Land Of Death (3)

The road to the Miao tribe’s northern village stayed quiet.

“Out in a jungle like this, animals moved by instinct to avoid danger. So even if I wasn’t here, keep an eye on how they move. Then finding the path wouldn’t be hard. An animal trail was a human trail,” the old man Old Man Gang told Neung Je-gang, passing along rules for moving through the jungle.

“Don’t take long strides. That made noise. Make noise and the animals moved, and then you couldn’t read the road. There was a way of walking that made no sound. The Miao never made a sound when they walked. If you watched their gait, you’d see a strange play of muscles,” he added.

Neung Je-gang listened in silence and kept it all in mind. This wasn’t something one picked up easily. It was his first time in a jungle; it was all new study to him.

“Hold up!”

Bae Ji-sang suddenly shouted as they went. Everyone’s eyes went to him.

“I’m getting a strong reek of poison.”

“Poison reek?”

Old Man Gang echoed.

“It meant poison had been spread where they were headed,”

Old Man Gang answered for him.

“But not here yet. The animals were still moving. No poison here.”

“You could tell that just by watching the animals?”

“Here, yes. This place had always been full of venomous things, so the animals were sensitive to poison. If there was poison, they gave the area a wide berth. We had to go a little farther before we hit what had been dusted.”

“Then let’s keep going. Still, just in case, hold a dose of antidote in your mouths…”

Neung Je-gang said as each of them took out medicine and tucked it under the tongue. Neung Je-gang handed a pellet to Old Man Gang as well.

He himself didn’t bother. With the deadliest toxin in the world already dwelling in his body, he had no fear of being poisoned.

As Old Man Gang had said, the surroundings changed after they went a bit farther. All at once the titanic trees that blocked their view were gone. For the first time in a while the sky came into sight—white clouds floating lazily, a picturesque sight.

But Old Man Gang stopped dead. He refused to take another step.

“Why?”

“From here on. This was the Land of Death….”

“What?”

“No animals. Not even an ant. You go in there, you die.”

“We’ve got antidotes. What if we just dash across quickly?”

As a man confident with venoms, Bae Ji-sang stepped up—then peered into the stretch Old Man Gang had pointed out and fell silent.

“I can’t even tell what toxin this is. Lucky it wasn’t a vapor that killed by smell…”

If he knew the poison, he could counter it. If he didn’t, there was no guaranteeing an antidote would work.

Neung Je-gang stood beside Old Man Gang and stared at the tract that had been turned into a Land of Death. He sank into thought. Why had the Heavenly Poison Grove laid this down? Were the Miao inside? He couldn’t be sure.

‘What was the point of spreading poison here? Could you even call this a trap? If you didn’t enter, you were fine—unless someone drove you into it. …Wait. Drive us in?’

Neung Je-gang snapped upright. If poison closed the front, then a charge from behind would shove them straight into it.

“Everyone on guard. Something was out there.”

His warning cut into every ear—just as another shout rang from somewhere else.

“Strike!”

Before the party could properly ready themselves, black shapes burst from the forest on every side.

“Guh!”

“Wh-what the—!”

Their movement astonished: the instant they sprang out, they were already charging the front line, leveled spears flashing.

“They were Miao!”

Song Seok-jin yelped, though everyone could see it.

Now the reason for Old Man Gang’s advice about watching a Miao’s gait made sense. They moved like ghosts—fluid and fast, yet with no sound at all. The eight from the party were the noisy ones here.

If not for Neung Je-gang’s warning, they’d have been slaughtered to the last man. The Miao attack was that lethal.

A dozen killing auras crashed down.

“Ugh!”

Song Seok-jin clutched his side and fell back. With no time to prepare, blocking dozens of spears at once was impossible.

“You bastards!”

A saber aura that looked ready to cleave spears and bodies alike crashed down on the charging Miao. Jo Gwang-yeong had shoved Song Seok-jin aside and taken his place.

Maybe his aura was too fierce; the Miao seemed to hesitate.

Then another command rang from somewhere, and the Miao, putting death out of mind, rushed them again.

Only three met the charge with weapons: with Song Seok-jin hurt, Cheong Yeon, Bae Ji-sang, and Jo Gwang-yeong held the line.

Once they set their defense, the Miao couldn’t break through.

Seeing the party settle under the Miao assault, new figures appeared behind the tribesmen—men with black cloth masks over their faces.

Old Man Gang shouted something in the Miao tongue.

“Wooooh!”

At first the tribesmen didn’t seem to understand, but then, hearing Old Man Gang’s cry, they flung down their spears and scattered, howling. The masked men bellowed after them in the Miao tongue and hacked at the fleeing tribesmen, but the Miao didn’t come back.

“Damn it. No helping it. Attack.”

One of the masked men snapped.

They were nothing like the Miao. They didn’t move silently or quickly. But the pressure of their qi made you feel the Miao encirclement would have been the kinder fate.

‘Who were they? Too strong to be Heavenly Poison Grove.’

There was no time to work out the answer.

“Forward and fight.”

Go So-jeong said, drawing her twin short blades and striding up. The three already at the fore, plus Go So-jeong and Neung Je-gang, took the front.

Majil edged up and planted himself in front of Go So-jeong. In the rear, the wounded Song Seok-jin and Old Man Gang stood just shy of the poisoned boundary, waiting on the outcome.

A razor attack came for Neung Je-gang.

He drew the Heartless Sword and knocked it aside. The shock that ran through his hand told him at once—‘A master.’

Knowing it now didn’t change the situation; each masked shadow had its foe, and two were on Neung Je-gang, front and back.

Feeling the rear attacker’s charge, he dropped his torso.

Steel grazed the back of his head; hair flew. In the same beat he slid the Heartless Sword up on a slant.

The blade meant for his throat bounced away.

‘How were the others?’

While slipping the twin blades, he checked the field.

Majil and Go So-jeong were combining beautifully. The shadows on them couldn’t find a clean line through the sudden black curtain Majil raised to blind their view, and the angles Go So-jeong’s knives took were forcing those men on the defensive.

The others fared worse.

Bae Ji-sang got driven back by two shadows. They gave him no time to reach for hidden weapons; he and his poisons were being smothered.

Jo Gwang-yeong and Cheong Yeon only bought breathing room by throwing out saber- and sword-energy—and new shadows joined them, forcing them back once more.

Still, no one had been cut—another puzzle to Neung Je-gang.

‘They were herding us into the poison.’

The shadows showed no wish to kill; they only pressed.

More drifted to Majil and Go So-jeong. Though their teamwork worked, the shadows’ skill was no joke, and with numbers piling up, the pair had to give ground.

‘No more.’

A cool will settled into the Heartless Sword. Then—

“Wave Breaker.”

The same strike that had crushed Jo Gwang-yeong’s spirit in the annex yard in Guilin slammed into the two shadows on Neung Je-gang.

“Aaagh!”

In a duel he would rein it in; against men charging to kill, he owed no mercy.

“Senior brother—! Guhk!”

The rear man screamed the other’s honorific as he died—then the second, too, was sawn into bloody halves by sword-energy.

“You cur! Die!”

The ones hounding Majil and Go So-jeong lunged at Neung Je-gang.

Their killing intent spiked. The plan to drive prey into poison had died with their comrades; now they meant to butcher.

A wet rip.

Neung Je-gang cut into them first—and fixed on the man who’d thrown the first hidden blade at him. That one wore a black mask too; beside him stood an old man whose look made it hard to tell if he was Miao.

“You were Secret Shadow?”

The masked man asked.

“I was.”

Neung Je-gang said.

“If you stepped into that, I wouldn’t kill you myself.”

He pointed his short throwing-sword at the Land of Death.

“And if I refused?”

“Then you died here.”

“Try it.”

Neung Je-gang raised the Heartless Sword before his face.

“Ha ha ha! A little name and you forgot how high the sky was.”

“If you know, teach me!”

Neung Je-gang kicked off the ground and sprang for him.

“You brat!”

The man poured qi into his short sword and cast it—the throw that had ruled his roaming of the martial world for decades. Only a bare handful had ever evaded it, and never a stripling like this.

A grin spread over his face. He saw the blade bury itself in the boy’s brow. In the next instant the boy would crumple, blood fountaining.

Except—

A pop.

The figure in front of the flying blade vanished—as if blinked out of the air.

The man’s eyes went glassy with confusion—then pain, shock, terror, dread.

“Aaagh!”

Like a kite with its string cut, he flew and slammed into the earth.

Thud.

His chest lay split. Blood burst out like a fountain.

He who’d sneered that Neung Je-gang didn’t know how high the sky was, died on his back staring at it.

“H-how…?”

The old man—the one who might or might not have been Miao—gasped.

Neung Je-gang’s gaze fell on him.

“Who are you?”

“I—I…!”

He didn’t answer. He inched for the trees—trying to bolt.

“Move and you die.”

“Hup—!”

He froze. Neung Je-gang flicked out a gust that sealed his thigh channels and mute-point.

“Think real hard about what you were going to spill about those masked men.”

Neung Je-gang said, then turned to the others.

Maybe the death of their head did it; the shadows’ edge dulled. One lay down from Bae Ji-sang’s hidden weapon.

When Neung Je-gang looked ready to join the fighting, the shadows shifted to defense and backed off.

That eased the party. Go So-jeong in particular, who’d been fending desperately, teetered as the pressure lifted.

Majil had burned so much qi throwing up those dirt-walls that he couldn’t even think about chasing.

Then it happened. A shadow near the trees—perhaps too angry to leave with nothing—snatched up a Miao spear and hurled it at the sagging Go So-jeong.

“Ah!”

She dodged, but the spear slit her left shoulder and blood sprang. The wound wasn’t mortal—but she’d bled, and that was what mattered.

“Die!”

Majil roared.

Go So-jeong’s blood drove him mad.

Rage sometimes dug up strength you didn’t know you had. It did now. The fireball forming in his hands was big enough for a man to step into. It shot into the trees where the shadow had fled.

“No!”

“Stop!”

Neung Je-gang and Jo Gwang-yeong shouted as if coughing blood, but it was no use.

The fireball smashed into a tree and burst.

Even green timber caught at once. Grasses around the party flared and the fire rolled toward them.

“Damn it!”

Neung Je-gang hurried to Old Man Gang and hauled him onto his back. There was no other way to live.

Better to step into the poisoned Land of Death than to stay for Majil’s hellfire.

Only after the flames bloomed did Majil see what he’d done. He had no strength to act; he’d poured everything into that blaze.

Shadows who hadn’t fled in time flailed in panic. They knew stepping into the poison was their only chance—but death waited there all the same. They died instead under Jo Gwang-yeong’s and Cheong Yeon’s blades, cut down in their dithering.

The old man whose channels and mute-point Neung Je-gang had struck burned alive where he lay. Any hope of learning who the shadows were went up in flames.

Jo Gwang-yeong ran to Go So-jeong and slung her over his back. Cheong Yeon hurried to the spent Majil and took him up. Majil flinched, but if he didn’t want to die in his own fire, he couldn’t protest.

They came to Neung Je-gang’s side.

Neung Je-gang pulled a waterskin off a donkey’s pack.

“Let’s take antidote now and go in. Whatever was inside, it beat that fire.”

Nods.

They all thought the same. Knowing Majil’s flames wouldn’t go out without water, Jo Gwang-yeong nodded again and again.

They each grabbed a waterskin. Even those being carried took one, plus whatever food they could hold.

Neung Je-gang moved to step into the Land of Death at the head—when Bae Ji-sang spoke up.

“Wait. Let’s fire this strip first. Then at least the poison wouldn’t get us.”

“If we lit this, wouldn’t we be trapped between blazes?”

“If we burned this patch before the forest fire reached it, we’d be safe from both poison and flame. Charred ground didn’t reignite.”

It made sense.

“Let’s do it. The wildfire won’t be on us for a bit.”

He had no wish to lead them into the poison when he couldn’t promise their lives.

They pulled out tinder and steel.

“Stand back.”

Majil said. Feeling the weight of what he’d done, he gathered what little qi he had left and rolled two fireballs fore and aft.

Flames leapt from the tracks they made, and the party stepped aside in their wake. The two bands met and burned in a bright curl—then, with nothing left to eat, guttered out.

They hurried into the blackened strip.

This patch wasn’t forest but low grasses; it burned through quickly. The jungle behind them would burn for who knew how long.

Majil sat and sank into breathing-cultivation. Go So-jeong did the same.

Smoke choked Old Man Gang, so Neung Je-gang set a qi-barrier to keep it off. The old man stared, round-eyed—he’d had no idea the young man could do that.

Neung Je-gang gave him a warm smile. He felt guilty; at his urging, the old man was here in the Aenoe Mountains at all.