- The Gorge was already hell.
The gorge was already hell.
Arrows fell like lightning, armor shattered, horses screamed, and soldiers collapsed where they stood.
Eight thousand cavalry should have been finished long ago, yet the fighting dragged on for more than half a watch.
It was far too long.
Was the rear waiting for reinforcements?
Park Seongjin handed control of the frontal volleys to his deputy and immediately cut into the forest along the flank.
Looking down into the gorge, he saw the center already piled into a mound of bodies under fire from three directions.
Something was wrong.
There were too many of them.
“Why are there so many?”
Those fleeing and those being pushed forward tangled into a single mass soaked in blood.
In that instant, Seongjin’s eyes widened.
These were not cavalry numbers.
Infantry were being forced into the gorge from behind.
Infantry moved slower than horses, but as the cavalry collapsed, the following foot soldiers caught up and were swept straight into the narrow passage.
“So this can happen too.”
He exhaled briefly.
The battlefield always mocked human expectation.
Unforeseen variables never came alone.
“I planned to finish the cavalry and scatter the infantry.”
“They came in all at once.”
The gorge was only five horses wide.
As infantry poured in and were pushed forward, there was no space left to escape.
Seongjin sprinted up the left ridgeline toward the main force’s banner.
Yao Zhang (姚璋), not yet grasping what was happening, was roaring in a frenzy.
“Fire! Don’t stop! Shoot on signal! Send word to the other side!”
“Empty everything you have!”
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A liaison officer ran as if possessed.
War drums thundered from above, and the banner of exhortation whipped madly in the wind.
Yao Zhang was forcing command, fire control, and containment through sheer voice alone.
When Park Seongjin appeared beneath the banner, Yao Zhang recoiled in surprise.
“You appear without a sound.”
“The gorge’s throat is sealed.”
“I know. That’s why they look like that—ha!”
Seongjin cut straight to the point.
“Don’t they seem… numerous?”
Yao Zhang frowned sharply.
“Numerous?”
Only then did his eyes widen.
Seongjin pointed downward.
“Infantry. The cavalry are almost finished. The following foot soldiers were dragged straight in.”
“I heard there were thirty thousand.”
“Thirty thousand. The eight thousand cavalry are gone. What remains—those thirty thousand—are all in there now.”
Yao Zhang shouted,
“How do we stop thirty thousand!”
Seongjin replied quietly,
“Aren’t we stopping them already?”
“…We’re ruined.”
“We finish it.”
Yao Zhang was left speechless.
“Hold the front,” Seongjin said, indicating the battlefield.
“End it here.”
He lightly shook the sword at his waist.
“I’m going for the original target. The enemy commander’s throat. Deng Yu— not ‘idiot,’ Deng Yu.”
Leaving only that behind, he vanished into the forest.
Seongjin dismounted and ran along the narrow mountain path above the gorge.
This was not the speed of a horse.
It was the speed of a blade.
The wind split, and the mountain’s shadow folded backward.
When the gorge’s center came into view, he threw himself straight off the cliff.
His toes tapped a branch like a dot, redirected by the rebound, and he landed in the heart of the enemy rear.
The officers screamed.
“Enemy! From behind—!”
The cry did not last long.
Seongjin’s eyes narrowed.
The sword moved once.
Space folded.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
It was not the sensation of cutting, but of passing through.
The enemy formation split along its grain.
What remained were lines of blood and collapsing silhouettes.
“That’s not a man.”
The rear collapsed in the span of a few breaths, and the fracture spread toward the center.
By the time the gorge was being cleared, Yao Zhang’s five thousand had completely sealed both the entrance and the exit.
The thirty thousand infantry, unable to maneuver, fell beneath a storm of arrows.
Those who survived scattered into the mountains and forests, running even with arrows lodged in their backs.
Then a gong sounded.
“Cease fire!”
Silence descended.
Those still breathing crawled forward, soaked in blood.
Park Seongjin shook the blade clean and mounted his horse.
Yao Zhang rushed over and froze at the sight of him—his body drenched crimson.
“Middle Commander… that was far too dangerous.”
“It’s not my blood. I meant to finish it at once—it splashed.”
“You’re covered head to toe.”
“You’re much the same.”
They looked at each other and laughed.
“We lost the enemy commander. Deng Yu is nowhere to be seen.”
“Dead?”
“He likely fled. He may never have entered the gorge at all.”
Seongjin looked north, toward Poyang Lake, and then bowed formally to Yao Zhang.
“Congratulations on a great victory.”
After fighting side by side, he still passed the credit so lightly.
Yao Zhang came to his senses and shook his head.
“This victory is yours.”
“I only did what was necessary. This, too, was part of the preparation.”
Yao Zhang muttered,
“How did the strategist know it would come to this?”
“He reads the flow of Heaven.”
“Heaven’s flow…”
Yao Zhang still did not understand, but Seongjin was already looking elsewhere.
“Hukou next. There’s no time. We move immediately.”
He added,
“One watch. Recover as many arrows as you can. There’s no time to wait for supply.”
“The soldiers need rest.”
Yao Zhang looked as though he might weep.
The troops were utterly spent, collapsed everywhere, scarcely any still whole.
“Two watches.”
Yao Zhang clutched his head.
“…Ah.”
“I’ll check the direction they fled. Deng Yu may be there.”
Turning his horse, Park Seongjin said quietly,
“The battlefield has not yet reached the end of its flow.”