Warlord Han Yegum

Chapter 8

As the officer ran past shouting orders, Nam Pae and the other squad leaders raised their voices.

“Listen up, everyone! We’re heading down as well! If those bastards get past the palisade, we’re all dead! Grab your weapons and follow me! Anyone who disobeys will be executed for insubordination! Move it—now!”

The battle’s outcome now hinged entirely on the palisade at the base of the mountain. Both the Shang forces trying to breach it and the U Kingdom soldiers defending it threw everything they had into the struggle.

Nam Pae raised his spear and roared.

“Damn it! Grab your weapons! Let’s go! If you’re not dead, follow me!”

This was no longer the controlled defense of the palisade they had held until now.

It was chaos—a tangled melee where the advantages of defensive positioning were gone. Victory depended only on numbers, momentum, and individual skill.

The uninjured soldiers, leaving behind those who were wounded or dead, grabbed their weapons and started moving. Makjeong, his feet reluctant but compelled, followed them downhill.

His heart pounded violently in his chest.

How had it come to this—fighting so desperately for survival?

Makjeong had thought that if the battle turned hopeless, he would flee without hesitation. But now, he found himself running toward the breached section with the others, determined to defend it.

Out of instinct, he glanced back. A line of officers and soldiers stood blocking any retreat. Their determination was unyielding.

‘Even in this chaos, they’re holding the rear...!’

Not just because of the rear guards, Makjeong couldn’t think about deserting now.

Charging downhill into the fray, there was no time to consider anything but dodging weapons and killing the enemy.

As he followed his squad, his eyes caught sight of a sword lying on the ground.

It was the sword dropped by the soldier Makjeong had killed earlier, the one who had fallen to his spear. The hilt was wrapped in cloth, and the blade was undamaged, its thick spine suggesting both weight and durability.

Without hesitation, as if driven by instinct, Makjeong dropped his spear and picked up the sword.

Clutching the heavy blade, his heart raced even faster as he ran downhill.

He was heading straight into danger—a place where the chance of death loomed larger than life. The fear of a painful death began to creep into him again, wrapping around his entire body.

And then, a memory surfaced.

He recalled a conversation with Jangjo, his master and his father’s trusted lieutenant.

“Unless you’re a master of the spear, a sword is better for a melee. If someone’s covering your sides and back, a spear works fine. But when enemies come from all directions, a sword is your best bet.”

“But master, spears are longer. How can you block all those attacks with a sword?”

“You need sharp eyes, quick judgment, and boldness—boldness to push forward without fearing death.”

“What...?”

“That’s what we’ll start training today.”

Jangjo’s words echoed in his mind. He had endured grueling training with Jangjo, and now, as he rushed into the chaos, he felt the sword was the better choice. Perhaps it was confidence born of that training that had made him discard his spear without hesitation.

Swords were more precious than spears.

Unlike spears, which only required a short blade attached to a long shaft, swords demanded more metal and the skilled hands of a blacksmith.

On the battlefield, soldiers often continued to use chipped swords or poorly forged blades, as replacements were scarce.@@@@

But Makjeong had trained with real blades since childhood under his father, a great general. Although the rough sword in his hand felt unfamiliar, his confidence in swordsmanship far surpassed his skill with a spear.

—Thud, thud, thud.

As Makjeong ran alongside the palisade, the sight of soldiers from both sides locked in close combat became clear. The smell of sweat and blood, the mingling of fear and determination, hung thick in the air.

Shang soldiers poured in through the broken palisade, while U Kingdom soldiers rallied to reinforce the breach.

Finally, Makjeong’s squadmates, who had rushed ahead, collided with the enemy.

Some managed to bring down their opponents; others fell themselves. The chaos split their fates in an instant.

“Hold them! Hold the line!”

The officers’ voices cracked as they shouted over the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded.

—Thud!

But the enemy was just as desperate and refused to let go of the spear.

Panicking, Makjeong tried to kick him again, but before he could, a brutal sound rang out. The enemy’s head split open vertically, his helmet cleaved by a heavy axe.

It was Madal. His axe had struck the enemy’s helmet with devastating precision, spraying Makjeong with an unsettlingly colored mix of blood and gore.

“Ugh! Ugh!”

Gasping for air, Makjeong shoved the now lifeless body off him with his foot and scrambled to his feet. He didn’t even register the blood soaking his face and armor—there was no time to notice.

Madal was already moving, his axe embedding itself into the back of another enemy soldier. Madal fought with fearless abandon, darting across the battlefield and striking down foes with the sheer power of his weapon.

Makjeong stood shakily, his eyes wide as he scanned his surroundings. Fear gripped him, and his entire body trembled uncontrollably.

In this short time since descending into the melee, he had already narrowly escaped death twice. Without Yeopchi and Madal, he would have been the one lying dead, his blood staining the ground.

The broken palisade was obscured by the chaos of soldiers clashing, and everywhere else was a storm of tangled combat.

Unlike defending the palisade, this fight offered no protection, no control—just chaos and death.

“Get a grip!”

Someone shouted at Makjeong.

Reacting instinctively, Makjeong lowered his stance to face another enemy charging toward him.

A spear again.

The memory of his two close calls with spears sent fear coursing through his veins. His arms and legs quivered.

But amidst the fear, something else was stirring—a growing familiarity with the rhythm of battle.

It was strange.

As he prepared to face the oncoming enemy, Makjeong’s mind raced through his past encounters.

Every time he had faced an enemy head-on, he had blocked or dodged their attacks and countered successfully. It was only the unseen strikes that had nearly killed him.

This realization hit him like a revelation.

‘That’s right! Master Jangjo himself acknowledged my skill with the sword. I can handle this!’

Makjeong no longer focused on the enemy’s intimidating size, fierce face, or bloodthirsty eyes. His gaze locked solely onto the man’s movements.

‘If I can block the first thrust, my sword has the advantage!’

—Whoosh!

The enemy lunged, thrusting the spear forward.

Makjeong reacted instantly, but it was a feint—a move designed to throw off his balance.

The real attack followed immediately. The enemy adjusted his aim and drove the spear toward Makjeong’s chest with all his might.

Makjeong, already off-balance, couldn’t sidestep the attack. There wasn’t even time to block with his sword.

In that instant, Makjeong bent forward, lowering his torso sharply, and pushed into the enemy’s attack.

“Urgh!”

Caught off guard, the enemy faltered as Makjeong collided with him.

Panicking, the enemy tried to shove Makjeong away with the spear still in his grip.

But Makjeong, now right against him, twisted his body and slashed downward with his sword.

The blade cut through the man’s left calf—an unarmored area. The soldier screamed in pain and collapsed, clutching his leg.

Without hesitation, Makjeong swung his sword again, severing the enemy’s throat.

In just a short time, Makjeong had begun adapting to the chaos of battle.

His body moved on its own, reacting faster than his mind could think.

The grueling training he had endured under Master Jangjo, the countless sparring sessions with experienced warriors—it all surfaced now, guiding his every move as he faced enemy after enemy.