220.
The Infiltration of Shadows — The Divine Archer
The wind fell still.
The silence deepened until even the wick of the lamp burning down could be heard clearly.
The air itself seemed to have stopped moving.
Park Seong-jin sat behind the papered window.
His eyes were closed, yet his awareness was wider than sight.
A world more precise than vision aligned itself within him.
Then it happened.
From the western stream, the texture of the air twisted—barely, almost imperceptibly.
No wind brushed past, yet the blades of grass began to lean in a single direction.
Not wind. Footsteps.
He lowered his breath.
His awareness spread outward, and the nature of the disturbance became unmistakable.
Three… no, four.
Even spacing.
Breath suppressed.
Trained men.
Park Seong-jin took up the bow hanging behind the window.
He had never aimed at a person outside a battlefield.
But now, this was the fastest choice.
As he drew the bowstring, the air split tautly.
There was nothing to see before him.
Instead, invisible movement was calculated, converging on a single point.
The flow of energy, the trembling of grass, the minute stir of dust—everything linked into one.
Whip—!
A single arrow cut through the darkness.
Like a line of gold, it crossed dozens of paces and pierced a shadow at the forest's edge.
Khh—
A suppressed groan burst from the dark.
At the same time, the air warped and three streams of killing intent flared.
"He knows our position."
A low cry scattered.
Park Seong-jin did not answer.
He nocked a second arrow.
Shrra—!
The second arrow flew on a wider arc, grazing the flank of a shadow that had been rushing forward.
Hup.
Not a scream, but the sound of breath being cut short.
At once, the remaining figures scattered left and right.
They split low and fast, advancing to break his angles, to shatter the line of fire.
Their movement was precise, their speed difficult for the eye to follow.
Park Seong-jin lowered the bow and retreated into the house.
"Good," he said softly. "Come that way."
The moment he stepped back—
Click.
Something was triggered.
Which trap it was did not matter.
In this place, stepping was already the answer.
First, caltrops buried beneath the grass.
As a foot sprang upward, a heavy iron net suspended from the trees above fell.
Crash!
The weight came down.
A shadow let out a short cry.
Blood splashed into the dark.
Those following halted at once.
"Entry point exposed! Withdraw!"
A command burst from the rear.
But it was already too late.
The second trap sprang.
Chains thrown over the caltrops tangled and seized an ankle.
As the body pitched forward—
Clank.
The floor mechanism opened.
Iron spikes thrust upward from below.
A brief scream.
Then silence.
Park Seong-jin sat on the wooden floor and lowered his breath.
The quiet had already changed into the smell of death.
Stray thoughts surfaced without order.
How should I clear this.
That, too, was work.
I'll have to remove the traces before morning.
His hand moved from bow to sword.
The wind returned.
This time, its texture was different.
The survivors had revealed their true killing intent.
"There are still more. Others."
He closed his eyes once, then opened them slowly.
"Good. Now it's your turn."
The shadow on the veranda rose and slid into the moonlight.
At that instant, the remaining two launched themselves forward together.
The darkness exploded.
A Blade That Splits the Current
The wind stopped.
The darkness thickened, like congealed blood.
At the edge of the veranda, Park Seong-jin steadied his breath.
There was only silence—but within that silence, killing intent was unmistakably present.
Western wall. Two men.
The flow of air was subtly distorted.
The rhythm of air entering and leaving was uneven.
Two breaths overlapped, steps matched to each other's gaps.
Breath and motion were so clear they felt almost tangible.
Experienced assassins. They avoid a frontal clash.
Park Seong-jin narrowed his eyes.
The structure of Hwaju Sochuk unfolded precisely in his mind.
Caltrops underfoot, iron nets, ceiling weights, subtle inclines.
Every trap's position was already drawn beneath his feet.
He stepped back once.
Creak.
As the wood cried out, the two shadows reacted at the same time.
Killing intent burst forth.
They vaulted the wall and rushed inward almost simultaneously.
The instant the first man's toes touched the threshold—
Thunk.
The floor sank.
One side of the veranda tilted, pulling taut the iron cords set into the wall.
A heavy weight suspended from the ceiling dropped without hesitation.
"—!"
One of them twisted reflexively.
But in that brief instant, Park Seong-jin's body was already airborne.
As his stepping foot brushed the floor, the veranda snapped back into place.
The rebound transferred directly into his blade.
Shrrra—
Steel split the air.
The sword cut through the current and grazed the first man's throat.
Breath, blood, and flesh burst together, spreading a raw stench into the dark.
Before the blood could scatter, Park Seong-jin's body turned half a circle and landed on the next foothold.
At that moment, the second man attacked from behind.
Park Seong-jin dropped low.
The blade skimmed over his shoulder, slicing empty air.
As his left hand touched the floor, his fingertips pressed a tiny protrusion.
Tak—
The side wall tilted.
Without a sound, the chains hidden behind it released, and a chain net slid sideways.
As the assassin tried to draw his sword, the net coiled around his arm.
Park Seong-jin did not miss the opening.
His blade traced a half-circle, cutting across the chest bound by chains.
Blood scattered.
The air regained its balance.
He rose slowly.
From one side came a faint moan.
An assassin caught in the net coughed blood and barely lifted his head.
"Who… sent you."
Park Seong-jin's voice was low.
A blood-smeared smile spread across the man's lips.
"Too late… that name is… already—"
The words did not finish.
The net sagged, and breath left the body.
Park Seong-jin sheathed his sword slowly.
Inside the room remained only the stench of blood, the smell of iron, and the smoke of the oil lamp.
He opened the door and looked outside.
The wind was blowing again.
This time, it was a gentle spring breeze.
"The current has returned."
A faint smile touched his lips.
He sat down once more, set the sword upright at his side, and steadied his breathing.
His awareness remained taut, yet his mind was astonishingly calm.
Thus dawn came.
The lamp went out.
And within the house, what remained were the traces of slaughter—and the sound of the stream flowing quietly, as if nothing at all had happened.