Chapter 359. Come Out!
Youngwoo was about to check the assassin's face when he realized that was not the end of it.
Around the broad courtyard of the detached residence, beneath walls high enough to hide a man's approach, more than a dozen figures stood motionless.
They had not been there a moment ago.
Standing in the middle of the courtyard, Youngwoo barked a short command.
"Come out!"
Perhaps the accumulating snow had revealed their outlines in the darkness.
Or perhaps they had only now chosen to show themselves.
As if answering him, the dozen or more men stepped forward almost at the same time.
Only one step each.
Yet because they advanced from every direction at the same pace, the pressure was considerable.
The snow-covered courtyard seemed to shrink, while the eaves and walls of the detached residence appeared to recede.
Then Youngwoo noticed something strange.
Each man held a small bow in his left hand.
They looked similar to the one Okjeong used.
There was nothing impossible about several weapons sharing a similar form.
But Youngwoo immediately rejected that thought.
Okjeong had said she made her bow herself.
The way she said it had made it sound like a singular weapon crafted specifically for her own use.
Yet here were more of them.
They fired shafts even shorter than ordinary short arrows, and they could loose them in rapid succession.
These were not ornaments.
Nor were they hunting bows.
They were weapons made to kill people at close range.
Youngwoo clicked his tongue.
He glanced around the courtyard for anything he could use as a shield.
But there was nothing except bodies, the torn quilt, scattered cotton, and blood staining the snow.
Of course there was no shield.
Among the personal equipment he had handed over when entering the estate had been a small cavalry shield.
He remembered taking it off before coming to the detached residence, stripping away his outer equipment as the others did.
Where had he left it?
Why had he not brought it into the room with him?
Regret was useless now.
Youngwoo raised his hwando vertically in front of him.
The spine of the blade stood almost before his nose, and he drew his left foot half a step back.
One sword could not stop every arrow.
But the shafts were short.
The distance was close.
And if they intended to fire together, there was still a way through.
The dozen men spread out into a loose circle.
Their left arms rose and pointed toward Youngwoo.
Their movements were practiced.
These were not men imitating Okjeong's bow.
They had trained specifically to use this weapon.
Youngwoo's gaze turned cold.
The first shaft flew.
The sound was faint.
He almost sensed it slicing through the snow before he heard the bowstring snap.
Youngwoo's blade flashed.
The short shaft struck the flat of the sword and glanced away into the snow.
The second and third followed immediately.
Youngwoo barely moved from where he stood.
Keeping the sword upright, he changed only the angle of his wrist and elbow, turning aside the paths of the incoming shafts.
Ping.
Tik.
Tak.
Small sounds snapped through the falling snow.
Short shafts struck the blade and scattered.
Several brushed the edge of his cloak.
One passed beside his shoulder and buried itself in a pillar of the detached residence.
Only then did Youngwoo step half a pace forward.
If he did nothing but defend, he would die.
He had to close the distance.
His foot drove into the snow and launched him forward.
His toes dug low into the slippery courtyard.
The instant the nearest man set a second shaft to the string, Youngwoo drove diagonally into him.
The blade dropped in a short cut.
Bow and hand split together.
A scream burst out.
Youngwoo turned before the sound was finished.
The man beside him hastily raised his bow and fired, but Youngwoo seized the wounded archer and dragged him in front.
Several short shafts buried themselves in the man's back.
His eyes widened in disbelief as he realized he had been struck by his own comrades' arrows.
The circle around Youngwoo wavered.
Footprints tangled across the snow.
Youngwoo drove into that hesitation.
Short cuts.
Closing steps.
Turns of the body.
Wrists and necks severed at close range.
While two men fell, the others retreated and nocked fresh shafts.
They were trained men.
Youngwoo's mouth hardened.
The snow kept falling.
One by one, red lines multiplied across the white courtyard.
The estate was quiet beneath the winter night, but this detached courtyard was overflowing with men trying to kill him.
Why had no one else come out?
Were the people who had spoken to him so warmly part of this too?
Or had they already been taken out by these men?
No.
There had been no sound.
It was more likely that they were all in on it.
A sigh escaped him.
Then the swordsmen came.
The narrow gate leading into the detached courtyard opened again, and another dozen men pushed through.
While the archers kept Youngwoo surrounded in a circle, these men crossed the threshold carrying long swords.
Youngwoo still had the body of one archer held before him to block the short shafts.
The dead man was heavy and slippery.
Each time another arrow struck his back or shoulder, the corpse jerked.
Using it like a shield, Youngwoo advanced and cut down the nearest archer at close range.