Collapse
That evening, an argument broke out in front of the Special Operations Unit's tent.
Three members of a Hebei sect were facing a Ming officer.
"We ordered you to report today's reconnaissance."
"And why should we follow your military code?"
"It's an order."
"An order?"
"Hah. You people know nothing about the martial world."
The moment the words ended, violence erupted.
A warrior from the Zanyue Sect grabbed the officer by the collar and yanked him forward.
Soldiers rushed in.
With a single swing of his arm, three were thrown aside.
Crack.
The sound of a shoulder bone breaking rang out clearly.
The news spread instantly.
Other martial artists poured out of the tents.
The southern poison sect drew poison needles.
The escort fighters spun iron chains.
Sichuan warriors slid hidden blades between their fingers.
"Are you trying to use us like war dogs?"
"We won't let you stain our sect's name."
"We are knights-errant."
"We fight for the world—not for dogs like you."
Momentum swelled like a rolling snowball.
The entire Special Operations Unit tilted toward open confrontation—
army against martial world.
When the report reached Zhu Yuanzhang, his eyes flared.
"Suppress them."
"Your Majesty," Liu Bowen said urgently.
"Suppression means turning the martial world into enemies."
It was his final attempt.
But Zhu Yuanzhang, drunk on authority, did not hear it.
"If you cannot suppress them," he snarled,
"I will do it myself."
Heavy Ming troops surged toward the tents.
Shields raised.
Formation locked.
Bang.
The first collision came fast.
A Sichuan assassin pierced straight through a shield soldier's throat.
Thud.
As the body fell, fury exploded on both sides.
The Ming soldiers lowered their spears and charged as one.
The martial artists scattered—then struck back.
From the start, the clash was uneven.
The martial artists had skill, but no formation.
They were cut down one by one.
Ming soldiers who broke formation lost their heads in an instant.
Dozens fell on both sides.
This was not an accident.
It was a chain reaction.
Watching the chaos, Zhu Yuanzhang roared, eyes wild.
"Execute all who resist!"
"Sect member or knight—anyone who defies my command is a traitor!"
Even the martial artists still inside the tents stiffened.
The Zanyue Sect ground their teeth.
"See?"
"He means to use us and discard us."
An old Sichuan master muttered,
"He doesn't see the martial world as people."
At that moment, the tide turned.
The Special Operations Unit began to turn its back on Zhu Yuanzhang.
By dawn, Zhu Yuanzhang ordered several surrendered martial artists bound and beheaded in front of the tents.
It was oil on the fire.
Killing intent boiled through the entire camp.
In the darkness—
A blade flashed.
A Ming officer's head rolled across the ground.
The explosion was complete.
Control was gone.
Liu Bowen stood beside Zhu Yuanzhang, his face pale.
"Your Majesty."
"This is the end."
"The martial world will not follow you."
"Then we'll cut them all down."
"Your Majesty!"
Liu Bowen's voice was almost a scream.
"The moment they become our enemies,
this army's defeat is already decided."
Zhu Yuanzhang did not listen.
His eyes held no fear—only the grain of a tyrant.
That night, the Special Operations Unit effectively collapsed.
Half the martial artists scattered.
The rest seethed with rage.
The battlefield entered a state where anarchic clashes between masters would not have been strange.
News of the Collapse
Before dawn, the wind shifted first in the Goryeo camp.
Not the smell of battle—
but the unsettled current that appears when systems break.
Park Seong-jin stood quietly outside his tent.
He was neither asleep nor standing guard.
He was waiting for the moment the flow changed.
A scout slid off his horse, breath tangled.
"Commander."
"There's been major unrest in the Ming camp."
Park Seong-jin nodded once.
"Report."
"The Special Operations Unit has collapsed."
"The martial artists clashed with the Ming army."
"Internal slaughter followed."
Song Yi-sul narrowed his eyes.
"Slaughter, huh."
"How big?"
The scout swallowed.
"Exact numbers unknown."
"A Ming officer was beheaded."
"Many martial artists have deserted."
"Ming command is currently broken."
The air inside the tent settled.
No surprise.
Only confirmation.
Song Yi-sul chuckled low.
"They're tearing each other apart."
Park Seong-jin looked toward the eastern sky.
The sun had not yet risen.
"Liu Bowen?" he asked.
"He tried to stop it."
"But Zhu Yuanzhang forced it through. The situation escalated."
Park Seong-jin inhaled slowly.
"This is what happens when you bind the martial world with military law."
Song Yi-sul crossed his arms.
"The moment you bind them, they start biting each other."
"The martial world isn't an organization."
"And Zhu Yuanzhang never respected them."
"What about us?" Song Yi-sul added.
"At least they know why we fight," Park Seong-jin replied.
"For the people. For the country."
"Even if we sit down anywhere, they'll be fed and given water."
"That's silent consent."
"We didn't demand it."
"They did."
The scout added,
"Fleeing martial artists are scattering in all directions."
"North, into the mountains—and some are moving this way."
All eyes turned to Park Seong-jin.
He thought briefly.
He neither closed his eyes nor reached for his sword.
In his mind, another layer of the battlefield unfolded.
"The front is no longer just two sides," he said quietly.
"The Ming army—
and a martial world without control."
Song Yi-sul nodded.
"Those caught between them will start choosing directions."
Park Seong-jin turned to the scout.
"Keep reporting on martial movements."
"Don't fight them."
"Don't block them."
"Leave paths open."
The scout's eyes widened.
"Leave paths open?"
"Yes."
"Let them come and go."
Park Seong-jin's voice was low and firm.
"Block a fleeing man's path, and he becomes your enemy."
"Leave it open, and he will disappear like water."
Outside the tent, the wind passed through in a long sweep.
That wind carried not the smell of blood—
but the presence of those who had lost direction.
The battlefield was changing again.
This was no longer a battlefield of armies.
It was a battlefield
where masters were being forced to choose.