The siege of the Forgotten Fortress ground on like a millstone, crushing days into indistinguishable hours of toil and terror. The Azure Dragons' assaults came in relentless waves, their qi-infused waters carving new scars into the earth just as surely as blades marked flesh. Cheong Gwang's body had become a vessel of constant ache—ribs knitting slowly under Hae's bindings, the thigh gash a puckered line that pulled with every step. Yet, he endured, shovel in hand by day, spear by night, his resilience a quiet defiance against the stagnation.
Dawn broke with a deceptive calm, the cliffs bathed in pale light that hid the enemy's movements. The slaves stirred in their trenches, steam rising from cookfires where thin gruel bubbled. Baek distributed portions, his limp a familiar sight as he moved among the group. "Eat quick," he muttered, handing Cheong Gwang a bowl. "Horns sounded last night—Dragons are massing for a push." Jin nodded grimly, his mangled fingers wrapping around his spoon, while Ryu and Soo-Ah exchanged wary glances. Hak, the one-eyed veteran, chewed thoughtfully nearby, his club propped like a sentinel.
Cheong Gwang swallowed the tasteless mush, his mind drifting to the scars that mapped his survival. Each one told a story: the whip lashes from Kang's fury, the arrow graze from the bloodied fields, the qi burn from the plains defeat. They weren't mere disfigurements; they were badges, symbols of battles won against death's grasp. But valor? That was a word for sect warriors in their flowing robes, not slaves like him. Survival was the true currency here—no glory, just the next breath.
The calm shattered with a thunderous roar—Azure Dragons unleashing a barrage of qi-amplified boulders from catapults hidden in the mists. The projectiles arced high, smashing into the fortress walls with earth-shaking force. Slaves scrambled as debris rained down, shouts of alarm mingling with the crack of stone. "Breach! Southeast wall!" Kang bellowed from his vantage, qi flaring as he rallied the guards. The air hummed with energy, Crimson Blade cultivators countering with fire bursts that lit the sky like falling stars.
Cheong Gwang grabbed his spear, joining the rush to the crumbling section. The wall had given way in a jagged gap, wide enough for a squad to pour through. Azure Dragon warriors charged the breach, their blue armor glistening with water qi that deflected arrows like rain on leaves. Slaves formed the first line of defense—a human barricade armed with desperation. "Hold them!" a guard shouted, but the elites hung back, letting fodder absorb the assault.
The fight erupted in a frenzy of steel and screams. Cheong Gwang planted his feet in the rubble, spear thrusting at the first invader—a lithe woman whose blade danced like a serpent. She parried effortlessly, her qi enhancing speed to a blur. Cheong Gwang dodged a slash that whistled past his ear, countering with a low sweep learned from Hak. The tip caught her ankle, drawing blood, but she retaliated with a palm strike that sent a shockwave rippling through the air.
Pain exploded in his shoulder as the force clipped him, reopening an old scar from the dawn raid. Blood welled, warm and sticky, but he pressed on, roaring as he drove the spear forward. The point pierced her guard, sinking into her side with a wet thud. She gasped, collapsing, but two more took her place—men with halberds glowing faintly blue. The intense melee blurred: parry, thrust, dodge. Cheong Gwang's world narrowed to survival instincts, his body moving on autopilot honed by endless drills.
To his left, Jin grappled with a foe, his club smashing down in heavy arcs despite his injured hand. "Watch the flanks!" Jin yelled, but a Dragon scout slipped through, aiming for Soo-Ah who wielded a makeshift shield. Cheong Gwang pivoted, hurling his spear like a javelin—it embedded in the scout's thigh, dropping him. Unarmed now, Cheong Gwang charged bare-handed, tackling the man and pummeling with fists scarred and calloused. Knuckles met jaw with a crack, blood spraying as he finished with an elbow to the temple.
The breach widened under sustained pressure, more Dragons pouring in. Slaves fell around him— one impaled on a halberd, another swept away by a qi wave that crushed bones. Hak fought like a demon, his club a whirlwind, but even he bled from multiple cuts. "We can't hold!" Ryu shouted, his spear splintering against armor.
In that moment of chaos, valor stirred unbidden. A Dragon commander emerged through the gap—a towering figure in ornate blue plate, qi surging like a tidal wave. He unleashed a sweeping strike, a crescent of water energy that bowled over a dozen slaves, their bodies crumpling like reeds. The commander targeted the heart of the defense, where Kang and the guards clustered. If he broke through, the fortress would fall.
Cheong Gwang saw the path—rubble-strewn, bodies littering the way. Without thought, he sprinted forward, snatching a fallen sword mid-stride. The blade was heavy, unbalanced, but it would do. "Gwang, no!" Baek called, but he was already committed. Dodging a stray arrow, he leaped over a corpse and closed on the commander. The man's qi aura pressed like a storm, but Cheong Gwang ducked low, slashing at the knees—aim low, as always.
The sword bit into a joint, eliciting a grunt of surprise. The commander spun, his halberd chopping down. Cheong Gwang rolled aside, the blade embedding in stone with a spark. He countered with an upward thrust, the point glancing off qi-hardened mail but drawing a shallow gash on the arm. Pain lanced through his side as the commander's backhand caught him, qi amplifying the blow to crack another rib. Blood filled his mouth, but he held on, grappling close to negate the halberd's reach.
They wrestled in the breach, Cheong Gwang's grit clashing against cultivated power. He headbutted the helm, stars exploding in his vision, then drove a knee into the groin. The commander staggered, qi faltering for a split second. Cheong Gwang seized it, wrenching the halberd free and swinging wildly. The flat side connected with the head, dazing the foe. Guards finally surged forward, overwhelming the stunned commander with spears and qi blasts.
The Dragons retreated from the breach, horns signaling withdrawal. Cheers erupted—muted among slaves, exuberant from guards. Cheong Gwang slumped against the rubble, gasping, fresh blood soaking his tunic from a deep slash across his abdomen. The wound gaped, ragged and burning, a new scar in the making. Hae rushed over, her hands steady as she pressed a cloth to staunch the flow. "Foolish boy," she chided, but her eyes held respect. "That was heroic."
Kang approached, his face a mix of irritation and grudging approval. "Scar-Face, eh? That's what they'll call you now. Held the breach single-handed—bought us time." He tossed a waterskin—clean water, a rare boon. Whispers spread: "Scar-Face stopped the tide." The nickname stuck, a badge among the slaves, but Cheong Gwang waved it off. Valor vs. survival— what was the difference when both cost blood?
As Hae cleaned the wound with boiled rags, the pain pulled him into memory, tying back to Myeong-Wol like a thread through scars. It was a summer day in Yeonhwa, the river swollen from rains. Gwang, sixteen and bold, had spotted a neighbor's child swept into the current. Without hesitation, he'd dove in, strong arms battling the flow. The water clawed at him, but he reached the boy, hauling him to shore amid cheers.
Myeong-Wol waited on the bank, her face pale but proud. "Oppa, that was brave! But look at you—cut from the rocks." Indeed, his leg bore a gash from jagged stones, blood mingling with river water. She'd bandaged it herself, her small hands gentle. "Scars mean you lived," she'd said, echoing Father's words. "But don't be reckless. We need you whole."
He'd laughed, ruffling her hair. "For you, little sister, I'd fight dragons." Her eyes had sparkled. "Then I'll be your shield—with words and wits."
The memory faded as Hae applied a poultice, the herbs' sting mirroring the emotional tug. Scars symbolized the physical toll, but also the bonds that endured. Myeong-Wol's absence was a wound deeper than any blade, fueling his quiet ambition. The heroic act had earned a nickname, more wounds, but also respect— a step toward influence among slaves.
Night fell, the fortress holding. Around the fire, the group gathered—Baek clapping his back gently, Jin sharing extra rations. "Scar-Face suits you," Soo-Ah teased, but her smile was warm. Hak nodded approval: "Valor ain't glory—it's doing what needs done."
Cheong Gwang traced the new gash, blood crusting under bandages. The toll was heavy, but scars were proof: he lived, he fought. For survival, for Myeong-Wol, he'd bear more. The siege continued, but in his heart, a fire kindled—valor not as end, but means to rise.