something was wrong.
As the rain began to ease, three masked figures appeared before where Sowoon lay hidden in a crouch.
This was a deep mountain peak where no one should have been, yet they approached on the balls of their feet, muffling even the faintest sound.
Who would bother to wear masks atop such a desolate summit?
In that instant, Sowoon knew something was wrong.
Wrapped in his wind cloak with only his eyes exposed, he could see their movements clearly.
Black garments. Black masks.
Nothing about them suggested honest intent.
A mask exists to conceal.
To hide the face is to hide one's identity from those who might recognize it.
Anonymity makes wrongdoing easier.
If no one knows who you are, there is less to fear.
If they are faces I might recognize… then they belong to Surim Manor.
His thoughts reached that conclusion quickly.
Imperial assassins did not cover their faces.
They had no need to hide who they were.
Nor would they climb this far into a remote mountain peak without cause.
Yes. They're Surim Manor men. But how did the General foresee this… and why did he order me to kill them…?
Lee Hee's words echoed in his mind.
"Stop anyone who approaches."
The three men began cautiously sweeping the campsite.
Once they confirmed no one was present, they started overturning everything in sight.
They kicked at the White Dragon soldiers' packs, tore open sacks without hesitation.
At first they whispered.
When no one stopped them, their boldness grew.
Whispers turned to muttered complaints.
"Nothing here. You think this is some empty-fort trick?"
"Those idiot soldiers? Empty-fort, my ass. They're probably hiding from the sleet."
"Why'd those bastards pick this spot to sleep?"
"Low-ranking officers acting like imperial guards."
A vein pulsed in Sowoon's temple.
One of them kicked Dungddaengi's bundle. It made a dull, soft thud—food, likely.
They touched Lee Hee's belongings as well.
Should I step out and stop them…?
His body tensed to move, but he forced himself still.
Lee Hee had been clear.
"Stop them."
Yet hesitation flickered inside him.
They, too, were following orders.
Could he condemn them outright as villains?
They were not barbarians.
They were people of the same land.
Would it not be easier if they simply left?
The thought of shared citizenship clashed with Lee Hee's command, and with the certainty that these men meant to use the Great General's disappearance.
But the world rarely bends to what one hopes.
One of them froze while rummaging in a corner.
He had found something hidden.
"Isn't this… the Great General's belongings?"
The abnormally long iron sword.
The white outer robe.
Unmistakable.
The other two rushed over.
"So they really found him."
"We have to report this. Lady was right."
One man picked up the iron sword carelessly.
"I've seen this before. The one he wore at his waist. If I put this on, does that make me the Great General?"
In that moment, Sowoon's hesitation vanished.
He could not let them leave alive.
He shifted his cloak slightly.
Set three arrows to the string.
Ten paces. Maybe a little more.
He held his breath and adjusted the angle with minute precision.
He released.
In the darkness, three arrows flew and struck three bodies at once.
He aimed for the torso—certainty over instant death.
"Aaaagh!"
Each man reacted differently.
One screamed.
One cursed.
One reported coldly, "Arrow in my waist!"
Even wounded, they drew their blades, but the arrows were buried deep. Their movements were clumsy.
Sowoon loosed two more arrows.
Two sank deeper into already wounded flesh. One deflected away.
Only then did they pinpoint his position.
"It's that sharpshooter bastard!"
They staggered toward him.
Sowoon had already discarded the bow.
In his hands was the long glaive he had used countless times in Haran.
He had chosen reach, wary of hidden tricks martial artists favored.
The glaive traced a wide arc.
One man tried to block with his short sword.
It was folly.
Steel met steel.
The flow of a long weapon cannot be halted by a short blade.
Like slicing radish, the glaive passed through.
Two heads flew almost simultaneously.
The last man was pierced through the abdomen.
As he tried to parry, a gap opened.
Sowoon kicked upward.
As the man recoiled, Sowoon brought the glaive down across his back.
The final body collapsed face-first into the mud.
A choking sound escaped him.
It had all happened in moments.
Three corpses lay sprawled on the rain-soaked ground.
Sowoon immediately scanned the surroundings.
No reinforcements.
Three to a unit—that seemed certain.
He removed their masks.
Checked the garments beneath the black night-clothes.
Surim Manor.
His suspicion had been correct. They had been watching.
The problem came after.
Their comrades remained at the manor.
If these deaths were discovered immediately, matters would spiral out of control.
If it became known that they had killed them, consequences would follow.
Sowoon grabbed a corpse by the arm and dragged it.
Then another.
He hauled them beneath a shadowed tree.
Long streaks marked the mud where their bodies had been pulled.
His breath came hard.
Blood stained his hands.
He paused and looked at the iron sword and white robe.
This summit already bore the absence of one who had departed.
Now, to guard that absence, three more lives had fallen.
The night deepened without a word.