Battle On The Water (3)

Thud-thud-thump!

Majil tumbled across the deck.

“Uuugh!”

Elsewhere, Bae Ji-sang dry-heaved over the rail.

Any boat leaving the southern rim bucked hard until it passed Yizhou. High country meant many gorges and frequent rapids.

Once past Yizhou, though, the land flattened, the gorges vanished, and the run down to Liuzhou stayed calm.

“Boss!”

Majil rubbed a banged knee and called to Neung Je-gang.

“What is it?”

“What if they block us on the river?”

A fair worry. No law said only their side could board boats.

But here, as they could see, such worries were better saved for after Yizhou. This stretch was so rough even river bandits avoided it. Anyone who tried to fight a naval skirmish here would be an idiot.

“They’ll block us—after Yizhou.”

“Huh? You want them to?”

“If you were hunting us, wouldn’t you choose a river—no place to run?”

“Then… why are we on a boat? Boss, are we getting off at Yizhou instead of riding to Liuzhou?”

Neung nodded.

“We’ll disembark and board again. We also need to buy something.”

“What?”

“Bows.”

“Bows? Why?”

“If you fight from a boat, you need bows.”

“So you really plan to fight on the water. But… can you even shoot?”

Many martial artists never touched the bow. Archery took years to ripen, and among movement-skill experts, it often seemed pointless.

Yet on the water, bows still ruled. You didn’t ram hulls unless you wanted both boats to sink; first you raked the enemy from range, then closed and hacked. River brigands had perfected that rhythm.

“Where I grew up, everyone learned the basics.”

“‘There’… ah, there. Then that guy can shoot too?”

Majil glanced at Cheong Yeon.

Cheong sat unmoving despite the lurching, lost in thought. Jo Gwang-yeong matched him pose for pose—the two of them silently competing. Meanwhile, Bae Ji-sang, having emptied his stomach, clung to the gunwale hunting for anything left.

“Uuugh— Are we really fighting a naval battle?”

Even green at the gills, he’d heard.

“Then my moment to shine is coming.”

He wiped his mouth with a sleeve.

“Shine?”

Majil echoed.

“Throwing weapons are middling in forests, but on a boat they’re different. With nothing to block them, projectiles are king over water. Which means… Lord Ma, you’re kind of useless afloat, aren’t you?”

He knew Majil fought with fire.

“Come off it. I’m the strongest one on a boat.”

“Want to wager? Who drops more?”

Rumble… hiss hiss hiss…

And just like that, a new rivalry flared.

Time passed; they ate at Yizhou and stopped by a forge.

“Welcome. What can I get you?”

Here, the smith and the seller were different men. The seller seemed to be the proprietor.

“Is this all you stock? Nothing else?”

Everything on display was farm tools or boat gear—nothing that passed for a weapon.

The shopkeeper startled, then scurried well away from the forge and beckoned the party with a furtive wave.

“What’s this?”

He could have just said “we don’t carry weapons,” but this smelled like they did—just not out front.

Neung smiled and followed.

“Why the hush?”

“Apologies. Our smith refuses to touch weapons—won’t sell them either. So we keep those elsewhere.”

“Then why employ him? Why not let him go?”

Bae Ji-sang asked, genuinely curious.

“Because his craft is the best. Every farmer and fisherman for leagues is our regular.”

“Strange. The pieces on display looked… ordinary.”

“Display? Sir, we don’t have time to display. His work is all pre-ordered. We ship it the moment it’s done.”

“Ho—that good? I’d love to see his hand.”

Tang-sect folk were born smiths; Bae Ji-sang had that blood, even if he’d left the clan. Especially with small, intricate work, Tang stood among the Four Great Workshops under Heaven.

“We’re here. I hope something suits you…”

“Then the stuff out front—where do you buy it?”

“I make runs to Guilin now and then. Folks complain if we say we only have farm tools.”

Inside the back room, the stock didn’t look like the odd haul from Guilin. The types were many, the quantities large.

No matter. The party needed what they needed.

Without Neung’s prompting, they began to pick. Bae Ji-sang shouldered enough throwing gear to fill a sack; Go So-jeong raked up daggers by the fistful.

Neung studied the bows on the wall—disappointed. Good bows required proper storage, and this wasn’t it.

Still, beggars, choosers.

He bought three serviceable bows—one each for Cheong Yeon, Jo Gwang-yeong, and himself—and took every arrow in the place.

Then he raided the blades and darts, scooping up a good armful—on boats, such things were handy.

Only Majil carried nothing. There wasn’t much he could use. In the end he’d just haul whatever arrows Neung thrust at him.

Back aboard, sailors eyed the bundles with puzzlement but saw nothing to fear; the party had wrapped them well.

They stowed the lot in the cabin and waited. The boat shoved off again. Half a day more, and they would reach Liuzhou.

“Boats!”

Midway between Yizhou and Liuzhou, a bow lookout shouted.

Boats running downstream kept a keen eye on those below them; a blink was all it took to collide.

“Drop anchor and furl the sail.”

Neung, having prepped the captain for this, spoke flatly. The captain sensed something was off.

“Don’t worry. There’ll be a fight, but no danger.”

“W-what do you mean…?”

“We have cannons. Terrifying ones.”

Neung had chosen the river in part because he trusted Majil. A living cannon—unlike iron guns, his didn’t just make noise and miss. With throwing-art training, his accuracy was all but perfect.

At the cry of “Boats,” everyone went forward. Their eyes were far better than the crew’s.

“River bandits?”

“Doesn’t look like it. I see a cargo junk and even fishing boats.”

From up the mast, Go So-jeong called down her readout.

“Then it’s definitely Yang Wi-ryeong’s lot. Looks like he pressed everything that floats.”

“Boss, they’re closing.”

“When they’re near enough, lob a fire-orb at each, one by one, Majil. We’ll handle the rest. Just make sure no boat gets within twenty jang.”

“What if they have bows?”

Jo Gwang-yeong asked, awkward with the new weapon.

“They probably don’t. If they do, not many. If they shoot and we jump into the water and bolt, they’re in a bind.”

“They’re coming in.”

Go So-jeong slid down from the mast.

Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk—

She knifed those shop daggers into the rail all along the side for quick draws.

Cheong Yeon nocked and drew. Beside him, Jo watched and copied.

In a rush Cheong taught him the basic archery form. The basics alone were enough to shoot; hitting was another matter.

Bae Ji-sang dragged a sack to the side and dumped it—an avalanche of steel. Calmly, he sorted them by kind; when jumbled you couldn’t tell, but there were twelve distinct types.

Neung sat cross-legged on deck, contemplating a technique. In the Golden Thunder Lodge he had seen a stone tablet oddly devoted to archery.

Its name: Demon Bow—Roaming Array.

He didn’t know its era or power. Because it used the bow, he’d shelved it in his mind.

But as a bow-fight loomed, the memory surfaced. He chanted the formulas and unpacked them in his head.

“Take this!”

Majil formed a fire-orb the size of a man’s head and hurled it at the nearest boat. Someone on that deck swung a weapon to bat it aside—

FOOM—

“Aaagh!”

The orb burst against the blade, splashing fire in all directions. The swatter and the loungers behind him went up screaming. In a breath, the boat became a pit of hungry flame.

“Haha! Well? Still think I’m useless?”

Majil tossed one orb and, chest out, shouted at Bae Ji-sang.

“Hmph. No one’s dead.”

Majil’s face fell.

True—no corpses yet. The boat burned, but the crew had all jumped into the river.

“Damn. If I’d known sooner, we could’ve fought more efficiently…”

Demon Bow—Roaming Array wasn’t mere archery. It taught how to load qi into arrows, even how to craft bursting shafts. If he’d reviewed it earlier, this fight would be simpler.

Even so, a smile tugged at Neung’s lips. The formulas he’d unpacked in that short meditation would still help.

Majil soon tired. He had no idea how many orbs he’d thrown, but the enemy kept driving in more boats, large and small, and he wouldn’t lose to Bae Ji-sang—so he’d burned himself out in a burst.

That rivalry, in the end, hurt the party’s position.

“Majil.”

“Yes, Boss!”

“Go below and cultivate. I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes.”

Majil shot Bae a glare and ducked into the cabin.

Neung climbed to the command dais above the cabin—the captain’s lookout. The view was best from there.

He rose straight and still. With the fire-orbs ceased, the enemy boats surged in.

Neung strung a bow—the springiest of the lot.

He nocked an arrow and drew. So far, it was no different from the basic archery he’d learned at Golden Imperial Martial Lodge.

Wuuung…

Then the oddest thing—his arrow began to hum, like the blade-resonance Jo Gwang-yeong had summoned earlier.

Snap!

His fingers eased; the taut string thrummed; the humming shaft leapt free.