Blood got into his eye.
Thick blood seeped down between the torn skin on his forehead, ran along his left eyelid, and dyed his entire field of vision an unpleasant red. The poleaxe wielder did not wipe his eye with the back of his hand. He knew all too well that the instant he took his hand off the poleaxe's shaft, death would be the only thing waiting for him.
It was a narrow passageway. A ravine blocked on both sides by solid, sheer rock walls, so narrow that the shoulders of four adults standing side by side would touch. Seven men had volunteered to remain in that hellish passageway and buy their unit enough time to retreat safely. Now, only three of them were still standing.
"Axe! They're pushing in again!"
A blood-soaked soldier on the left shouted until his throat nearly tore apart. He did not know the man's name. They had spent months rolling through the mud together in the same Silla unit, yet he had never learned it. No one was heartless enough to ask a soldier of slave birth his name, and the poleaxe wielder himself had never asked anyone for theirs. They were all lives that could end at any moment on the battlefield, after all.
Goguryeo infantry gathered into a dark mass at the mouth of the passageway once more. A dozen or so. Because the rocky path was so narrow, they could not pour in all at once, creating a bottleneck. That alone was the only advantage left to the men holding this position.
The poleaxe wielder let out a heavy breath and reset his weighty custom poleaxe. The end of its shaft scraped against the rough rock wall with an unpleasant rasp. People often said that long-handled polearms were at a severe disadvantage in places this cramped. They were not entirely wrong. But the poleaxe in his hands was a specialized weapon capable of chaining together all three attacks: cutting, thrusting, and hook-pulling. Even if he used only the thrusting motion fluidly in this narrow passageway, its reach was far greater than an ordinary spear's.
The lead Goguryeo soldier charged in with a heavy shield raised before him. The poleaxe wielder drove the sharp thrusting blade at the end of his weapon viciously through the gap above the shield.
Crack!
The steel blade sank deep into the collarbone and shoulder muscles behind the shield. A tearing scream echoed through the entire mountain. The poleaxe wielder hooked the falling enemy's body with the curved part of the axe blade and knocked it aside. The foot of the Goguryeo soldier behind him caught on the fallen corpse, sending him stumbling. The poleaxe wielder did not miss that tiny opening and drove his weapon deep into the man's nape.
He repeated the sequence without pause for half an hour: thrust, cut, drive down, and hook-pull. The dirt underfoot was already soaked with blood, and the breathing of the Silla soldiers holding the line with him grew more and more exhausted before fading out one by one.
Whoosh!
One of the soldiers guarding his side collapsed to the ground with a sharp scream. A Goguryeo spear had pierced straight through his throat. Now the only Silla soldier left in the ravine was the poleaxe wielder himself.
"...Fall back."
The poleaxe wielder finally spoke in a low, heavy voice. He was addressing the last soldier trembling behind him.
"What... what did you say?"
"Rejoin the main force. I'll hold them here to the end."
"You madman, how are you supposed to hold this place alone...?"
"The passageway is narrow. I can do it. Go, now."
The poleaxe wielder stepped forward without hesitation. His massive frame, six feet three inches tall, and his broad shoulders filled more than half the rocky passageway. Then he raised the heavy poleaxe at an angle, completely blocking the remaining half as well. There was not even room for an ant to pass.
The remaining soldier stared helplessly at the blood-soaked back of the poleaxe wielder, then turned away, tears spilling from his eyes, and retreated. His footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
Now he was completely alone.
The Goguryeo soldiers came surging in again with another roar. The poleaxe wielder thrust by instinct. Cut. Hook-pulled. Whenever fallen enemies piled up in layers across the passageway, he kicked them away with all his strength. The heap of corpses became another obstacle, slowing the enemy's advance even further.
His arms gradually sagged. The poleaxe clenched in his hands felt a thousand pounds heavier than it had at the beginning. The blade that had grazed his forehead earlier must have cut deeper than he thought; blood continued to run down around his eye. He had long since given up on his left eye. Relying on his right alone, he read the cold spearpoints and movements of the enemy.
His sense of time had grown hazy, and he no longer knew how long he had held out. The sun was sinking slowly beyond the mountain. When the Goguryeo corpses piled up before the passageway surpassed a dozen, the enemy soldiers pressing forward hesitated and fell back.
But it was not over.
Behind the soldiers splitting to either side, a man slowly stepped forward whose armor was clearly of an entirely different quality. The fierce eyes visible beneath his helmet swept unpleasantly over the poleaxe wielder's bloodied body. He was a commander. His steps were seasoned and heavy, the kind possessed only by a martial warrior who had crossed the line between life and death hundreds of times.
"Soldier of Seorabeol."
The commander stopped and spoke. His low, distinct voice rang through the ravine.
"Your unit must already have withdrawn far beyond the mountain. You have no reason to keep throwing your life away here."
The poleaxe wielder did not answer. He merely clenched his teeth and adjusted his grip on the poleaxe. Blood and sweat slick with his palm made the shaft nearly slip from his hand.
The Goguryeo commander stepped forward. The poleaxe wielder launched a thrust without delay. But the commander's hand moved in an instant and struck the side of the poleaxe's shaft with a sharp tap. The thrust's trajectory veered wildly into empty air. He was horrifyingly fast. When the poleaxe wielder gritted his teeth and spun the axe blade into a cut, the commander had already slipped half a step backward.
"An excellent choice of weapon. This is the first time I've seen anyone handle a polearm at this level in such a narrow passageway."
The poleaxe wielder thrust again. The Goguryeo commander angled his sword and diverted the attack in a strange, flowing motion. The heavy weight of the poleaxe slid over the sword's edge and scraped harshly against the rock wall.
Screech!
Sharp sparks coldly embroidered the night sky.
Immediately afterward, the Goguryeo commander's sword swept swiftly past the poleaxe wielder's side. It glanced off his lamellar armor, but the impact still hammered his ribs. Enduring the pain, the poleaxe wielder slammed the butt of the shaft into the commander's solar plexus. The commander flinched and was driven back a step. It was the first time that unshakable man had been forced backward.
"Huh."
The commander let out a quiet laugh. It was not mockery, but genuine admiration.
The memories that followed were broken into fragments. The Goguryeo commander's sword grew faster and faster, until it was nearly invisible, while the poleaxe wielder's utterly exhausted weapon became heavier and slower. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of his knees buckling weakly against the ground and the hollow moment when the poleaxe slipped from his hands.
When he opened his eyes, an unfamiliar ceiling came into view. It was a tent. The smell brushing his nose was unmistakably that of a Goguryeo military camp: leather, oil, and deeply ingrained iron.
He tried to sit up, but every muscle and bone in his body screamed. Yet the gash on his forehead had been neatly sutured, and clean cloth had been carefully wrapped around his side. Someone had personally tended to his wounds with great care.
"You're awake."
The Goguryeo commander was sitting inside the tent. He had removed his armor and was dressed comfortably. His aristocratic birth showed in his even features and natural air of dignity. He held a cup of liquor in one hand.
"Your unit has already gotten far away. I didn't send anyone after them, so most of them are probably still alive. That's entirely thanks to you."
The poleaxe wielder said nothing. The commander slowly set down his cup and asked,
"What is your name?"
"...I have none."
"None?"
"They simply call me poleaxe wielder. It means I'm a man who swings an axe around."
"I can guess why. That's what they called you on our side, after all."
The commander studied the poleaxe wielder silently for a moment. Some complicated emotion passed through his deep eyes. It was not mere pity.
"Were you born a slave?"
The poleaxe wielder did not answer. He had no need to. The fact that he had no name already proved everything.
"Come serve under me."
The commander spoke calmly. It was neither an order nor pressure, but a sincere offer from one martial warrior to another.
"A warrior like you has no reason to die like a dog on Silla's cold passageways without ever even earning a name. If you come under me, I'll give you a proper name and an official post. I'll give you a position worthy of your strength and spirit."
The poleaxe wielder stared straight at the commander. The man was sincere. The very person who had swung a sword at him with the intent to kill him on the battlefield not long ago now genuinely wanted to take him in as a Goguryeo warrior.
No one in the Silla army had ever said anything like that to him.
That sad truth stabbed like a thorn into the deepest part of his chest. The profound recognition offered by an enemy commander was a warmth he had never received from anyone on his own side.
"...Thank you."
The poleaxe wielder finally spoke in a low voice.
"But I can't accept."
The commander's eyes narrowed.
"I want to know why."
"There is no reason. I simply cannot do it."
The commander gazed at the poleaxe wielder for a long time. Then he slowly nodded.
"Then I can't let you live. A precious blade I cannot possess must ultimately be broken."
The commander rose from his seat. The poleaxe wielder also forced himself to stand, gritting his teeth. Every part of his body creaked and screamed, but he could at least remain upright. His custom poleaxe stood neatly in one corner of the tent. The commander indicated it with a glance.
"I'll return your weapon. It is the final courtesy owed to a martial warrior."
The poleaxe wielder gripped the poleaxe's shaft. The instant his fingertips touched the cold iron, the violent trembling in his arm stopped as if it had never existed.
The commander drew his sword.
At that moment, the poleaxe wielder ripped through the tent cloth with a savage sweep of his poleaxe and burst outside. He could not defeat that commander in a fight with his body in such a ruined state. The commander immediately gave chase, and Goguryeo soldiers came rushing after him, shouting. The poleaxe wielder ran without delay, into the pitch-black darkness, toward the depths of Seoraksan.
Seoraksan at midnight was no place for humans.
Moonlight shattered as it fell through the dense branches. The poleaxe wielder made his way deep into the mountains, practically crawling up the slope. The torchlight flashing behind him pursued relentlessly, but as the mountain grew deeper and more desolate, the number of torches rapidly dwindled. Even the Goguryeo soldiers seemed terrified of venturing so deeply into the unfamiliar mountain at night.
When the torchlight vanished completely, the poleaxe wielder sat with his back against an ancient tree and dragged in ragged breaths. The wound at his side must have split open again; lukewarm blood trickled down his thigh.
Just then, a chilling sound struck his ears.
Grrrrr...
A low, heavy growl. It belonged to a beast. But there was more than one. Two, three... countless beings were closing in from the darkness all around him.
Tigers.
Yellow eyes rose one by one in the pitch-black darkness. Three, five... they completely surrounded the poleaxe wielder and steadily tightened the ring around him.
The poleaxe wielder reset his grip on the weapon. He had lost too much blood, and his hands trembled violently. But he could still stand.
The first tiger lunged ferociously. It was no ordinary beast in size. Turning his body, the poleaxe wielder brought the poleaxe down hard. It sank deep into the tiger's shoulder. With a roar like a scream, he pulled the blade free and staggered aside. A second tiger immediately pounced. It was even larger. The poleaxe wielder slammed the butt of the shaft into its jaw. Though it was knocked back, the beasts came at him again without pause.
It was strange. The farther back they came, the stronger the tigers grew. The first had been nothing more than a huge predator, but the ones that followed moved on an entirely different level. Their movements were not governed by simple animal instinct. They seemed organic and coordinated, as though guided and controlled by some exalted being.
The air all around him changed strangely. A sacred, eerie scent enveloping the entire mountain grew thick. Even the wind circling through the leaves abruptly died away. The insects and the wind fell silent, leaving behind a dreadful stillness. Only the tigers' growling breaths remained.
A primal fear he had never experienced even on the battlefield crawled up his spine. This was no realm of humans.
The poleaxe wielder clenched his teeth and swung. He brought down the third tiger. But the fourth raked deeply across his side as it passed. The wound that had only just been sutured tore completely open. The poleaxe wielder staggered, but he never let go of his weapon. He cut through the nape of the fifth tiger and sent it tumbling down.
At that exact moment, all the remaining tigers stopped moving at once.
As though they had received an order from an absolute being.
The pack of tigers split neatly to either side. Then something slowly walked out through the opening between them.
Under the moonlight, dreamlike silver hair flashed. Tiger ears beneath a deep fur hat worn even through all four seasons shimmered mysteriously in the moonlight. A full tiger's tail swayed slowly beneath the hem of her robe. A white-haired woman about five feet six inches tall was strolling through the pack of tigers. She was barefoot, yet she made not even the sound of a fallen leaf beneath her feet.
The woman stopped directly in front of the poleaxe wielder. She lifted her head to look up at him. Though the poleaxe wielder stood six feet three inches tall, he felt his existence shrink to nothing before this divine woman. The pressure she gave off belonged to another dimension entirely.
The woman opened her mouth.
"Deep in the heart of Seoraksan, something truly strange has appeared."
The poleaxe wielder tried to answer, moving his lips, but no voice came out. He had lost too much blood. His vision shook violently, and leaning against the poleaxe's shaft just to remain standing was the limit of what he could manage.
The woman tilted her head slightly. The tiger ears beneath her hat perked up with the motion.
"You brought down five of my cubs and you're still standing?"
The woman asked, her yellow eyes gleaming,
"Are you truly human?"
There was no emotion in her voice. Yet deep within those yellow eyes, a tiny light flickered.
An intense interest.
At that moment, the poleaxe wielder's knees finally gave way. The custom poleaxe in his hand slid uselessly to the ground. Just as he pitched forward and collapsed, the woman's cold hand gently touched his forehead. The chill was so sudden that his entire body stiffened, like a winter mountain stream.
The poleaxe wielder's consciousness went black in an instant.
The last thing he saw was Beomseol's yellow eyes, washing the cold moonlight in a kaleidoscope of colors.