- sneak attack
Not far from the place where the two men shared their grief, two figures lay hidden in the forest. They wore black martial garb that clung tightly to their bodies, and at their waists hung slender, needle-thin rapiers. Their movements were careful and restrained. Even their breathing seemed measured, and each step was placed so that not a single dry leaf would betray them.
“Only two. A good opportunity. Heaven-sent. We strike now.”
“There are soldiers behind them.”
“I heard him tell them not to follow.”
“You think they won’t?”
“They won’t. And even if they do, we finish this and leave. Call everyone.”
The two raised small flutes and produced a faint signal tone, barely audible to human ears. The thin sound slipped through tree trunks and stone crevices. In response, more than a dozen men in black martial garb converged from behind them at the same instant. They had been waiting nearby. At a glance, they were assassins. Not a single footstep could be heard as they gathered. They were men trained in the highest arts of concealment.
“The target is there. Cover your faces and take the head. Certain.”
The man who seemed to be their leader spoke in a low voice. Tension tightened across their faces as they steeled themselves. Yet one man who had just stepped into place tilted his head and narrowed his eyes toward the figures before the grave.
“That’s not right. That looks like a regional commander. General Jin Mugwang… the one who shattered Gateukrip’s forces that ravaged Hubei… I’ve seen him before. Yes. The target is mistaken. That man is General Jin Mugwang.”
He sharpened his gaze and studied the two kneeling before the grave—the angle of the shoulders, the line of the jaw glimpsed through drifting incense smoke, the posture of the kneeling form.
“Yes. It is General Jin Mugwang.”
The leader’s expression twisted subtly, hesitation flickering and vanishing.
“When did we ever have the authority to choose our targets? We live believing that eliminating confirmed targets ensures the stability of the imperial house. Though we work in shadow, we believe what we do is justice. If that man is Jin Mugwang, then he is our rightful objective. Strike before the main force arrives. All of you, advance without hesitation.”
“Are you certain?”
“Needless questions. Mask yourselves.”
More than a dozen assassins drew hoods from their pouches and pulled them over their faces, leaving only their eyes visible. The man who had first recognized the general muttered under his breath.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“This feels wrong.”
“No more questions.”
Working in darkness did not mean every man was himself dark of heart. In every place there are such men, and there are others. The man clicked his tongue as he tied his hood.
“I should have left this trade while I still could…”
His quiet words rippled through the group. Several who had begun to move forward faltered. Who did not know the name Jin Mugwang? He was a hero of the continent—a symbol of unwavering loyalty, compassion toward the people, and unbroken faith. And yet, what choice was there? This was their work.
The leader did not intend to lead the charge himself. He eased backward while urging the others on. Perhaps sensing the peculiarity of the task, he murmured from behind them.
“The one who takes the head receives a promotion and special leave.”
The man shook his head faintly.
‘Bastard…’
When forced to carry out injustice, curses were often the only rebellion available. He could curse his own weakness, curse the world that compelled such deeds. Was there any other path of defiance? As he moved forward slowly, turmoil churned within him. To kill a victorious general returning home…
Was this the chancellor’s will? Or the emperor’s?
To think too much before battle was dangerous—more so in an ambush. The man rolled a small pebble across the ground as if by accident. In the stillness before the ruined house, the sound of the stone skittering across dirt rang unnaturally loud.
Sabotaging the ambush—that was all he could do. Once discovered, death usually followed. They had mastered the martial arts of the imperial court, yet Jin Mugwang was the continent’s greatest warrior. He would not fall easily. But twelve against one. Success seemed certain.
At the sound of the rolling stone, the leader’s brow furrowed.
‘Which one…?’
No accusation left his lips. He scanned front and back with sharp eyes. He suspected the fourth man, but that one was already gliding forward silently, drawing his needle-thin rapier.
‘It has to be him…’
The general heard the sound. He had already sensed the unfamiliar disturbance in the air. Calmly, he removed the incense sticks planted in the earth and repositioned them in the four directions. East, West, South, North—energy extended through the cardinal axes. It was the simplest of battle formations, a four-point array used on the field. He drew his weapon. Thin streams of incense smoke drifted low, veiling the space around him.
“Guests have arrived, Soun. End your grief and receive them.”
As the general rose, the presence that unfolded from him was nothing like his earlier stillness. A spirit like a towering mountain surged upward. When he planted his foot, the earth itself seemed to answer. Soun wiped his tears and rose, drawing his sword.
Two against twelve. The conclusion appeared simple: the two would lose. What exception could there be? Had the general been mounted, perhaps the equation would differ. The faint fragrance of liquor lingered in the air, strangely out of place amid the scent of death. Was death always so treacherous in its timing?
He had wanted to lie beside his friend’s grave, drunk, and weep beneath the sky. Even that had not been granted. Jin Mugwang was a veteran who had lived only on battlefields. He would not fall to mere ambush. And now he was fully armored. In the Valley of Haran, he had displayed a power few could comprehend.
The general inhaled. This was not the scent of true warriors. It was the odor of petty skill, of shallow martial arts. They were of another kind entirely—beings whose very reason for living differed from his own.
He drew his blade fully. The repositioned incense formed a small four-direction array, its smoke obscuring the assassins’ sight. It was a simple formation, yet effective—concealment through drifting veils of gray. Beyond the haze, steel flashed.
The forest held its breath. The ground waited for the clash.