Chapter 18: Fa Zheng (3)
When the men he had sent out to hunt down the attackers failed to return, Song Yang gathered every soul in the mountain stronghold and made an announcement.
"Keep the watch ironclad through tonight!! And at dawn tomorrow, we abandon this place!!"
"What? Leave?!"
They hadn't even been settled here for two full months, and the bandits could only stare at their chief, utterly bewildered.
"Now that our stronghold's location has been discovered and we've already come under attack, lingering here any longer would be nothing short of foolish! So gather the valuables in advance, and the moment day breaks, we move out!!"
They harbored their doubts about the decision, but with no way to defy a direct order, the bandits set about preparing to leave as they'd been told.
Piling the valuables and grain into one place and loading it all onto carts swallowed most of the afternoon.
Night fell, and the stronghold's occupants sank into sleep.
The Hour of the Rat reached its deepest point—midnight itself—
BOOM!—BOOM!—BOOM!
Without warning, a thunderclap of drums erupted, loud enough to swallow the entire stronghold.
"Enemy attack!!"
Still rattled from the previous night, the bandits had kept themselves in full readiness against a night assault; they snatched up their weapons and rushed out beyond the walls.
"...What? There's no one out there."
Those shaken from sleep and those who had never managed to rest, staying awake on knife's edge, alike wore the same hollow expression. Only the drums had rung out—no war cries, no thudding of boots heavy enough to shake the earth.
And naturally, there wasn't a shadow of a soldier anywhere in sight. Not so much as a single damn ant.
"Playing tricks again!!"
Song Yang had risen from his bed at the sound of the drums and armed himself as well, and realizing he'd been played, he was seething. He ground his teeth savagely, swept a hand down his face, swallowed his rage as best he could, and barked at the men nearby.
"What do you idlers think you're doing! Find whoever beat that drum!!"
"Yes, sir!!"
A handful of bandits mounted up and rode out beyond the stronghold to comb the darkness for the drummer.
But—
"Our apologies, sir. We couldn't find anyone."
"No, sir. Not so much as a bird out there, let alone an ant."
A full watch later—two hours—the reports had all come back the same: no one to be found.
"...Ghh."
It felt like being toyed with, and his displeasure showed plain on his face—but hunting a handful of enemies through the night was no small feat. Worse, they had spent the previous evening dousing the stronghold's fires and readying the move, so not one of them had slept a wink; exhaustion was eating them alive. A few of the men were already dozing upright in their armor.
"...Rest for now. But don't any of you let your guard slip."
Having said his piece, Song Yang returned to the main hall, and the remaining men drifted back to their quarters, punctuating the walk with yawns and grumbles about this whole situation.
Half a watch later—an hour.
BOOM!—BOOM!—BOOM!
Once again, the drums rolled across the night.
"...Enemy attack!!"
At the sentry's cry, the bandits came tumbling out of their quarters, startled awake from their dozing by the drums, without even their weapons in hand.
"Ah, damn it!! There's still nobody out there!!"
"What the hell is this dogshit prank in the middle of the night!!"
The bandits' discontent swelled past all restraint. Their bodies were already worn ragged from hauling valuables onto carts all afternoon, and with no proper sleep to speak of, they were close to losing their minds. They were bandits, not soldiers—being made to endure this much left them reeling.
"Just what kind of godforsaken bastard—"
Song Yang no longer had the strength to shout either, and could only grind his teeth in silence. He too had skipped his armor; a single blade was all that hung from his hand.
"...Chief, let's just ignore it and get some rest. They're clearly too scared to actually come. Is there any point in standing guard?"
"He's right!! If they were going to raid us, they'd have done it already!!"
"...Mm."
Looking at his men as they pleaded, thick exhaustion carved around their eyes, Song Yang let out a low hum. Their words did make sense, he judged. He already knew from the earlier search how pointless it would be, which made it hard even to order them out again. No—in truth, so much fatigue had piled up that any such rational, levelheaded judgment was simply beyond him. His head was filled with nothing but the thought of sleep.
"...Fine. Rest."
If he provoked men already consumed by exhaustion-fueled fury, there was no telling—even his own men might turn on him. At those words, the bandits filed into their quarters one and all and gave themselves over to sleep.
"You lot keep your wits about you."
Song Yang, apparently out of words as well, offered that parting warning to the men on watch and went back inside. The moment he lay down, his eyes drifted shut of their own accord, and deep sleep swallowed him whole. Even as insects chirred and birds began to sing, every last soul in the stronghold slumbered on.
And so another two hours slipped by.
BOOM!—BOOM!—BOOM!
Once more, the drums thundered through the dark.
"...There's that bullshit again..."
"Leave it... quit reacting to every little thing and let's just sleep..."
The bandits in the quarters no longer even considered responding. They'll just beat their drums until they give up, anyway. That thought ruled their minds completely, and their will to fight was gone.
—!!!
"...Mm. What's that noise now?"
When a fresh ruckus rose above the drums, one of the bandits snapped awake in irritation and bolted upright. Curious to see what new nonsense this was, he stepped outside the quarters completely defenseless, without a single weapon in hand.
"Ah, you son of a bitch!! What the hell is all this rack—"
SHFF!!
"...Huh?"
Before he could finish the sentence, something flashed, and his throat was sliced clean through. As his head tumbled to the ground, in the last instant before consciousness fled him, the bandit saw the black-haired woman who had taken it, standing beneath the moonlight. She had the ethereal, untouched beauty of a fairy—but her expression held nothing but the cold of an ice floe.
"...Wh-what?"
"Who...?"
A few bandits, sensing that something was wrong, rubbed their eyes and stirred awake one by one—but with their guard already dissolved, it was far too late.
"WAAAAH-!!!"
At Pang De's command, armed soldiers came crashing into the quarters and began cutting down the defenseless bandits whose vigilance had utterly collapsed.
"...U-uaaah!!"
"S-spare me!!"
Though they woke and scrambled to their feet, their bodies utterly spent and their weapons dropped carelessly where they'd left them, the bandits were massacred one-sidedly by the armed soldiers. It was a hideous sight—like a butcher hacking down livestock without mercy.
Pang De, who had directed the soldiers, joined the carnage herself. One sweep of her crescent blade sent several enemy heads flying at once.
"Wh-what is going on?!"
Song Yang, sunk in deep sleep like all his men, heard those final screams of the dying and rushed out of the main hall, blade in hand. And there, at the heart of the stronghold, a woman stood waiting for him.
"You Song Yang?"
White-blonde hair that gleamed all the brighter for the moonlight, and eyes that shone like azure jade. A woman brimming with confidence, a smile touched with competitive spirit on her lips, stood there with spear in hand. It was a general whose name anyone who had lived in Liang Province would have heard at least once.
Song Yang recognized her at a glance and, trembling with fear, forced out the general's epithet.
"Th-the Splendid Ma Chao..."
Ma Teng's eldest daughter—and one of the chief architects of Beigong Boyu's defeat in the last war. As though he were gazing upon the mortal enemy he could never forgive, strength surged into his body of its own accord, and he swiftly drew his blade. But a body already ravaged by exhaustion could not ready itself for a fight at full strength.
"That green-haired girl. She really is sharp, isn't she? No wonder Han Yeong fought so hard to recruit her."
"What are you talking about...?"
"Doesn't matter what a dead man knows, does it? Just give up and hand over your neck."
"Shut your mouth!! You bitch!!"
Even a cornered rat will bite the cat. Like a beast gone mad in its final throes, Song Yang lunged at Ma Chao. But even at his best he had been no match for her—and watching him charge in such a sorry state, she regarded him the way one regards a moth hurling itself into a flame.
"UAAAAAH-!!!"
Song Yang loosed a battle cry of his own and swung his blade in a horizontal arc.
CLANG!
But with a clear ring of steel, his strike was caught on Ma Chao's spear and batted feebly aside.
"You think yelling louder makes you stronger?"
"Shut up!!"
Enraged by her sneer, Song Yang swung his blade at her neck once more. But faster still, Ma Chao's spear shot out in a straight line, swift as a lightning bolt. The movement was so blindingly fast that Song Yang couldn't even react.
SHUNK!!
Moonlight flashed off the spearhead, a gleam of cold light, as it punched through Song Yang's throat in a single stroke.
"...Guhk."
Blood welled slowly from the pierced throat—and when Ma Chao, her face indifferent, withdrew the spear, it came pouring down like a waterfall. Clutching his ruined throat, Song Yang's eyes darted this way and that before a hollow look settled over his face and he crumpled to the ground.
"...Nothing special after all."
Drawing her sword, Ma Chao took Song Yang's head, then hurried back at a brisk pace to collect her praise from Han Yeong, who was directing the troops. And so, by the time morning came the next day, not a single one of the bandits remaining in the stronghold was still breathing.
Every last one of them had become nothing more than a cold corpse.