banju watched, his expression tightening. This was not a fight that could be allowed to linger.

"Call the archers."

"Loyalty!" They came in a wave—dozens of them—rushing in from outside the hall, lining the walls in disciplined ranks. Not quite a hundred, but enough. Enough to end it. Jang Sang-geun's face hardened. He understood at once. He had not finished it quickly enough. So they would finish it for him. A man like this… The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. He should not die like prey. Even if they despised him, even if they feared him— there should have been dignity.

A general deserved to fall facing steel, not arrows loosed from safety. If they had met on equal ground— if this had been a true field…

"Jang Sang-geun, stand down!"

"Not yet!" His voice cut through the hall, sharp and unyielding.

"I will finish this." But they would not grant him that.

"You've done enough. Withdraw!"

"General—!"

"Archers, ready." The air tightened. This was no battlefield. No open ground. No room to break, no space to run. A cage.

"Fire." The strings snapped. Arrows screamed forward. There was nowhere to go. No shield. No preparation. No man enters a council chamber expecting death to come like this. Yeong-u raised his arm—instinct, nothing more. The small buckler at his wrist tilted upward, catching what it could. His master's armor—thin, hidden—might hold. Might. But not everywhere. His legs— unprotected. He should have worn his cloak. With one hand shielding his face, he swung the banner-staff.

Even now— even here— they fired without hesitation, with one of their own still in the line. Jang Sang-geun… A life spent in steel, reduced to this. To them, even he was expendable. Human lives weighed nothing in this room. The arrows struck. One. Ten. Dozens. Yeong-u collapsed. Jang Sang-geun turned—just once— a flicker of something like regret crossing his face. But he, too, was pinned— three, four arrows lodged in his body. Yeong-u's knees hit the ground. Then he fell. The force stole his breath.

Air would not come. He had guarded his face, but the rest— the gaps in his armor— they found them. He had entered the army at fifteen. From that moment, his life unspooled before him— not in fragments, but in a single, unbroken sweep. So this is what they meant. A life flashing past. Darkness took him. Steel followed. A blade fell across his back. Another pierced his abdomen. He saw— but his body would not answer. Could not move. Could not resist. A blow struck his back. A boot crushed down.

A distant roar—"Move him." Voices. Faint. Unreachable. Even dying, he was not free. They dragged him. Like a carcass. His body struck the stone floor— once, twice— each impact dull, distant. Jang Sang-geun came after them. He stopped them. Looked down. Two arrows still jutted from his back. He frowned.

"Stop." They obeyed. He ordered the weapon brought. Placed it beside him. Yeong-u's body trembled— breath ragged, shallow, barely holding.

"This is the end of a man who gave everything." His voice carried—deliberately—into the hall behind them.

"Treat him with respect."

"Loyalty!" Silence answered from within. Jang Sang-geun did not look back.

"Cut them." The arrows in his back were severed. The pain surged—sharper than the strike itself— but he held. None had found the killing point. Not yet. They brought a stretcher. Laid Yeong-u upon it. His weapon beside him. Through hidden passages— paths meant to conceal movement from all eyes— they carried him out. And over him, at last, they laid a cloth.