Chương 391: Chapter 362. A Bloody Battle 2

The arrow changed direction. Youngwoo had not knocked it straight back. He had not struck it away with force. He had only twisted its path slightly. Yet the arrow buried itself in the neck of an archer aiming from the opposite side. The man toppled before he could even release his bowstring. Blood spread across the snow. Youngwoo adjusted his grip on the spear shaft. He had not aimed precisely. Nor did he have enough leisure for that.

He merely watched the line of the incoming arrow and decided roughly which way to guide it. Then the arrow seemed to understand his intention and followed. The spear shaft was no shield. But when the grain of the round wood, the angle of his wrist, and the speed of the incoming arrow aligned, the path of death changed. An enemy's arrow turned back toward the enemy. The archers who saw it stiffened. Their belief that an arrow, once loosed, would strike its target began to waver.

It was frightening enough for a shot to miss. It was something entirely different to see that same arrow return into the throat or chest of a comrade. Youngwoo saw their hesitation. He spun the spear low once. The hook beneath the spearhead flashed through the falling snow.

"Shoot again!" The command rang out sharply, but the archers paused with their strings drawn. That brief hesitation was enough for Youngwoo. He stepped forward hard with his left foot. The spear shaft swept in a wide arc over his shoulder. One man retreating before him hurriedly raised his sword, but the pointed spearhead rode over the back of the blade and punched into the side of his neck. Youngwoo pressed the spear downward, caught with the hook, and yanked hard.

The man's body lurched forward and his knees buckled first. Blood burst between the fingers clutching his throat, and he fell face-first into the snow. Two men immediately spread apart on his right. Youngwoo did not chase them. He extended the spear fully. It looked like a thrust, but at the last moment he rolled his wrist, turning the hook beneath the spearhead sideways. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. The hook caught the leading man at the elbow.

Youngwoo twisted his waist and pulled. The man's upper body bent like a bow. The spearhead came back through the opening. Its sharpened edge skimmed across the man's throat. The cut was not wide, but it struck a vital place. The man clutched his neck with both hands and sank backward. The second tried to escape while Youngwoo was occupied. Youngwoo did not shorten the spear. Instead, he took one larger step and swung the weapon in a broad circle. The long shaft traced a huge arc over the courtyard.

The spearhead passed low like a hwando, then rose sharply at the last instant. It opened beneath the fleeing man's jaw. His body snapped backward. Blood scattered across the snow before he could even cry out. Ahead, a spearman trusted in his reach and thrust. Youngwoo raised his own shaft and forced the spear outward. Wood struck wood with a dull knock. He carried that pushing force through and brought his own spearhead down from above.

The man released his spear and tried to retreat, but the hook caught between the shoulder strap and collarbone. Youngwoo lowered his body and pulled. The man pitched forward. Youngwoo's knee and the butt of the spear met him as he fell. His body folded as though his breath had been severed and collapsed. An archer behind him raised his bow again. Without turning fully, Youngwoo swung the spear shaft behind his back. The long weapon passed over his head in a half-moon arc.

The hook beneath the spearhead struck through the wrist holding the bow. Bow and hand dropped together. Youngwoo did not stop the rotation. He turned once more. This time the spearhead raked diagonally across the man's chest. The man looked first at the hand that had released the bow, then at the blood opening across his chest. He collapsed where he stood. Youngwoo's stride grew wider. Stepping hard forward, back, left, and right while wielding the long weapon, he made the courtyard feel small in an instant.

Those who retreated still found the spearhead reaching them. Those who slipped sideways found the hook following. A long spear was meant to thrust. In Youngwoo's hands, it became a blade that cut, struck, hooked, and dragged. There was no safe distance left anywhere in the snowy courtyard. By now, almost everyone who had entered the detached courtyard had fallen. Thirty or forty men lay tangled across the snow. The living groaned. The dead cooled quietly beneath the falling flakes.

But men still remained behind the walls. Archers stood in rows. They did not enter the courtyard. They remained under the cover of walls and darkened halls, waiting for the command.

"Loose!" Bowstrings sounded together. The archers had surrounded the detached residence from within the estate itself. The courtyard was broad, but fallen bodies already covered much of the ground. And beyond them, just as many archers had formed another ring. Short bows. Long swords. Long spears. And now longbows. Pressure at close range. Thrusts at middle range. Arrows from afar. This was a hunt properly designed to kill a single master. So many men were moving inside the estate.

And yet the main house remained silent. No shouting. No servants running toward the noise. No hurried lamps being lit. What was this? Just before the arrows arrived on a flat trajectory, Youngwoo launched himself into the air. His toes pressed into the snow. The next moment, his body lifted lightly upward. The arrows pierced the space where he had stood. Thud-thud-thud-thud. They passed through empty air and struck the ground, the corpses, and the wounded.

Men from their own side who were still alive screamed as the arrows drove into them. The shafts had already left the strings. Orders could no longer call them back. Youngwoo rose more than ten jang into the air. Snow brushed across his face. From above, he looked down. The ring around the detached residence. The archers behind the walls. And the strangely silent direction of the main house. He stopped thinking. He turned his body and dropped toward the main residence.

The main courtyard was enclosed by buildings in the style of the Central Plains. Corridors, columns, low walls, and tiled eaves linked together around the inner space. There were people there. Go Hoewon. Go Youngchang. Okjeong stood with them. And around them were more than a dozen warriors, all watching the situation at the detached residence with close attention. These were not the faces of people rushing to help. They stood rigidly, like people watching the end of a hunt from a distance.

Youngwoo landed on the roof of the main hall. The roof tiles gave a short clatter, and snow burst outward. He stood tall at the edge of the roof and looked down. A bloodstained long spear remained in his hand. Snow and blood marked his clothes together.

"Was this truly your will, sir?" His voice was not loud. Yet it pressed down over the entire courtyard.

"This ambush on me?" Everyone below turned in shock. The blood drained from Go Hoewon's face. Go Youngchang's hand went instinctively to the hilt at his waist— then stopped. That single brief motion revealed one side of his heart.