264.
The Night the Shadow Guard's Assassins Slipped into Hwajŏ
That night, Hwajŏ was unusually dark.
The moon hid behind clouds, and the torches atop the walls drooped in the wind, swaying long and low.
The encampment lay still.
Soldiers, finished with training, slept deeply, and from each militia post seeped the drowsy sound of breathing.
Only the wind did not rest.
The current that had traced the gates slowly shifted its course,
turning west to east, slipping across the city's interior.
On the ramparts, Park Seongjin stood alone.
His body reacted before his mind.
His breath grew shallow, his shoulders tightened.
"The wind has changed."
He spoke softly.
Clouds layered over one another, thickening the yin of the night.
—shrrk—
A faint tremor brushed past in the dark,
the vibration of thin metal skimming flesh.
Seongjin's arm moved at once.
A dagger cut through the air.
Thud.
A black shape fell from the wall and struck the ground below.
Before the echo faded, another flow followed.
From the darkness, three figures emerged at once.
Their breaths were short, even—
a cadence tuned like machinery.
From the north gate, the south gate, and the river bastion,
signals rippled almost simultaneously.
A brief whistle pierced the air, followed by the sound of metal locking into place.
Song Isul sprang to his feet, sword clenched, and ran out.
"They're inside."
Light flared throughout the city.
Shouts broke out, movement spread in all directions.
The shapes scattered, then regrouped, shifting their flow—
the speed of shadows changing direction mid-run.
"The Shadow Guard!"
The cry cut across the city.
Seongjin was already leaving the wall.
With a longbow in hand, he pressed himself behind a pillar.
Reading where the currents gathered, he drew the string to its limit.
Thunk—
An arrow split the night.
A short scream burst, then footsteps ceased.
"Twelve."
He steadied his breath and counted.
The current compressed, then split again.
"Twenty-three."
The devices set over the past two days responded in sequence.
In the twisted passages, footing failed;
the ground gave way and bodies pitched forward.
Fine steel wires snapped around ankles.
"Keep formation—fire!"
The unit loosed a volley at once.
Black shapes were struck and fell—
then rose again.
Joints twisted; severed arms scraped along the ground.
From the wounds seeped a black fluid.
Not human.
No—
human, yet inhabited by a shamanic summoning of wandering souls—
a kind of being, or rather, a ritual given motion.
Song Isul bared his teeth.
"The arts of Gi Cheol's faction."
Seongjin drew his sword.
The blade sang as it cut the air.
He plunged straight in.
Wherever his sword passed, the grain of the wind split apart.
One shape cleaved in two, black smoke billowing from within.
The smoke quickly thinned, mingling with the air, absorbed back into the flow.
Before the gate, dozens of torches flared.
In their light, Seongjin stood, catching his breath.
Blood and black fluid ran together over his armor, arms, and legs.
"Twenty-six."
He tilted his head, sensing the currents.
"Two."
The killing intent left in the air did not settle easily.
The wind swept slowly over the walls.
Seongjin dipped his fingers into the earth and flicked it up.
Warmth lingered clearly.
"They're still moving."
His voice sank low into the grain of the night.