Chương 44: Blind-sided

From atop his ash-grey charger, Lesser Elder Wi Mo stared at the two neatly separated halves of his friend, fingers clenched around his fan in obvious fury. What an unmitigated disaster. They had successfully secured the Iron Creek mine, yes. But most of the Tai-shan column had escaped, hundreds of his own spearmen lay dead, and they had just lost a High Elder. That last point, in particular, stung; it was a significant blow to their combat capability, and a failure that the Patriarch would not easily forgive.

Wi Mo's hand shook as his grip on his fan tightened even further. This should have been a clean, decisive victory! But it was rapidly souring into something that tasted almost like a defeat. Fortunately, there was still one remaining way to save face: capturing Kang Mu-cheon. The gains from taking the Tai-shan heir alive would overshadow every loss they had suffered today. And if that proved to be impossible, killing him would also make for a reasonable consolation prize.

The strategist's eyes darted back to the Young Master, who was still bellowing nonsensical threats. A dozen spearmen stood between them, and even though the young man had a slew of allied soldiers fighting alongside him, it was only a matter of time before they would all be ground down. He just needed to be patient. Nodding slightly to himself, the Lesser Elder turned again to look at the face of the warrior who had killed his friend.

The strategist raised the hand holding his fan, ready to command a fresh wave of troops to bury the man, but the words died on his lips. Eom Tae-seok was coming straight for him. The retired general was moving with inhuman speed, propelling himself forwards with alternating streams of controlled pressure. The Lesser Elder had seen what that oversized blade could do to a horse; suddenly, remaining in the saddle didn't seem like such a great idea.

Regaining his composure, Wi Mo immediately began waving his fan and shouting out orders. Several of his men began to move, but with what seemed like glacial slowness. It was clear they weren't going to make it in time to stop the disfigured general's charge. He needed to buy some time. Turning his horse, the Lesser Elder spurred the animal aggressively forwards, right into the path of the man who was coming to kill him.

As the beast surged on ahead, the strategist kicked his boots free of the stirrups and vaulted backwards off his mount, landing amongst his men. His feet hit the muddy gravel right as a sickening thwick echoed from in front of him. The retired general's Cham-ma-do sheared straight through the horse's two front legs. The beast came crashing to the ground, whinnying and frothing and gyrating wildly – but critically, blocking the attacker's path.

It was a necessary sacrifice, designed to arrest the veteran's momentum and buy his men the time they needed to get into place. As Tae-seok put the shrieking animal out of its misery, Wi Mo flicked his fan open and made a silent gesture to another group of spearmen rushing to his aid. He pointed at the old man's left side, where the veteran's face was horribly burned and his left eye was swollen shut. It was a glaring vulnerability. Taking the hint, the reinforcements began circling around to his blind side.

Wi Mo tried to assess the flow of battle around him, feeling suddenly exposed. Being on the ground made him uncomfortable; in giving up his horse, he had also given up his god's-eye view of the battlefield. He could no longer see more than a few bodies deep into the chaos. Worse, he already knew he was boxed in. To the west, the Tai-shan Young Master was still loudly pressuring his soldiers. To the north, a warrior who had just killed a High Elder was vaulting over the remains of his horse.

To the east, he was blocked by his own column of spearmen. And to the south, he was slowly being pushed up against the side of the road. The sound of flesh ripping open dragged his eyes back to the north. Two of the three men he'd sent to block the retired general had already lost their weapons and their lives. But that was expected. The additional reinforcements he'd ordered were about to hit the vicious old man in his flank.

As if on cue, three iron spearheads thrust out and into the old man's blind side, aiming directly for his ribs and throat. At the last moment, Tae-seok saw or felt them coming and shifted his weight. Two of the spears missed, but the third found its mark. Its iron tip bit deeply into the old man's left shoulder. Wi Mo silently cheered. The grunts didn't need to kill the man; they only needed to stagger him for a moment. If they could just do that, an entire army would quickly fall on him.

But the strategist's excitement was short-lived. Far from being staggered, Tae-seok didn't even break his stride. The retired general ignored the spear embedded in his shoulder and continued to plow forwards like an unstoppable landslide, the momentum of his advance tearing the shaft straight out of the hands of the soldier who had struck him. A sense of panic, chilling and unfamiliar, finally pierced Wi Mo's composure. What exactly did it take to stop this man?

Now that he was on the ground, the Lesser Elder was subject to the same chaos as everyone else. That point was firmly driven home when an impact with an unexpected shoulder knocked him off balance. Wi Mo quickly stabilized himself and looked up, only to realize with a sinking feeling that he had lost sight of his pursuer. Tae-seok was short for a Tai-shan warrior, and he had completely vanished into the sea of purple silk and muddy armor. This novel's true home is a different platform.

Support the author by finding it there. Wi Mo's head snapped left and right, desperately trying to locate the man. His panic deepened. Like a mouse facing down a mountain owl, he felt the terror of being hunted by an invisible monster in the dark. He had to do something – and there was only one option left.

"Ignore the old man!" Wi Mo screamed, his perfectly composed facade long since gone. The Lesser Elder pointed his fan at the towering Young Master.

"Spread out and encircle the boy! We need a hostage!" The soldiers nearest Wi Mo immediately obeyed. They fanned out, breaking their tight defensive formation in order to cast a wide net around Mu-cheon's encroaching wedge. Casualties no longer mattered; they just had to take the young man before Tae-seok's blade found its mark, and everything would end. As the Meng-shan line thinned out to surround him, Mu-cheon let out a deafening roar.

"ELDER EOM!" The giant picked up a fallen spear and hurled it like a ballista bolt, straight at one of the soldiers in the middle of the enemy formation. The throw was clumsy, but sheer brute force made elegance unnecessary. The impact of the weapon slamming into his chest sent the man tumbling backwards, careening into the spearmen behind him and knocking them aside.

Passing behind the Meng-shan line and in front of the displaced soldiers, Eom Tae-seok burst back into view, shooting through the small breach the Young Master had created like a loosed arrow. Wi Mo's eyes went wide. The veteran general blasted through the gap before any more soldiers could try to close it. The Lesser Elder stepped back, but there was nowhere left to retreat. The old man's leathery fist slammed into the strategist's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to double over in pain.

Before Wi Mo could recover enough to even scream for help, a hand like a steel vise clamped onto his collar, and the heavy, blood-stained edge of a Cham-ma-do came to rest against his throat.

"Order your men to stand down," Tae-seok growled.

"Or the Meng-shan lose two elders today." Eom Tae-seok was an old man. While he may have appeared composed to those around him, the Outer Elder knew he was approaching his limits. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest; his lips and tongue were going dry from all the deep breaths he was taking. Shaking arms and hands still numb from the use of the Ji-swae-chu made it hard just to grip his sword. Half of his face felt like it was on fire, and the wound in his left shoulder demanded immediate attention.

But pride and necessity both dictated that he couldn't allow his condition to show. The retired general kept his back straight and his one good eye overflowing with a willingness to kill as he stared down the enemy strategist. The Lesser Elder looked up at him with a patronizing expression.

"Even you can't fight your way through all these men. Kill me, and your Young Master will be following me into the abyss."

"Then it sounds like it's in both of our best interests for the fighting to stop. So call them off. Now." The slightly shaking edge of the Cham-ma-do drew a thin line of blood from his neck, causing the Meng-shan strategist to involuntarily gulp. He slowly moved his hands to the drum on his waist and gave it a quick double tap, followed up by a steadily slowing rhythm. In response, the formation of spearmen ground to a halt.

The men all around him raised their weapons and pointed them at Tae-seok, but none dared to strike. The retired general kept his grip on the Lesser Elder's collar as he hauled the man back to his feet. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged the strategist through the seething throngs of Meng-shan soldiers, which reluctantly parted for them. The old man didn't stop until he reached Mu-cheon. He tried to ignore the dozens of soldiers aiming spears at his back as he addressed his captive.

"This battle ends here. Enough blood has been shed today; let's all agree that whatever gods demanded it are satisfied. You go back and consolidate your territorial gains, we retreat, and everyone here lives to fight another day."

"If I agree…does that mean you'll release me?"

"I'm old, not stupid," Tae-seok growled.

"You're with me until we reach the tree line. I'll release you then."

"Then it seems I have little choice." The old man nodded.

"You may have noticed, but I didn't phrase it as a question." Tae-seok continued forcing the Lesser Elder forwards, dozens of Meng-shan soldiers following alongside them. Spear tips tracked their every step, waiting for any opening to present itself. It took every ounce of Tae-seok's discipline to ignore the exhaustion screaming in his muscles and keep his heavy blade locked against the strategist's throat. One slip, and an entire army would fall upon them.

Step by step, they made their way down the length of the road and gathered up the remaining Tai-shan swordsmen. The Meng-shan soldiers followed their group closely all the way to the escape path that the squad captains had carved through the woods. The old man watched until the last of their allies and the Young Master had all passed through. Seeing the boy make it out alive, a wave of relief washed over Tae-seok. For a single heartbeat, the iron will holding his battered body together relaxed.

The edge of his sword fell just slightly, and his control over the Meng-shan elder's collar weakened. The moment he saw the old man's attention wander and his grip falter, Wi Mo sprang into action. With a speed born of pure desperation, he twisted his torso and drove his elbow back, burying it into the still-bleeding spear wound on Tae-seok's left shoulder. His captor gasped in pain and surprise, the tip of his absurdly oversized blade sinking lower as the old man's tired arms struggled to control it.

Before the retired general could collect himself, the Lesser Elder threw his weight forwards, knocking Tae-seok's arm aside and freeing himself from the veteran's grasp. Wi Mo hit the ground, rolled rapidly out of reach, and scrambled back behind a line of his own advancing spearmen. The strategist watched from relative safety as Tae-seok gritted his teeth, staring down a wall of purple-clad soldiers aiming iron spearheads at his chest.

The old man surely knew that if he chose to stay and fight, he would die on this road. As the Lesser Elder had suspected he would, the retired general turned his back and vanished into the dense, tangled shadows of the forest. Once he was gone, Wi Mo let out a sigh of relief and sank to his knees. The strategist's hand instinctively went to rub the thin line of fresh blood on his neck. His heart was racing. For quite a while now, he had believed he was a dead man. But he had survived.

The Lesser Elder slowly rose to his feet, his usual composure giving way to a cold, humiliated fury. All around him, slack-jawed soldiers stood with the butts of their spears on the ground, apparently waiting for his command before taking any action. He decided to take his anger at himself out on them.

"What are you waiting for, you blithering idiots?" Wi Mo snarled, snapping his fan open and pointing to the path into the woods.

"Run them down! I want that old man's head on a pike!"