Mutual Destruction

Escort Chief Yang had no idea which side to take. The envoys of Cheonseo Nation ought to be their allies, yet from their behavior it was clear they had no intention of helping.

“Chief Yang, what should we do?”

Other escorts, thinking the same, gathered around him with anxious faces. A great fight was about to erupt—there was no reason to be caught in the middle.

“Wait for a chance, then we run.”

By rough estimate, about twenty could still move on foot. If each took a different side path, some might survive. They agreed to move on Escort Chief Yang’s signal. From here on, it was every man for himself.

“Alright, one, two…”

“Oops!”

Bong-cheon, giddy with excitement at choosing whom to fight, finally noticed the twitching movements of several escorts. Annoying pests, after all.

“No good comes from letting those worms run their mouths, right?”

Bong-cheon whispered to Hyeong-gwon, the burly man beside him, and the latter nodded as if it were obvious. Unlike Gok Hae-go, they cared nothing for state affairs. They had only followed, thinking to enjoy themselves alongside their senior. Their mission had already failed—why not have some fun? But leaving loose ends was bothersome.

“Clear them out!”

No sooner had Bong-cheon spoken than Geum Hyeong-gwon’s figure vanished from sight.

“Now!”

Sensing danger, Escort Chief Yang also signaled his men. Scattering as fast as possible was the only way to survive. His instinct, sharpened by years of life-and-death battles, screamed at him.

“Where do you think you’re going!”

But the escorts who split into several directions fell after only a few steps. Nearby, Hyeong-gwon struck them down; from afar, Bong-cheon pinned them down.

Ping!

Bong-cheon hurled twenty throwing stars without pause. His shuriken, star-shaped, flew with such precision that distance made no difference, piercing the vital points of fleeing escorts. A few, lucky enough to avoid fatal strikes, staggered up again, desperate to escape this hell.

Thunk!

Now it was Hyeong-gwon’s turn. He swung a massive iron mace weighing over ten geun¹ with ease, aiming for survivors’ heads. He was a monster born to kill. His blank face showed no emotion—only focus on erasing targets.

‘Damn it…’

As his comrades fell one by one, Escort Chief Yang realized what a grave mistake he’d made. From the start, no one on this mission had any chance of survival. He should’ve fled earlier, like Yong Jo. Regret was all he had left as his life ended.

“Now then, it’s your turn!”

Bong-cheon bent and twisted with laughter, utterly delighted. This was a blessing in disguise. How dull it would have been to escort all those tributes to the border? But these four—oh, they would be fun to play with. He wanted to savor it slowly.

“Sahyung, what do we do?”

Even taciturn Jingun spoke first—things were that dire. Only two enemies, yet their strength was such that even if all the brothers fought together, victory was uncertain. Even at full strength, it would be hard—now, all four of them were exhausted.

“Jingun and Jeok-woo, take the mace wielder.”

The man in red was crafty and unpredictable—not a match for straightforward Jeok-woo. The mace was devastating, but it was brute force; Jingun could handle that better.

“But, Eldest Sahyung! I can take him alone.”

Even now, Jeok-woo sulked at Seomun’s order to fight in pairs. He could not deny their enemies’ skill—he had just watched escorts, men famous across the martial world, fall without resistance.

But he too had pride in his own strength. Fighting with numbers felt beneath him.

“Shut it!”

“Second Sahyung…”

Jingun saw no need to explain. The best course was simply to silence Jeok-woo and follow orders. He saw the firm resolve in Seomun’s expression—his senior brother was prepared to die today.

“Well then, shall we begin?”

“If that’s what you want—then let’s fight.”

As Seomun snapped open his fan with a flourish, Bong-cheon revealed his hidden left hand. Wrapped around it was a long, thin red cloth, at the end of which gleamed a short, black, razor-sharp blade.

“Dance of the Falling Flower Buds!”

With a sharp cry, Bong-cheon lashed out. The red cloth fluttered through the air, the blade skimming past Seomun’s fan. Barely dodging, Seomun stepped back, snapped his fan closed, and hooked the blade with its edge, winding the cloth around it. In the same breath, he spun his wrist, flung the fan upward, and kicked lightly to deflect.

“Oh-ho!”

But the strike toward Seomun had only been a feint—Bong-cheon’s eyes were on Hyunjin all along. While Seomun dodged, Bong-cheon had already closed in on her. Luckily, she had braced herself and raised her twin swords, blocking every stroke from his right hand.

“My, my! This sister is just too pretty.”

Startled by his simpering voice and gestures, Hyunjin retreated a few steps, but Bong-cheon leaned close again. Seomun rushed in, stabbing with his fan from all directions, but Bong-cheon evaded them all with ease.

“I’d like to have this face.”

When Bong-cheon’s fingers brushed her cheek, Hyunjin shuddered. Up close, his face was grotesque—the white powder cracked, fissures marking his skin; eyes blackened, lips painted blood-red like a demonic clown. He leaned in, tongue flicking, and she nearly gagged.

“Careful!”

At Seomun’s warning, he flicked his fan, launching six tiny needles. Small but deadly precise—they were nearly impossible to evade, especially at this range. At least one should strike.

“Ah!”

But Bong-cheon didn’t dodge. He spread his palm wide, catching all six needles as though deliberately arranging them in a circle across his flesh.

“What an amusing little trick weapon.”

Chuckling, Bong-cheon arched back, sending the blade-tipped cloth whipping toward Seomun’s face like a living serpent.

Chaeng!

While Bong-cheon was distracted, Hyunjin leapt into the air, widening the gap. Her left sword blocked the next strike while her right aimed to sever the cloth streaking toward Seomun.

“Hmph!”

But Bong-cheon was quicker. Just as her sword neared, he retracted the cloth, then snatched her blade-tip like a dagger. In one motion he chained three techniques—attacking Seomun’s fan, while his other hand flicked three throwing stars at Hyeonjin.

“Ahh!”

“Hyunjin!”

She deflected two, but the third struck her just above the left breast. Seomun, panicked, flung more needles, but Bong-cheon’s writhing cloth brushed them aside with ease.

Jingun’s side fared no better. Hyeong-gwon’s iron mace matched his spear in raw power, but its movements were intricate, unpredictable. Even working with Jeok-woo, striking from alternating sides, they found every blow blocked by the mace’s crushing arcs.

Worse, the mace’s head was studded with jagged teeth between the iron knobs; even a graze left deep wounds. In the first few exchanges Jeok-woo had rushed recklessly—now he was bloodied head to toe.

‘The longer this drags, the worse it gets.’

Jingun glanced at Seomun’s side—there was no way to help. Hyunjin and Jeok-woo were both badly wounded. It was time to use their final measure.

“Hyung!”

Jingun’s booming voice rang through the forest. Distracted, torn between shielding Hyunjin and fending off attacks, Seomun froze at the call. Jingun had never addressed him as anything but “Sahyung.” That word signaled the pact they had made long ago.

“The final technique is Mutual Destruction.”

It was likely on the night of their first mission. In the dead of winter, huddled over a small campfire, Seomun had suddenly spoken. Jingun, covered in wounds, stared silently into the flames.

“The one who calls for it first—he stays behind.”

Against an unwinnable foe, it was the only rational choice. One sacrifice to let the rest survive.

“But, since it’s the last, use the name you truly wanted to call.”

Seomun had felt a sharp ache in his chest imagining that day. Yet he smiled at his most trusted brother and friend, hoping he would be the one left behind instead.

“I’ll be the one to call it first.”

After a long silence, Jingun looked at him.

“When that time comes, you go. No arguments.”

“Hyung! Keep the pact!”

At Jingun’s roar, Seomun’s vision blurred. The enemy before them still grinned, tireless. But Hyunjin looked on the verge of death. There was no other choice.

“I’m going!”

At Seomun’s reply, a faint smile crossed Jingun’s face. He kicked Jeok-woo aside, gripped his spear in both hands, and slammed it against the mace. Startled, Hyeong-gwon faltered—Jingun twisted, flipped through the air, and stamped down on his shoulder three times.

Thud!

His weight drove Hyeong-gwon’s ankle into the earth, pinning him. Struggling, he found nothing nearby to brace against—escape was difficult.

Meanwhile, Jingun switched his spear to his right hand and lunged, his massive frame blotting out Seomun’s view. Bong-cheon, startled, whipped his cloth back defensively. Jingun spun his spear, driving it into Bong-cheon’s chest, forcing several paces’ distance between Seomun and the foe.

“You cur!”

By the time Bong-cheon readied his stance, every enemy but Jingun was gone. Seomun was already sprinting down a side path, Hyunjin under one arm and Jeok-woo under the other.

Wrenching free his ankle, Hyeong-gwon charged, furious, each step shaking the ground like an earthquake. Bong-cheon, enraged at losing Hyunjin, burned with fury too. Killing this ox of a man wouldn’t even be enough to vent his rage.

“Come, then!”

Watching the enemies rush from both sides, Jingun smiled—a bright, unshaken smile, the first of his life. By now, the sunset had stained the forest red.

동귀어진 (同歸於盡), Mutual Destruction:

To perish together.