6
When the fight in the first alley ended,
the whole village seemed to hold its breath for a moment.
Then steel began clattering somewhere else,
metal striking metal in quick, nervous bursts.
Noise came from a narrow lane to the left.
Footsteps pounded beyond a twisted fence to the right.
Even beneath the low threshold of a collapsed thatched house,
a presence swelled upward.
"Enemy, west alley!"
"They're coming from the rear!"
The remnants chose ambush over flight.
The instant a corner was turned,
distance shrank to two or three steps.
There was barely time to raise a blade.
As one longswordsman lifted his shield,
a dagger punched into the shield's side seam.
Ah—
a short sound,
a breath cut off.
The soldier behind him stepped on the fallen man's shoulder,
threw his weight forward,
and cut under the enemy's jaw.
All across the village,
fights erupted at once—
fights that were nothing but survival
inside two steps of space.
Izuhara's layout was complex.
Roofs tangled over one another.
Eaves were low.
Attacks dropping from above came often.
A shadow fell straight down from the left eave.
Thump—
with the shock of landing,
a long spear stabbed toward Park Seong-jin's flank.
Park turned,
lifted his sword upward,
and struck the shaft.
As the spear tipped sideways,
he flicked a stone up with the top of his foot
and cracked the enemy's knee.
The knee folded.
Balance failed.
Park stepped in and cut the head short.
Blood sprayed in a horizontal line,
painting a red stripe across a wooden wall.
Part of the unit slammed into open houses at once.
Inside was dark.
Space was brutally tight.
Here, elbows, shoulders, and torsos worked before steel.
"In there."
A Japanese soldier burst from behind furniture,
driving low.
A shieldman shoved with the shield and pinned him to the wall.
With space choked off, the shieldman drove the shield's edge
down into the throat again and again.
The room filled with the sound of air bursting out of a body.
At a small crossroads near the village center,
about twenty enemies hit from both sides.
Two shieldmen were pushed back and fell.
A spearman took a dagger across the ribs.
The line wavered.
Bodies tangled.
Park shoved a soldier's shoulder aside with one hand,
made a slit,
and slid his body into it.
He wrapped an arm aimed at his abdomen
and torqued it down.
Brrdk—
the sensation of tendon tearing traveled cleanly to his fingertips.
He finished by driving the blade behind the neck,
a motion that split the neck-bone.
Short movement.
Cold judgment.
After colliding with roughly thirty remnants,
Goryeo seized the village's center.
From that point,
the Japanese movement changed.
Men who had been springing from behind fences
turned and ran deep into the alleys.
Beyond the central crossroads,
they streamed toward a narrow mountain path.
"They're going up!"
"They're fleeing toward the fortress!"
Their steps held no will to fight anymore.
The escape route toward Kaneishi Castle
stood exposed.
"We should chase!"
"We can't let them get up there!"
Voices burst at once,
but Park's judgment did not move.
"Stop."
Even in blood stench and smoke,
that one word spread cleanly.
"Do not pursue enemies who break out of the alleys
and climb the mountain trail immediately."
Commanders' breathing stopped together.
"That path is one they've walked for years."
"If troops who don't know the terrain go up,
they'll be crushed from above."
Park leaned his sword against the wall,
took a breath,
and continued.
"Right now, we take the village completely."
Feet halted across the line.
Up on the slope,
the thinning sound of retreating steps continued.
Park listened to it until it ended.
"The road to the fortress
will not be stepped today."
At the order, each unit paired off,
seizing the village's alleys, crooked passages, courtyards beyond walls,
one after another.
Shieldmen went first.
Longswords stayed beside or behind them.
Archers watched from the rear.
Engineers secured doors and marks.
Village-clearing moved more carefully than open battle.
Because attacks can come from any direction.
They gauged the slightest sign,
opened doors one by one.
As one longswordsman raised a foot to vault a wall,
he stopped.
There was no wind,
but the doorframe trembled—
a tiny shake.
A sound inside,
someone adjusting posture.
Park signaled with his eyes.
Two shieldmen kicked the door in at once.
A spear shot out through the crack
and scraped the shield's edge.
"In there."
The shield drove inward.
Two low-set enemies stabbed at point-blank range.
A longswordsman pressed his back to the wall,
lowered his body on a slant,
and cut into the waist.
When one fell,
the other swung from the corner.
There was no room to turn the hips.
The blade wavered once, empty.
Park cut short.
The throat muscle snapped.
The man slid down the wall.
A scout raised a hand deep in the village.
"Under the roof—movement."
The low Japanese-style roofs were thin,
easy to hide beneath.
An engineer pushed a spear-shaft up.
Tiles cracked harshly.
Three men dropped from the roof at once.
"Above!"
At the instant of landing,
their bodies wobbled.
Two longswordsmen cut that wobble.
Waist and calf severed together.
The enemies crumpled.
At the center, a storehouse packed with jars
was perfect for hiding.
As the door opened,
disciplined footsteps hit the floor immediately.
"Front defense!"
A short-spear unit burst out in a line,
points leveled at waist and chest.
Two shieldmen angled their shields,
guiding the spearpoints upward.
In that instant, a long-spearman shoved his spear horizontally
and skewered three in one line.
The first fell.
The second tripped over him.
The third was driven backward and cracked his head against the wall.
Three, four more surged from inside.
Space was too tight.
They slammed with bodies and fell together.
A dagger flashed and cut a thigh.
Park drove in and pressed his blade down.
A collarbone snapped.
The enemy buckled.
An engineer finished by bringing an axe down.
Inside the storehouse,
blood and jar shards coated everything.
When the purge ended,
the sound of scattered steps came from the mountain trail.
A mass flight toward the fortress had begun.
Loose groups merged,
seventy, eighty men,
climbing a terraced path.
Their backward glances were tangled
with fear and desperation.
A commander began,
"If we catch them now—"
"Don't."
Park's voice was short.
Two wounded enemies were dragged in as prisoners.
One had a thigh pierced clean through.
One had a wrist severed, no fight left in him.
An interpreter was brought.
An officer asked,
"How far to Kaneishi Castle?"
"…Behind the village… up the mountain path…"
"…If short, one gak…"
"…If long, two…"
"And their numbers?"
"…About three hundred…"
"…The lord called his elites up yesterday…"
Park asked,
"From where did he call them?"
"…Behind the mountain… an annex…"
"…Four hundred… maybe five…"
Commanders exchanged looks.
Mountain fighting is bad ground.
Park asked again,
"The path."
The prisoner drew a low curve with his finger.
"…Only one way up…"
"…Narrow…"
"…If you get ambushed mid-way… you fall…"
Park let out a short breath.
"We don't go to the fortress today."
Commanders nodded.
Even those unused to halting after an easy win
accepted the weight of the terrain.
Park shook blood from his hand and said,
"We make this village our headquarters."
"Draw the ground."
"By tomorrow, map the ridgelines and roads around the fortress."
Even after battle,
his voice never shook.