Chương 41: Eighteen Paces

Tae-seok's leathery skin filled out and stretched taut as he engaged the first mnemonic of the Chuk-ap-gyeol. Men scattered out of his way as he walked towards the newly formed gap in the Tai-shan line. Once he was about five paces away from the enemy High Elder, he lowered his Cham-ma-do behind him. The tip hovered a few inches off of the ground as he readied himself. The Meng-shan High Elder grinned at Mu-cheon, the tiger claw embroidery on his purple silks seeming to grow in size as he straightened his posture.

"Now who's the one sending their grandfathers to fight, little bo–" Before the words had finished leaving his mouth, Elder Eom shot forwards, propelled by a burst of pressure being released behind him. As he moved he constantly drew air from in front of himself into his body, expelling it backwards to continue accelerating. For a moment so brief no one thought it was real, the man seemed to blur. When Elder Eom came back into focus, he was directly in front of the High Elder's horse.

A foggy cloud of flash-frozen vapor began forming in the vacuum around him as he planted one foot to stop his charge, redirecting all of the momentum into an upwards swing." Je-un-pa," the veteran general breathed, as his sword sailed skywards.

"Cloud-Dispersing Strike." There was a sickening tearing sound, followed by a geyser of crimson as his weapon rocketed through the horse's body. An enormous thunderclap exploded outwards as air rushed back in all around him, quickly rebounding and blowing the fog away. A moment later, the warhorse split apart and fell into two bleeding, quivering halves.

The High Elder who was riding it cursed as he vaulted out of the saddle, trying to keep his dignity and his weapon as he landed into a crouch by the side of the road.

"Hey! I liked that horse!" The High Elder stood up slowly as Tae-seok approached, his nostrils flaring.

"If we're targeting animals now, I won't be hesitant about beating an old nag." The purple-clad man pointed his glaive straight at his opponent, skin slowly reddening as he engaged the second mnemonic of the Meng-shan's own signature art. Moments later, heat shimmers began to outline the High Elder's body. The moisture in the damp air around him rapidly evaporated, cloaking him in a rising hiss of steam. The High Elder stepped forwards almost casually.

The movement was unremarkable but finished with unnatural speed, as if he alone were moving normally in a world where time was running slow. Tae-seok was barely able to intercept the man's Wol-do when it moved suddenly and with evil intent towards his head.

"Metabolic control is quite annoying," the retired general grumbled, "but I know you can't keep it up forever. You'll either run out of fuel, or you'll overheat." A huge, genuinely excited grin broke out across the High Elder's face as he prepared to unleash a flurry of follow-up strikes.

"I don't need to keep it up forever. Just long enough to take care of you." The two men killed by the High Elder had left a gaping hole in the Tai-shan front line. The Meng-shan troops, recognizing the vulnerability, immediately surged forwards to exploit it. Half a dozen purple-clad spearmen broke their steady, methodical march and rushed towards the gap. At the same time, Tai-shan reinforcements scrambled forwards to meet them. The resulting collision annihilated whatever order was left in their ranks.

Further compounding the front line's rapid descent into chaos was the high-level duel unfolding on the edge of the road. Both men wielded lengthy weapons that traced out wide arcs in the air, and neither had any time to care about who else around them might be impacted. Both the Tai-shan greatswordsmen and the Meng-shan spearmen wanted nothing to do with them, causing soldiers from both sides to slam into their allies while they scrambled to get away.

For the Tai-shan, the sudden descent into a swirling melee was a relief. Yes, their own formation had collapsed – but so had the Meng-shan spear wall. Increasingly stripped of their coordination and forced into close-quarters combat, the purple-clad soldiers abruptly found themselves in a position where a spear was no longer favored over a Dae-jik-do. At the center of the maelstrom, bellowing encouragement to their men with every swing, was Mu-cheon.

Realizing that the line was fragmenting, the Young Master had stepped directly into the thickest part of the melee. His Dae-jik-do whistled through the air as he cleaved through wooden shafts and human limbs with equal ease. His voice provided an anchor that helped to keep the Tai-shan soldiers sane amidst the madness.

"SHOW THEM HOW MT. TAI MAKES ALL OTHER MOUNTAINS LOOK SMALL!" The concussive roar rattled the teeth of the Meng-shan spearmen and sent a jolt of adrenaline through the Tai-shan ranks. Between the sight of the Young Master butchering the enemy vanguard and the terrifying shockwaves of Elder Eom fighting a monster on the flank, the Tai-shan infantry experienced something they hadn't felt in a week: a surge of morale. For the first time since the rain began to fall, it actually felt like they were winning.

The Tai-shan roared in response to Mu-cheon, throwing themselves into the fray with reckless abandon, deepening the chaos and savoring the opportunity to finally be the ones initiating a slaughter. Standing on the side of the road behind the front line, Chae-ha watched the sudden reversal of momentum, feeling sick to her stomach. She looked past the engagement, fixing her gaze on the Meng-shan strategist sitting calmly atop his grey horse.

Far from panicking, the man was just intermittently tapping his small drum, feeding more and more of his troops into the swirling chaos. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Chae-ha frowned, her eyes uncharacteristically stormy. That man had done all this on purpose. The Lesser Elder had intentionally sacrificed his column's structural advantage to drag the Tai-shan into a messy, wide-ranging brawl.

An orderly defensive line could slowly walk backwards and disengage, ultimately fleeing into the woods. A messy, blood-drunk melee could not. The Tai-shan weren't winning; they were taking the bait. The Meng-shan column was an endless tide, and the Lesser Elder was perfectly content to trade bodies in order to turn the battlefield into a tarpit. The remaining oxblood-clad soldiers could no longer extract themselves, and the second Meng-shan column was still marching up the road behind them.

"We have to reorganize and sound the retreat!" Chae-ha yelled, spinning around.

"Lieutenant Shin!" But no one heard her. Her voice disappeared into nothing as it was hungrily consumed by the din of the battle. The young girl stood on her tiptoes, anxiously scanning the sea of oxblood silk, but her line of sight to the Lieutenant was completely blocked by the throngs of shifting reserves. She looked back towards the front. She could easily spot Mu-cheon; the young man was nearly a head taller than everyone else around him, and also doing everything he could to call attention to his position.

"Senior brother!" Chae-ha screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth.

"Mu-cheon, pull them back!" It was useless. Between the roar of his own voice, the ringing of steel, and the crack of splintering wood, the Young Master would never be able to hear her. Chae-ha lowered her hands, her heart pounding in her chest. The chain of command had broken. Lieutenant Shin was lost in the crowd, Tae-seok was fighting a High Elder, and Mu-cheon was blind to the trap closing around him. There was only one way to break the illusion of victory and force the Young Master to disengage.

She had to move close enough to be able to get through to him. The young girl stared at the roiling wall of violence separating her from him. Every instinct in her body screamed not to go in. Her Phantom Steps were designed to work against enemies who deliberately tried to attack her, not allies tripping and accidentally slamming into her back. If she went in there, every step she took had a chance of being her last. But it was the only move left on the board. Chae-ha took a deep breath.

She slipped a hand into her sleeve, her fingers wrapping tightly around the comforting steel of a bookbinding needle. Gathering her courage, the young Inspector stepped off the relative safety of the gravel shoulder, and into the swirling melee. Eighteen paces to make it to Mu-cheon. Two panels of jade-colored silk rose and danced in the air in front of her as she took her first step.

Just as they began to fall, she twisted her body into a light spin, causing the side panels of her robes to rise up and take their place. Then, with a practiced plant of a foot, she abruptly stopped her momentum and initiated a counter-spin. The panels continued independently, wrapping around her slightly before reversing course and flaring out again. The tip of a swirling Dae-jik-do passed dangerously close to the side of her face.

The man who swung it wasn't even looking at her; his target was a Meng-shan spearman, who avoided being bisected by accidentally slipping in the mud. Chae-ha deliberately stepped towards and then away from the fallen man as he tried to scramble to his feet, leaving a bookbinding needle buried in his arm. Still twelve paces away. The young girl turned sideways and did a double step, raising her arms as she moved to cover her body's true position with the enormous sleeves of her scholar's robes.

The chaos all around her was the enemy; there must be something she could do about it. The Tai-shan Outer Disciple who had almost beheaded her earlier rammed his sword into the throat of the spearman he'd been pursuing. While his weapon was otherwise occupied, another spearman ran past Chae-ha to try and stab the swordsman in the side. As he thrust his spear forwards, Chae-ha ducked and spun, targeting his exposed armpit." Sin-gyeong-jeom," the young Inspector called out.

"Nerve Strike: Axillaris Terminus." The trocar bookbinding needle, meant for piercing dried buffalo hide, slid effortlessly through the man's leather halter and into the flesh beneath. He howled in surprise and pain as his spear clattered to the ground, before turning on the young Inspector with a vengeance, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. Whatever revenge he was intent on taking, it never arrived.

The Tai-shan greatswordsman arrived first, cleaving through the spearman's spine with a savage, graceless series of hacks. When it was done, the man stood there in shock, panting as he looked back and forth between Chae-ha and his blade in disbelief. An idea on how to counteract the chaos rose suddenly to mind. She couldn't control the entire flow of the battle, but she could create a localized pocket of order. The young girl turned to the winded swordsman.

"Lieutenant Shin sent me. I have orders to consolidate our forces. Follow me – and do exactly as I say." Chae-ha looked back over her shoulder. The Young Master, still bellowing and brawling, had carved his way even deeper into the enemy ranks, putting additional distance between them. She turned her gaze back to the soldier she had just acquired. Still fourteen paces to Mu-cheon. Lesser Elder Wi Mo sat comfortably atop his ash-colored charger, elevated just enough to have a clear view of the battle.

His fingers maintained a steady, relentless rhythm on the small drum strapped to his waist, signaling wave after wave of purple-clad spearmen to march into the fray. He allowed himself a mild, amused smile as the Kang boy's voice thundered across the valley once again. The "Great Bell" certainly lived up to his name – loud, dense, and predictable. It was admittedly irritating that so many of the Tai-shan soldiers had managed to slink away into the forest, but Wi Mo chose to take a positive view of it.

Even if a few hundred troops had escaped, securing the Iron Creek mine was still a magnificent consolation prize. In a few weeks, the iron flowing from those tunnels would arm hundreds of new Meng-shan warriors. And of course, there was still one more prize to be won in this battle. The small smile still on his face, the Lesser Elder abandoned his musings, intending to return his focus to the Tai-shan Young Master. But as Wi Mo's eyes scanned the battlefield, he found his gaze alighting somewhere else.

Amidst the beautiful, disorganized mess he had constructed, a strange anomaly was occurring. A small, highly unnatural bubble of order was steadily expanding near the rear of the melee. At its center was what appeared to be a young girl in green scholar's robes. She seemed to be actively collecting stranded soldiers. Wi Mo watched, not fully believing his eyes, as she pointed and directed. At first, there were two soldiers who seemed to be following her commands. Then there were three.

The men were clearly starting to work together, each marking out a spot and beginning to form a rudimentary defensive wedge around her. The Lesser Elder's amused smile vanished. The biggest risk to his strategy was coordination. If the Tai-shan ever managed to re-establish a disciplined line, they would regain the ability to execute a fighting retreat. He watched as one of his own spearmen lunged at the source of the anomaly. On the surface, it appeared to be a perfectly aimed thrust.

But as the iron tip closed in, the girl twisted. The wide silk panels of her robes flared and collapsed, distorting her silhouette. And the spear whistled harmlessly through empty space. A moment later, another soldier tried to skewer her, missing just as badly. Was it some sort of illusion technique? Wi Mo tapped his fan thoughtfully against his chin. Perhaps. But illusions only protect what they're able to obscure. The Lesser Elder stopped drumming.

He turned his horse slightly, looking down at a fresh squad of spearmen awaiting his command. He pointed his closed fan down the road, locking his gaze onto the girl in the jade robes.

"Ignore the swordsmen. Kill the girl," the strategist ordered.

"And if you find you're having trouble hitting her…try sweeping out her legs."