406
At the Heart of the City — Only Two Remain
At the center of the city, a wide courtyard lay open.
Smoke from cannon fire hung low.
Behind them, soldiers were tangled in close combat.
Tens of thousands were flooding into the city.
In street fighting, the same number fall as advance.
Yet at the very center of the courtyard, everyone instinctively stepped back.
The moment Zhu Wen-zheng drew his sword, his presence seized the space outright.
The force radiating from his blade was the refined martial discipline of an orthodox lineage.
A sword that had preserved hundreds and thousands for every man it cut down.
Facing him, Park Seong-jin held his blade low.
His breathing was calm.
His eyes were fully awake.
The direction of the wind, the rise and fall of the ground,
the subtlest movements around them—all gathered in his upper center.
Realization was already operating from the core of his body.
Soldiers shoved one another and whispered.
"If those two fight… won't we be caught up as well?"
"I don't know. That isn't a fight between men."
Zhu Wen-zheng moved first.
His opening strike was orthodox—
a descending attack flowing into a crescent cut.
The angle aimed cleanly for the throat.
Just before contact, Park Seong-jin's toes slid sideways.
One step.
That was where Zhu Wen-zheng's reach ended.
"Damn you—!"
The second sequence followed instantly.
A low thrust.
Then a rising cut into a chained slash.
A killing rhythm born of real battle.
The air did not tremble.
The blade passed through.
Park Seong-jin's place was empty.
Zhu Wen-zheng clenched his teeth.
Speed flashed through his mind—
and was immediately denied.
He had been peeled cleanly away from where form had existed.
The opponent was no longer in front.
The presence was at his side—
and then already behind him.
Sword in hand, Zhu Wen-zheng found himself standing outside the flow.
Park Seong-jin moved.
There was no sensation of the blade bending.
No sound of wind splitting.
The sword's tip rode the grain of force itself.
The point where Zhu Wen-zheng's breath would break became unmistakably clear.
Shhk.
Space folded into a figure-eight.
The collar of the armor split by a hair's breadth.
Cold sweat beaded along his neck.
The sensation of cutting empty air lingered—
its afterimage carved into the armor.
One crossing was enough.
Regardless of lineage or form, the layers had already separated.
Zhu Wen-zheng swallowed the truth.
"I cannot retreat."
He drew up his force; the ground shuddered beneath his step.
"Take this!"
A vortex-like sword form erupted.
The momentum of countless battlefields converged into a single point.
Boom.
Dust exploded upward.
Park Seong-jin did not step back.
He entered the vortex.
The sword's tip brushed past his nose.
"A monster of a man…!"
Park Seong-jin held his sword with one hand.
His voice was low.
"Your swordsmanship is excellent."
Zhu Wen-zheng gasped, resetting his stance.
Park Seong-jin continued.
"But you do not command your force."
The sword's motion vanished.
It was erased from sight—only for an instant.
Then—
Pak.
The armor tore long across the shoulder.
Blood welled.
"Ugh."
His knee buckled.
Zhu Wen-zheng knew.
One more loss here, and Nanchang would be finished.
He gathered the last of his resolve into his gaze.
"Come."
"Master of Goryeo."
"I, Zhu Wen-zheng, will block you to the end."
Fighting for his life, yet still speaking—
his resolve altered the air of the battlefield.
The soldiers held their breath.
Park Seong-jin did not raise his blade.
He lowered the tip instead.
Then he said,
"I did not come to kill."
Zhu Wen-zheng charged.
With his sword held close to his face, he rushed as if to cleave in a single stroke.
A cry tore from his throat—
experience and obsession layered together.
Park Seong-jin's sword moved three times.
First, the stance collapsed.
Second, the knee gave way.
The third—
the sword left the hand.
Clang.
The blade rolled across the stone floor.
Zhu Wen-zheng dropped to one knee, panting, looking up at him.
"Strike me down.
If Nanchang opened because of me…
then end it here."
Park Seong-jin shook his head.
"You held well, General.
What follows is for us to decide.
You no longer have the standing to dictate terms."
Zhu Wen-zheng's eyes wavered.
It was the truth of the battlefield.
At that moment, the roar of the Goryeo army swept over the city's heart.
Nanchang had already fallen.
Losing consciousness, Zhu Wen-zheng murmured,
"My uncle…
He should arrive soon…
If only I had held a little longer…
Before he arrived…
It's over."
Park Seong-jin sheathed his sword and replied,
"Yes.
We did this deliberately.
Because of it, the course of the war will change."
Far beyond the gates, the beat of war drums seemed to echo through the sky.
There was still time before their arrival.
The sound passed like an illusion.