231.
The Assault on Goryeo-gu of Baeksan白山* — The End of the Three Remnants
*Baeksan: The Baeksan Malgal (白山靺鞨) were one of the seven Malgal tribes. They lived mainly around Mount Baekdu (Baeksan) and had once been subject to Goguryeo. This was the land they inhabited.
Evening was settling in.
Over the snow-covered plain, a blood-red sunset spread.
Baeksan Goryeo-gu.
It was the last place where Itak, Yerek, and Bayanbuga gathered.
There was not a single light on the open field.
Inside a heavily draped tent, weakened voices tangled low and close.
"This time, we must succeed."
Itak's voice was dry.
"If we don't crush him, there is no revival."
Yerek laughed.
"Park Seongjin."
"Cut off his breath, and the flow returns."
Bayanbuga lifted his head.
"The woman of Liaodong said it."
"That this time, it must end."
Failures had piled up, yet they did not stop.
There was money, and there were hands watching their backs.
Then it happened.
A wind brushed past outside the tent.
— crunch.
— crunch.
— crunch.
The sound of footsteps crushing snow rang out from all directions at once.
Itak rose.
"What was that?"
Instead of an answer, torches flared along the ridgelines.
Red fire spread across the snowy night.
From within that light, black shadows descended.
Mountain fighters.
At the center, Park Seongjin gave the signal.
"Split into two."
"I'll take Itak."
Arrows poured down.
In that instant, the encirclement closed.
Yerek's men tried to flee, but every path was blocked.
"Attack."
The warrior band plunged in.
The mountain fighters' blades flashed.
Short screams followed.
Bodies collapsed onto the snow.
The tent tore apart as if ripped open.
Itak tried to leap onto his horse.
"Do you know who we—"
The words never finished.
Park Seongjin's blade passed once, and Itak's head rolled across the snow.
Yerek never released his sword to the end.
Song Isul's long blade cut across his waist and stopped him.
Bayanbuga tried to escape, but an arrow struck him down.
The flames died away.
On the plain of Baeksan, blood and snow mixed together.
They did not chase those who fled.
Park Seongjin sheathed his sword.
"It's over."
Song Isul bowed his head.
"So empty."
Faint starlight rose in the approaching dawn.
Breath froze white in the air.
The fire went out, and snow began to fall again.
The living and the dead were covered in the same white light.
Park Seongjin planted his sword into the ground.
He did not count how long they had fought.
The battle was over, yet his heart felt hollow.
Song Isul brushed aside snow stained with blood.
Beneath it lay traces of an altar reduced to black ash.
"Is it finished?"
"No. The origin point remains."
"The shaman and Itak are gone."
"Gi Cheol hasn't moved. He's in Beijing now.
As long as he doesn't fall, it won't end."
Park Seongjin said nothing.
"Then what should we do?"
"Do nothing."
"Power extinguishes itself."
"For now, we watch the flow."
Park Seongjin nodded.
His hand still gripped the sword.
From the tip of the blade, white steam slowly rose.