429.Move! Get us out of here

  Zhu Yuanzhang abandoned the command ship and transferred to a light banner craft waiting behind the lines.

  The oarsmen rowed with desperate cries.

  “Move! Get us out of here—now! His Majesty is in danger, withdraw!”

  It was the fastest vessel in the Ming fleet.

  With its low hull, it was built to cut cleanly through the water.

  Zhu Yuanzhang clutched the stern railing and looked back.

  What met his eyes was not the receding battlefield, but a single man closing in.

  Park Seong-jin was crossing between great ships as if a drunkard hopping between courtyard walls—

  tap, tap, tap—smooth and effortless.

  The distance was shrinking visibly.

  Zhu Yuanzhang’s throat went dry.

  “That man… he’s following again. At this range. At that speed.”

  The captain of the guard stepped in front of him and shouted,

  “Your Majesty, do not look back. He will catch us regardless!”

  At that moment, three figures stepped forward from the stern of the light craft.

  Warriors in white armor, iron scales interlocked beneath their plates.

  Men spoken of as the strongest even among the Jiangnan martial world.

  Ye Mu-ying of the Southern Ye Clan, master of a secret fist art—the Fist Without Shadow.

  Peng Yingdao of the Ping-shui naval swordsmen—the Blade Upon Water.

  Zhu Shaohan of Jinling, spear master of the Crimson Gate—One Strike, Three Kills.

  All three had been placed secretly at Zhu Yuanzhang’s side after he took on imperial ambition.

  Their breaths were short.

  Their steps were heavy.

  What weighed them down was not armor, but resolve.

  Seeing them, the guard captain cried out,

  “Your Majesty, these three can buy us time!”

  The three masters advanced side by side onto the deck, facing Park Seong-jin.

  Their gazes were steady, but at the edges of their eyes lay the trace of shattered calculation.

  The sense that this was not human speed chilled their fingertips.

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  As Park Seong-jin stepped onto the railing of the last great ship and measured the gap to the light craft, the three attacked at once.

  Ye Mu-ying’s fist wind tore through the air.

  Before the blow landed, the air itself burst, scattering droplets from the railing.

  Peng Yingdao’s blade slid forward, drawing in the color of water.

  A low arc, skimming like a cut across the surface—aimed first at ankles and knees.

  Zhu Shaohan’s spear appeared motionless, thrust straight ahead.

  Yet the space around it split first, announcing killing intent.

  Death had already been fixed at a point.

  “One strike, three kills—prepare!”

  Fist in front, blade to the side, spear straight on.

  A perfectly sealed formation, each covering the others’ gaps.

  From behind, Zhu Yuanzhang shouted,

  “Hold him! One breath is enough!”

  Park Seong-jin drew a long breath.

  The killing intent, breathing, and internal flow of all three were read clearly.

  Within his perception, their movements had already slowed.

  He spoke quietly.

  “This wind… is not on your side.”

  Ye Mu-ying’s fist struck first.

  Boom. The air exploded—but Park Seong-jin had already slipped half a step aside.

  Peng Yingdao’s blade followed.

  Yet as Park Seong-jin’s toe tapped the railing, the angle shifted.

  Before the blade could reach him, he was already elsewhere.

  Zhu Shaohan’s spear came last, aimed straight for the heart—

  a line too precise, too perfect.

  Park Seong-jin’s sword tapped the shaft.

  A tiny tremor spread.

  A spear that wavers loses its path.

  Slash.

  In the next instant, the three bodies flew in different directions.

  Ye Mu-ying collapsed clutching his thigh.

  Peng Yingdao fell with his shoulder split.

  Zhu Shaohan dropped, his wrist severed.

  Blood followed late.

  The speed had been too great.

  Bodies fell before pain arrived.

  They had no time even to scream.

  They understood death—but not this way.

  Zhu Yuanzhang watched, his face drained of all color.

  “That… how can that be human?”

  The Pursuit Resumes

  Park Seong-jin walked again to the edge of the railing.

  His pace was unhurried.

  There was no reason to hurry.

  It was always the fleeing side that rushed.

  Below his feet, the water beside the light craft shimmered.

  Zhu Yuanzhang’s vessel had already pulled away, yet Park Seong-jin crossed the wide stretch of water between them in a single bound.

  As if stepping stones lay hidden between the ships.

  An extraordinary lightness technique.

  His body rose into the air.

  The wind pressed at his back.

  He closed on Zhu Yuanzhang’s craft faster than a flying bird—he flew.

  For the one facing it, explanation meant nothing.

  It looked like death itself drawing nearer—

  unable to speak, unable to resist, yet still approaching.

  Zhu Yuanzhang screamed,

  “Why… again? Why is he coming again?!”

  Then—

  At the center of Lake Poyang, the wind twisted suddenly.

  Fwooo—!!

  Smoke bent like a horizontal line.

  The Ming sails flipped the opposite way.

  Ships tilted together.

  The current split—not into one direction, but two.

  In midair, Park Seong-jin adjusted his posture.

  Not because he lost balance, but because he accepted the change—reading a new landing point in the shifting wind.

  Zhu Yuanzhang’s craft heeled sharply and turned.

  Li Xian shouted,

  “The wind has changed! Westerly wind! Protect His Majesty—surround him!”

  As the wind shifted, fire returned to life.

  Behind the Ming line, thick black smoke rose where white smoke had been before.

  Screams followed at once.

  “Fire! Fire—Chen Youliang’s fire arrows!”

  With the wind reversed, Chen Youliang’s fire volleys struck true.

  Small burning boats flared and died in sequence.

  Flames found a path and spread toward the Ming fleet.

  A ribbon of black, oily smoke stretched long across the water.

  Under the fire attack, Zhu Yuanzhang’s formation began to shake.

  Fire had been used before—but this counterattack was different in both scale and force.

  Every archer loosed fire arrows.

  It was not only the ships that wavered—

  the men’s hearts broke first.

  Light Ming craft caught the headwind, capsized, and burned.

  Marines throwing grapples slipped.

  Officers steering gunboats lost their aim.

  As gunports shook, cannonballs flew astray.

  As sails faltered, ships lost their course.

  Amid that chaos, Park Seong-jin leapt again toward Zhu Yuanzhang.

  In that instant, all sounds of the battlefield converged to a single point.

  Cannon fire, screams, the cry of water—everything was drawn there.

  A brief stillness fell, as if the world itself were taking a breath.

  At the center of Lake Poyang, the scale of victory began to move—

  slowly, but unmistakably—

  tilting toward Chen Youliang’s side.