Chapter 4 – Desperate Stand
Attack and counterattack continued without pause.
The hundred or so survivors trapped between the armies were on the verge of death.
They crouched low, fearing blind arrows that might fall from anywhere.
Long spears were braced against the ground to receive the cavalry charge.
When horses crashed into the spears, some riders were impaled and thrown forward.
Horse, rider, and the thin first line of Goryeo infantry collapsed together.
Defeat was certain.
Even if the enemy failed to break the gate, the Fifth Company's survivors would all die here.
Death stood right beside them.
A frightened recruit suddenly dashed forward.
He was stabbed instantly.
He could not retreat into the city, and he could not defeat the enemy.
Trapped between the two, panic had driven him forward.
"Grab that bastard!"
Someone shouted.
But the boy had already run too far.
Death on the battlefield was brutal.
Yet it stirred no emotion.
Less significant than the death of a passing insect.
A nearby cavalryman hurled his lance.
The young soldier was pierced through the chest.
He died instantly.
At this rate, they would all die.
They knew it.
Yet they held the line.
They had begged for the gate to open many times.
The answer had never changed.
If the gate opened, the enemy heavy cavalry would rush in.
Everyone knew it.
The only fortunate thing was this—
As long as the trapped survivors remained before the gate, the enemy could not attack the gate itself.
They had tried.
Each time, their losses grew.
Perhaps the enemy commanders had decided it was easier to remove the survivors first.
The attacks shifted toward them.
"Attack!"
Yeong-woo thought this was the end.
The only reason they had lasted this long was because the enemy barely considered them worth killing.
"What do we do?"
Cheol-ryong's voice was full of despair.
"What can we do?"
"There's no clever trick left. We did well enough already."
"Well enough?" someone laughed bitterly.
"We're just dying now. Thanks for everything."
"That's what you say at a time like this?"
"What else is there to say?"
Through the rain of arrows, the enemy's armored cavalry began to charge.
If their spears struck all at once, the men before the wall would become meat on skewers.
A deep despair fell over Yeong-woo.
His vision darkened.
Then—
Something black fell from above.
Just as the enemy charge reached striking distance, several black figures dropped from the top of the wall.
For a moment Yeong-woo thought they were spirits come to escort the dead.
But they were men.
Dozens of figures in black robes descended through the air.
From a wall ten times the height of a man.
Their bodies folded and unfolded in the wind.
They landed as lightly as falling leaves.
Sand exploded under their feet.
And in the next instant—
Their swords were already drawn.
The first warrior stepped forward.
Half a step.
His sword slid forward in a horizontal line.
The silver flash began from the waist.
Then—
Three riders fell.
Four.
Five.
Their necks and shoulders split open in a single stroke.
Blood burst outward.
Bodies were thrown from their saddles.
Some ran two more steps before collapsing.
The second warrior landed spinning.
The instant his foot touched the ground, his body twisted upward again.
His descending sword split a helmet.
Then the collarbone beneath it.
Metal and flesh burst apart together.
The soldier behind stumbled over the falling body.
The third warrior deflected a spear with a flick of his wrist.
The spearhead slid aside.
His sword rose from below.
Two hands holding the spear scattered through the air.
Blood sprayed across his face.
He did not blink.
He stepped forward.
His blade cut across the belly.
The enemy's armor split.
Entrails spilled out.
Fifteen or sixteen warriors moved at once.
Their blades flashed in perfect rhythm.
One cut a man down.
Another stepped into the opening.
The enemy formation tore apart.
The leading cavalry collapsed instantly.
For a moment they seemed suspended in midair.
Then the riders behind crashed into the fallen.
Horses screamed.
Bodies piled together.
One of the black-robed warriors slid three steps forward.
His sword flashed three times.
A head.
A thigh.
An arm.
They fell together.
Blood spread thinly across the dirt.
He stepped across it without hesitation.
Another kicked aside an enemy shield.
As the soldier lost balance, the sword slid over the shield and across his face.
His nose and eye split apart.
Before he could scream—
The second strike opened his chest.
Each sweep of the sword felled three or four men.
The charging enemy line collapsed helplessly.
The sound of flesh splitting was louder than steel.
Their black robes gleamed with blood.
Someone whispered.
"Warriors from legend…"
"They're immortals…"
"Jo-ui Seon-in."
The Immortals of Jo-ui.
They did not stop.
Even as the enemy tried to regroup, the black figures had already plunged among them.
Swords flashed again and again.
When they passed, only broken spears and severed limbs remained.
Yeong-woo's eyes widened.
Allies.
Strength had to be used when it appeared.
Strike while the tide turned.
"Charge!"
Yeong-woo shouted.
Encouraged by the sudden support, the survivors surged forward.
"Charge!"
Spears moved as one.
The hundred scattered spearpoints aligned in the same direction.
They had been called routed soldiers.
But when a hundred spears moved together—
Everything changed.
The enemy front hesitated.
Reins were pulled.
Horse heads jerked backward.
"Charge!"
Yeong-woo shouted until his throat tore.
A curse burst from his mouth first.
The command followed.
The curse was rage.
The command was order.
He had already judged the situation.
The Immortals had torn open the enemy front.
If they did not push now, the enemy would regroup.
Give cavalry time—
and they would charge again.
"Hold formation! Spears low! Forward!"
Shields stepped half a pace forward.
Spears locked against shoulders.
Knees bent together.
A hundred spearpoints aligned in one line.
The Immortals cut through the flanks.
Where a sword severed an arm—
a spear thrust through the gap.
Where a warrior opened space—
the infantry filled it.
The swords disrupted.
The spears finished.
The Jurchen vanguard hesitated.
They faced a wall of shields and spears.
Black robes flashed before it.
Yeong-woo stepped forward again.
Blood ran from his ankle.
He ignored it.
He signaled the spears lower.
Aim for the horse's chest.
And the rider's belly.
"Push! Push them!"
A hundred feet struck the ground together.
The formation advanced.
The earth trembled.
The enemy cavalry attempted another charge.
Spears surged upward like a wave.
The first horse impaled itself.
The second crashed into it.
As the riders fell—
the Immortals' blades flashed again.
Where the sword opened the throat—
the spear pierced the chest.
Where the sword severed the thigh—
the spear drove into the belly.
Sword and spear moved in perfect rhythm.
Without a word.
Without looking at each other.
Yeong-woo calculated quickly.
Now.
The enemy was faltering.
Push harder and they would break.
"Forward!"
The infantry drove ahead.
Shields slammed together.
Spears hammered against them.
Through the gaps flashed the black shadows.
The Jurchen charge line bent.
Then broke.
Horse heads turned away.
The formation was torn out by the roots.
Yeong-woo bared his teeth.
Not in fear—
but because he saw a path to survival.
The Immortals had opened the road.
The infantry widened it.
For this moment—
the routed soldiers were no longer routed.
Sword and spear moved like one living beast.
The enemy retreated.
And from behind them—
the gate began to open.