136
Collision
Zhang Shicheng's gaze locked onto the mouth of the narrow passage.
What emerged first from the smoke was not faces, but rhythm.Fast, low steps—extraordinarily quick and fluid.The assault unit.
They advanced at a steady pace.The shoulder of the man in front and the breath of the man behind moved as one mass.
"Now."
The instant the word fell, the guard advanced together.Shields rose in the front rank, spears layered over them.Iron meshed with iron, squeezing the alley even tighter.
The path remained open—but the flow of people was compressed.
The first impact was felt through bodies.
The vanguard of the assault unit struck the shields, and the shock rippled backward.The guards' spearpoints shot out at once.Thrust.Withdraw.Thrust again.
Simple motions.Perfect spacing.
One assault fighter twisted his body into the gap between shields.His blade slid along the edge of a shield and slipped inside.
The sword he drove in cut through empty air—then a guard's shoulder split, blood splashing the wall.
Immediately, another shield slammed down, and the wounded guard collapsed.
Zhang Shicheng stepped forward, spear in hand.
The mere fact that he had taken the front re-aligned the soldiers' rhythm.
"Hold. Push."
The guard maintained their spacing and angled sideways, using the alley wall to draw the assault unit half a step inward.Mud clutched at ankles.
At that moment, arrows fell from above.
Low trajectories—skimming over shields, striking the rear of the assault unit.
Pressure from front and back at once.
The assault unit reacted instantly.
Two men in the front dropped low, slipping under the shields.From behind, another sprang up and hurled his blade.
Zhang Shicheng saw the arc and thrust his spear—aimed at the thrower's chest.
The man's body twisted aside and fell away from the wall.
The guard shouted together—short, low cries that constricted the throat.
The assault unit's front rank dropped to one knee.Not collapse—a stance of resistance.
Those behind shoved them forward.From the front, blades came in again.
The alley ceased to function as a road.It became pressure between bodies.
Steel scraped.Breath burst.Blood soaked the ground.
Zhang Shicheng drove his spearpoint into the earth.
That point became the center.The guard's movement reorganized around him.
"We cut them here."
With the words, the guard adjusted their rhythm and pushed.
The assault unit's advance bent—but the flow did not break.
They pressed deeper inward.
Zhang Shicheng's eyes darkened.
This collision was only the beginning.The fight had already taken root deep inside the city.
They struck and were struck brutally in the confined space.There was not a single inch to give.One small mistake meant a life lost.
In narrow spaces, bloodletting was the assault unit's specialty.
When they attacked once, they unleashed several sword strokes.They did not trade blows or evade—every swing took a man's head.
The guard Zhang Shicheng had committed to the narrow passagewas slaughtered one-sidedly.
What caught Park Seong-jin's eye was not numbers.
It was movement.
The guard's shields stood like a wall, and before them the Goryeo warriors pressed forward without stopping.Bodies went in before blades touched.The very way they occupied space was different.
When one warrior struck a shield, another immediately slipped into the opening beside it.If one man halted, another took over.The motions were short, continuous.
Park Seong-jin stepped into that current.
He did not raise his sword high.He drove it from below the waist and pressed with his shoulder.
When one man was forced back, the entire shield line wavered.
A guard's spear came down.A warrior seized the shaft and twisted it.From the side, a blade cut in and severed the wrist.
The spear dropped.
Blood sprayed.The ground grew slick.
Yet the Goryeo warriors planted their feet again and advanced.Slipping did not change their direction.
One warrior hurled himself onto a shield.The shield sagged—and beneath it another warrior thrust.
Defense held, but pressure increased.
Park Seong-jin did not stop to catch his breath.His breathing was already fused to his body.The sword moved first, the feet followed.
The guard line gave one step.
That single step created space.
And when space appeared, the Goryeo warriors poured in.
This was not a contest of technique.It was a collision between the power to endure and the power to drive forward.
And the driving force was stronger.
Park Seong-jin understood.
These were fighters—people who seized the battlefield by advancing.
The guard's shield line no longer held firm.The flow wavered.The rhythm broke.
The Goryeo warriors did not miss the opening.
Park Seong-jin moved forward again.
This current would not stop.
Even now, the battlefield was being pushed back—under their feet.