Woosh! Gaon body gone
Tak! The arrow stabbed on the ground
The archers lowered their bows, confused.
"Where did he go?"
They scanned the courtyard below. Empty. Bodies, blood, broken arrows. But no Gaon.
One of them turned around.
And saw him.
Gaon not his face or body though, but his fist. Already moving.
The archer's head vanished and its body stood for a moment, neck spraying blood, then crumpled.
The other archers spun. Gaon stood among them now, on the rooftop, his fist still raised. He had moved so fast they hadn't seen him climb.
"No..." one whispered.
Gaon's fist came down. Another head gone.
He looked around at the bodies. Arrows lay scattered across the rooftop, their qi glow already fading.
"Hmm. Seems they were tough enemies. They had a lot of qi flow. It tickled my body when their weapons hit me."
It could tore me if I don't keep track of my scale up power…
He stepped over a corpse and walked toward the edge of the roof. Below, more guards were gathering in the inner courtyard, but none looked up. None dared.
He jumped down and kept walking, searching for the way to the prince.
Meanwhile, the prince stood inside his private chamber, pacing. His silk robes clung to his sweat-dampened back. The torches on the walls flickered with each heavy breath he took.
He could feel it. That presence. Moving closer. Slowly and yet it has no qi at all just raw external force pressing against the edges of his perception like a storm front.
What is that? An animal? No. No animal has this much pressure.
He tried to smile. Tried to calm his racing heart.
It doesn't matter. I won't get caught. I have him. My best warrior. The strongest in the kingdom.
He clapped his hands twice.
From the shadowed corner of the room, a massive figure stepped forward. Armor black as coal. A helm with no eye slits. A greatsword strapped across his back that looked too heavy for any normal man to lift.
"Kill whatever is coming," the prince said. "And bring me its head."
The warrior bowed. Then he turned and walked out the door, each step shaking the stone floor.
***
Gaon hopped over a corpse, then another. Blood pooled between the stone tiles, slick and dark under the torchlight. He jumped to a dry spot, nearly slipped, caught himself on a pillar.
"Geez... how can I go back home without leaving a trace?" he muttered in the middle of a jump.
He landed on a low wall and was about to push off again—
The roof above him exploded.
Stone and wood rained down. A massive figure dropped into the courtyard, landing with a crash that cracked the ground. Armor black as coal. A helm with no eye slits. A greatsword strapped across his back that looked too heavy for any normal man.
The figure straightened to his full height head and shoulders above Gaon.
"Let me introduce myself," the warrior said, his voice deep and hollow inside the helm.
The warrior reached up and unclasped his helm. He lifted it off, revealing a face carved with old scars and cold eyes. His head was shaved clean. A thin line of black tattoo ran from his temple down to his jaw.
"I am General Cheon Mu-gyeong," he said, setting the helm on the ground. "First Sword of the Northern Garrison. The prince's blade."
He pulled the greatsword from his back. The blade was wider than Gaon's chest, black steel etched with red veins that seemed to pulse.
"You killed my men," He pointed the sword at Gaon. "I don't know what you are. But I know what I am."
He took a step forward. The ground cracked under his weight.
"I am the end of things."
Gaon tilted his head. His eyes moved from the sword to the man's face.
"Big talk," Gaon said. "Let's see if you can back it up."
General Cheon Mu-gyeong lunged.
The greatsword came alive with qi red energy coiling along the black steel, extending the blade's reach by several feet. The air screamed as it cut.
Gaon sensed it. Dropped low. The edge passed just above his hips, close enough to tear his tunic.
Almost got me.
The sword kept going. It struck the stone wall behind him. The wall exploded bricks and dust flying outward, leaving a crater the size of a wagon wheel.
Gaon rolled to the side, came up on one knee, and looked at the destruction.
That would have cut me in half if I don't have this power.
General Cheon Mu-gyeong lowered his sword slightly. The red qi along the blade dimmed but did not fade.
"That was lucky," he said. "You won't dodge the next one. And after you're dead, the prince will frame you as a terrorist. He'll send word to your village. Say you were a bandit. A murderer. They'll burn it to the ground. Everyone you know will die screaming your name."
Gaon straightened up. His face was calm.
"I know," he said. "Because that's all you know how to do."
Gaon lunged.
His fist drove into General Cheon Mu-gyeong's chest plate. The metal dented. The general grunted and stumbled back a step. But no hole. No blood.
This guy... is a tank.
Gaon's knuckles throbbed. The general's qi had absorbed most of the impact, spreading the force across his entire body instead of letting it punch through.
The general swung his greatsword again. Gaon jumped back. The blade missed by a hair, carving a trench in the stone floor.
I didn't make a hole. But it hurt him. I could feel him flinch.
Gaon circled slowly, keeping his distance.
We're going to play endurance then. I don't want to scale up too much. Not yet. I need to keep my power consistent. I don't know if the prince is going to be powerful or not.
He cracked his neck.
So I'll wear him down. Slowly. One punch at a time.
The general raised his sword again, red qi flaring. "You hit like a child," he growled.
Gaon smiled. "Then why are you bleeding?"
Gaon moved.
Faster this time. His fist snapped toward the general's ribs. The man twisted, the blow glancing off his armored side instead of landing clean. Still, the general grunted.
Gaon didn't stop. Another punch. Then another. Left, right, left. Each strike landing on arms, shoulders, chest. No holes. But each hit made the general's qi flare, trying to absorb the force.
The general swung his greatsword horizontally. Gaon ducked under it, felt the wind from the blade ruffle his hair. He popped up on the other side and kicked the back of the general's knee. The massive leg buckled slightly.
"You're fast," the general growled, recovering his stance.
He lunged with the sword, thrusting the tip toward Gaon's chest. Gaon sidestepped, grabbed the flat of the blade with both hands, and used the general's own momentum to pull him forward. The general stumbled past him.
Gaon jumped. He twisted in the air and brought his heel down on the hilt of the greatsword, driving the tip into the stone floor. The blade sank deep.
The general tried to lift it. The sword was stuck.
Gaon landed and kicked the hilt again. The blade went deeper. Stone cracked around it.
"Now it's heavy," Gaon said.
The general roared and yanked the sword free, sending chunks of stone flying. But the motion was slow. His arms were tiring.
Gaon saw it. He's getting slower.
He punched the general's elbow. The armor dented. The general's grip loosened for a fraction of a second.
Gaon punched again. Same elbow.
Something cracked. Not armor. Bone.
The general's left arm went limp. The greatsword dipped, its tip scraping the ground.
"You..." the general hissed.
Gaon just kept moving, kept punching, kept wearing him down. One strike at a time.
Tak! He planted his feet.
His fists became a blur. One punch. Two. Four. Eight. A barrage of strikes hammering into the general's chest plate left, right, left, left, right. Each hit landed on the same spot, chipping away at the dark armor, cracking the red-veined steel.
The general staggered back. His feet scraped the stone. He tried to raise his greatsword, but his limp arm couldn't lift it. His good arm swung wildly. Gaon ducked under the swing and kept punching.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The general's chest caved inward. His qi flared desperately, trying to absorb the blows, but the barrage was too fast, too continuous. Each punch landed before the previous one's force could dissipate.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
The general's back hit a pillar. Dust rained down. His eyes were wide behind his scarred face.
Gaon pulled his right fist back. Far back. His shoulder twisted. His hips rotated. Every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.
Then he drove the punch forward. Straight. Fast. With a full rotation of his torso.
BANG!
The fist hit the general's chest.
Metal screamed. Bone cracked. The fist kept going through the chest plate, through the ribs, through the heart, out the other side.
A hole.
The general's mouth opened, he try to scream but that man had no lungs, and no sound came out. His greatsword clattered to the ground.
Gaon pulled his arm free. The general's body slumped against the pillar, then slid down, leaving a dark smear on the stone.
He was dead.
Gaon shook the blood off his hand and looked toward the inner hall.
One down. One to go.
To Be Continued.