Chapter 71. – Battle of Ningjiang – They Flood Into the City
"Move! It's dangerous!"
The moment the gate opened inward,
the force pressing from outside poured straight into the city.
It came with the speed of wind bursting a door open.
At the very front were twenty-five men of the Goryeo Fifth Unit.
"Run! Move!"
At the very front, Lee Young-woo lowered his body and charged in.
Dust kicked up beneath his feet,
and behind him the So Cheol-ryong brothers pressed forward shoulder to shoulder.
The spacing of the twenty-five men did not break.
They moved as a single mass.
But something was strange.
Lee Young-woo held neither sword nor spear.
What he held was a banner.
A blue field, streaked with red lines,
and over it, golden patterns flashed.
Even within the dust of the battlefield,
its colors lived and moved vividly.
Flap—
The banner tore through the air as it unfolded.
It was not merely a flag.
It was a wall.
A blade.
A path.
The enemy's vision split in that instant.
On one side, the banner lashed and filled their sight—
on the other, they could not see what was coming.
Through that gap, a blade pierced a throat.
Thud.
Another cut opened a flank.
Slash.
A man behind drove his shield forward,
breaking the enemy's balance.
Crash.
The movement of the twenty-five flowed like a single wave.
Each time the banner swung, space opened.
Each opening was filled with steel.
There was no formation that could stop it.
It was already inside.
"What kind of weapon is that—"
The enemy's words were cut short as Lee Young-woo shouted,
"Look at the banner! Follow me!"
The banner swung wide once more.
The cloth lashed across faces,
and in that instant, blinded men had their throats cut in succession.
The banner tore apart vision in front—
the blades ended life behind it.
Then—
The Jurchen cavalry waiting outside surged in.
Two thousand five hundred riders.
As they forced through the narrow gate,
the pounding of hooves shook the interior.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The moment they passed through the bottleneck,
they split.
One current divided into dozens.
They spread like a fan.
Those who blocked the front were trampled.
Those who tried to flee were stabbed from the side.
There was no time to choose a direction.
Lee Young-woo's twenty-five opened the path,
and the two thousand five hundred that followed widened it.
Where the banner pointed,
soldiers flooded.
Where the banner stopped,
blood gathered.
The air inside the fortress changed.
The defenders' momentum broke.
The moment the gate opened,
the battle had already tilted toward its end.
The Liao formation collapsed.
Orders stopped.
Each man began to search for his own life.
From the moment the gate was breached,
it became a slaughter.
The backs of those fleeing were cut first.
Those who fell were trampled.
Blood filled screaming mouths.
Lee Young-woo did not stop.
He raised the banner again.
Flap—
It was no longer a signal.
It was the center of the battlefield.
Around him, the army moved.
Around him, the enemy broke.
Fighting continued throughout the fortress,
but the direction had already been decided.
The force of the Jurchens filled the city.
Liao soldiers fled toward the west gate.
One turned—
two followed—
three pressed together.
The movement became a wave.
"Open it! Open the west gate!"
Shouts tangled together.
Orders and screams could not be distinguished.
No one knew who commanded,
or where to go.
Behind them, hooves drew closer.
A man turned his head—
his eyes widened.
Too late.
Flight pushed men against one another.
The one in front fell.
Those behind trampled over him.
A hand reached upward, grasping at empty air.
An ankle twisted.
A back was crushed.
A scream was buried into the ground.
"Move! Move!"
Blades turned not forward, but sideways.
Men shoved their own comrades aside,
striking with spear shafts to force a path.
Order collapsed.
Lines broke.
No one could tell ally from enemy.
Into that chaos, arrows flew.
Whiss—
They struck cleanly into exposed backs.
One. Two. Three.
Arrows quivered in flesh.
Men staggered forward a few more steps—
then collapsed.
Cavalry drove in.
They passed close, cutting as they went.
A glance backward—
and a head was gone.
One passing stroke.
That was enough.
The west gate was already blocked.
It would not open.
The bar remained in place.
Men crowded before it, pounding.
Those behind pressed harder.
Bodies piled up.
From behind, spears thrust forward.
Thud.
No one knew whose spear it was.
Then horses surged in.
Hooves crushed shoulders, ribs, faces.
Bodies collapsed over bodies.
"Save—"
The sound was swallowed by the dirt.
A fleeing army cannot continue a fight.
The moment backs were turned,
the battlefield ceased to be a battlefield.
It became a hunting ground.
The fleeing were cut from behind.
Those who stopped lost their heads first.
Those who ran to live died first.
Before even one shi had passed,
it was over.
Bodies piled before the west gate blocked the path.
No more sounds of fighting came from within the fortress.
Ningjiang had fallen.
It was a one-sided victory.
A Jurchen noble proposed to proclaim Aguda as emperor.
No longer a tribe like the Khitans,
but a state.
Aguda refused calmly.
It was not yet time.
On that day, the Tielie tribe* submitted to the Jurchens.
*Tielie (鐵勒部): A northern confederation recorded in the Old Book of Tang, composed of various groups of Xiongnu descent, including the Uighur, Bugut, and Tongluo.