North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 53

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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53. Waiting

The wolves of the North Sea, Majeon!
The Black Eagle Flag fluttered in the wind, scattering dust. Beneath it, two hundred mounted riders stretched in a line, cleaving the barren wasteland in two.
The Lord drew his Twin Swords from his belt and laid them across the saddle. The blade caught the afternoon sun with a dull gleam.
A sub-captain raised his hand, pointing to one spot.
Aelak stood at the entrance to the Rock Gorge.
Behind him, a bloodied stone passage yawned open. Corpses within still radiated lingering warmth.

The distance: three hundred paces.
Behind Aelak, five men. Before them, a thousand horses and riders.
Aelak clenched his fist, then opened it.
When his fingers spread, the south wind whistled through them; when he closed his hand, the wind stopped.
His men saw the gesture.
“They’ve… stopped, sir.”
Taikan spoke low from atop the rock, bow still drawn.
“What orders does the Lord give?”
Arko answered from the right.
His voice was functional and dry as always.
The Lord did not dismount. He merely gripped and released the hilt of his Twin Swords on the saddle.
A signal!
One sub-captain stepped forward at once and gestured.
Following the sub-captain’s signal, the two hundred began to split in two. One wing toward the left side of the rocky gorge, the other toward the right.
The siege line stretched long and thin.
“They’re splitting up to close in?”
Harku let out a low whistle, his teeth bared at the end of it.
“Then we’re pressed even deeper inside.”
Garkan wrapped the Ice Chain around his left hand, then unwound it. The chain’s end clattered softly—tack, tack, tack—against his palm.
“We could charge out, though.”
Harku rubbed the bloodstains from his Twin Short Swords with his sleeve.
The blood wouldn’t come clean.
Harku opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted nothing more than to charge straight out into the thousand-strong horde this instant.
Serian fastened the Dart Quiver to her belt, her breathing steady and deep.

Aelak closed his eyes.
He stood that way for several seconds.
Dust and horse-smell rising from the south, blood-stench seeping from deep within the rock, the dry-grass scent of the west wind brushing his right cheek.
Three smells separated themselves in his nostrils.
His nostrils didn’t flare. There was no need.
He opened his eyes.
“We wait.”
Short. Decisive. One word.
The air inside the gorge grew quiet. His men’s breathing faltered for a moment, then resumed at their own pace.
Harku’s lips trembled as if to ask “What?” but when he saw Garkan bow his head, he closed his mouth. Yet,
“A breakthrough should work fine. These dogs are savage, but their martial skill is…”
Harku voiced his thoughts anyway, the charge still refusing to leave him.
His voice was as sincere as his conviction.
Harku—he was feeling rage. Against Majeon’s bandit horde. The villages they’d swept through were stripped of even a single blade of grass.
“A breakthrough only after we’ve broken them first.”
Aelak answered. He did not elaborate.
Harku looked south again.
The thousand riders began to overlap. The lines that had stretched wide to both sides now curved inward, forming a double encirclement.
The shadow of the Lord holding his Twin Swords sat dead center within that double siege line.
On his saddle… he waited.
“They’re waiting, aren’t they.”
Garkan murmured.
“Agreed.”
Aelak accepted it.
“What are we waiting for? There’s no reason for us to leave this place.”
Arko asked.
“In a battle like this, the side with fewer numbers moves first. The side with more waits for them. With an army that size, they could charge mindlessly—but this is someone with battle experience.”
Taikan answered in his stead.
“Fewer numbers? They have a thousand, we’re six. We’re the ones with fewer numbers, aren’t we?”
Harku interjected.
“I wasn’t talking about the count of men.”
Taikan cut him short.
“I meant whose feet move first.”
“… Feet, you say.”
“One side’s heart heats up first on the inside. Then the feet move. The feet decide and move before the head does.”
Harku turned the words over in his mind. After chewing on them, he nodded.
“Tch! In short, he’s got no nerve. With an army that size and still waiting for us to crawl out first—boring coward. If it were me, I’d strike in one blow.”
Serian heard the exchange from beside them.
She looked at Aelak’s shoulders. They had dropped low.
She had seen shoulders like these twice before—the night he was dragged in bound, the dawn he stood before the burned village. His shoulders now hung lower than either of those moments.
She felt slightly reassured.
Aelak wasn’t viewing them as enemies. Only as prey for a hunter to take.
She touched the dart quiver at her hip once more.

“Arko.”
Aelak called his name.
“Yes.”
“Poison stock.”
“About half remains. Including what we obtained in the Central Plains.”
“Half.”
“Yes.”
“Keep it. No need to use it all tonight.”
Arko bowed his head. He shook the poison powder pouch at his waist lightly.
There was no need to shake it—old habit. After confirming through his fingertips the sensation of powder shifting to one side, he closed the pouch.
“Garkan.”
“Yes.”
“Let one strand of the chain rest.”
“It’s already resting.”
“Then let two strands rest.”
“… Understood.”
Garkan opened his left palm and looked at the Ice Chain.
Two of the three strands had dulled teeth.
He tucked one of them into the leather pouch at his waist. The end of the chain settled inside with a dull thud.
“Taikan.”
“Yes.”
“Arrows.”
“Nineteen remain.”
“Nineteen will suffice.”
Taikan set the bow across his lap.
His posture didn’t look comfortable, yet his face seemed at ease. He swept his gaze southward and added quietly.
“Half of that formation must be terrified. Not one’s stepping forward with the flag.”
“Good. Harku.”
Aelak called the last name.
“Yes.”
“Twin Short Swords.”
“Already sharpened.”
“Sharpen them again.”
“Sir?”
“Sharpen them again. Slowly.”
Harku opened his mouth. It didn’t break into laughter.
“… You’re giving the man least suited for waiting the work he’s least suited for.”
Harku muttered.
A low murmur trailed off, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. But it was not a smile.
“That’s why I had it done.”
Aelak answered.
They would not come easily. They had watched three hundred of the vanguard collapse.
Aelak was signaling a long war ahead.
Serian exhaled softly—a sound that could have been laughter or relief, impossible to tell.
She began gathering dry twigs to make a place for the fire.
The western sky shifted from crimson to violet.

Deeper inside the Rock Gorge.
Serian arranged three stones in a triangle. The ground beneath them was hardened with old blood. She laid small twigs across the top.
Arko came wordlessly and handed her the flint.
She took it and struck twice. No spark. On the third strike, it caught.
“… Three times.”
Serian said quietly.
“Three times?”
Arko received this.
“I thought it would catch on the first try.”
“If it catches on the first try, that’s not fire. You have to let it struggle a little before it takes—that’s how it burns longest. Especially with a man as cold as the Clan Leader.”
Arko answered dryly. At the end of his voice, there was the thinnest edge of jest.
Serian rubbed her fingertips together and added softly.
“My hands… I suppose they need three misses before the fire takes.”
Arko did not answer.
That silence was her answer. For the first time, she drew her shoulders inward. The gesture was almost a laugh.
Serian watched the flame.
She did not yet believe the saying that a fire which struggles three times before catching burns the longest. Aelak’s heart did not seem like it would warm easily. Not in three attempts, nor even in ten.

A woman of the Fuku Clan learns many things.
How to stand before the blade before her husband does, how to lay down her life to save him if he falls into the enemy’s hands—it flows down from her mother’s mother.
For her husband alone.
Serian’s fingertips touched the flint once more.
The fire grew steadily larger.
Smoke drifted up and out of the Rock Gorge toward the sky above.
Those on the outer siege line would see this smoke.
Aelak made no effort to hide it.
“Why show them the fire?”
Serian asked.
Aelak answered without turning his head.
“They need to know we’re not in a hurry.”
“Then they’ll start to feel it.”
Garkan replied in a low voice.
“Deeper in their ranks. That’s where the panic needs to bloom first.”
Aelak spoke the words aloud.

Harku placed the Twin Short Swords on the whetstone. The sound of their settling was louder than he expected. Garkan’s eyes flicked toward it.
“What’s that look for?”
Harku asked.
“Use the whetstone quietly.”
“You ever see a quiet whetstone?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Inside your head.”
Harku fell silent. Then he let out a small laugh.
“… You’re in rare form today.”
“We’re waiting.”
Garkan tapped the end of the chain against his palm. Tap, tap, tap. A habitual, rhythmic percussion.
In the place where the wind had paused, only six breaths remained.
Serian listened to the sound of Garkan tapping the Ice Chain and synced her breathing to its rhythm.
She was looking west.
The western wind still cooled only the right side of her cheek.

* * *

A position along the southern siege line, at the inner edge of the double formation.
Durek rose slightly in his saddle, lifting his weight from the seat.
A Majeon officer. Cavalry platoon leader beneath the sub-captain’s rank. Commander of two hundred mounted troops. Not a direct bodyguard to the Lord, but one who received his orders straight from the source.
An old scar ran down his left cheek, and beneath it his stubbled beard was clipped short.
He turned his gaze northward.
A thin column of smoke was rising from inside the northern Rock Gorge.
As he watched the smoke, his left eyebrow descended slowly.
“… A campfire.”
He spoke to himself.
The sub-captain beside him spoke low.
“The Lord’s orders are to maintain the siege until dawn.”
“I know.”
Durek answered. His eyes remained fixed on the north.
“More than five watches remain until dawn.”
“I know!”
“The vanguard, three hundred strong, fell an hour ago. In other words, those men killed three hundred of ours—fifty for each man they lost…”
“I said I know!”
“Know, know, know. That word has come from your mouth three times now.”
Only then did Durek turn his face toward the sub-captain.
The stubbled beard beneath the scar twitched.
“Even four times, the answer stays the same.”
Durek said.
“I would hear that answer.”
“I know means they’re exhausted. And yet we don’t move in now.”
“Does your saying ‘we don’t move in now’ mean we will move in tonight, or are you speaking of dawn tomorrow?”
The sub-captain asked.
Urgency was hidden in the sub-captain’s voice—and not entirely hidden at that.
Durek studied the sub-captain for a long moment. Then he spoke heavily.
“If the Lord says until dawn, then we wait until dawn. There’s no reason to question it.”
“… Yes.”
The sub-captain lowered his head. But the back of his neck was taut with tension.
Durek turned his gaze northward again.
The earth beneath his feet was stiffened with blood—the path where three hundred vanguard troops had passed an hour before. Of them, only seven had returned.
What the seven conveyed was brief.
“The hound’s nose caught the scent wrong.”
Those words from the vanguard commander Lugan’s mouth now weighed heavily across Durek’s shoulders.
The smoke from the campfire drifted east with the wind, bit by bit. The smoke showed no sign of haste. Durek gripped the hilt of his sword at his waist tightly. Sweat gathered on his hand.
I know. Those men… they’re certainly exhausted. If we’re to strike, it has to be now. Giving them breathing room is what only a fool would do.
He muttered inwardly.
“… But they don’t seem like they’ll panic…”
The thought blurred in his mouth.
Was his thinking right? If it was, then the Lord’s order to wait until dawn carried a different meaning. It meant they’d have to fight the hard battle all over again from the start.
He did not loosen the reins. He did not disobey orders. Yet his right hand slowly drew across the hilt of his Twin Swords at his saddle.
Durek’s fingers untied the leather cord at the end of the hilt.
The sub-captain saw it. But he said nothing.

Inside the Rock Gorge, before the campfire.
Serian cut a piece of dried meat and set it before Aelak.
Aelak, resting the North Ming Blade across his knees, paid no attention to the dried meat.
The blade gleamed in the firelight. Yet across its surface lay a thin film of frost.
“You should eat.”
Serian spoke softly.
“Later.”
Aelak answered.
“Eat now.”
Serian spoke again, her voice even lower this time.
Aelak looked at her. His gray eyes reflected the firelight.
He picked up the meat. Then he chewed it slowly. The sound of chewing was quiet.
“… The Clan Leader is eating. If we had suggested it, he wouldn’t have touched it.”
Harku spoke as he set down the whetstone.
“Quiet.”
Aelak replied curtly.
“My apologies.”
Harku said it. He picked up the whetstone again.
Garkan spoke quietly from beside him.
“Clan Leader, if I may ask something.”
“…….”
“Among the reasons you’re not breaking through today… does that include us? Are you giving us time to catch our breath? A battle of three hundred against a thousand is qualitatively different.”
“…….”
At Aelak’s silence, Garkan bowed his head.
His pinky finger turned slowly back toward his thumb again. The rotation was slower than usual.
Aelak swallowed the meat and spoke.
“There are three reasons.”
He continued, a beat late.
“First, we need to catch our breath too. Second, their inner morale. This is true. If the inside wavers, a thousand can collapse, even ten thousand. Third, tonight is not the end.”
“What do you mean by the third?”
Arko asked.
“The real enemy remains. The main force.”
At that moment, a branch in the campfire snapped, and a spark flew up into the air. It hung there for just an instant before falling back down.
Garkan nodded slowly.
“… So the Lord is the first gate.”
“That’s right.”
Harku did not stop sharpening, but the speed of his hand moving across the Twin Short Swords grew slower. He spoke at that same measured pace.
“Then we can rest easy tonight with the gate open?”
“Yes. Once you’re done sharpening, get some sleep.”
Aelak answered.
“I find the nights when I sleep with the gate open are the most nerve-wracking.”
Harku said it.

The campfire grew larger in Durek’s field of vision. The smoke thickened as well.
Durek measured the thickness of the smoke with his eyes.
Then he turned his head. At the end of that turn sat his Sub-captain.
“Commander.”
The Sub-captain spoke without missing the moment.
“Speak.”
“Those six inside—will they be tense until morning, or will they sleep soundly?”
Durek did not answer. His silence was answer enough.
“Come morning, two thousand reinforcements from the main force will arrive.”
“I know.”
“Once the two thousand arrive, there’s no real need for you to venture inside.”
“… What are you saying?”
Durek looked at the Sub-captain.
“When the main force comes… your position shrinks.”
Durek heard those words.
His right hand unwound the leather cord on the grip of the Twin Swords, then wound it again.
“Position.”
He murmured it.
“Undoubtedly. We witnessed the vanguard of three hundred wiped out, but the main force didn’t see it. There’s a high chance you’ll be replaced with a reckless commander.”
Durek touched the horse’s flank.
“There’s no order yet.”
“… Commander.”
“Not yet. No order yet.”
He stressed it again to the Sub-captain.
Strength entered his voice as he emphasized. But the Sub-captain understood where that strength was directed.
“… Yes.”
The Sub-captain bowed his head.
Durek turned slightly toward the darkness.
Where the Lord’s flag stood… a flag raised in the darkness within the double encirclement.
His Twin Swords swayed slightly at his waist.
He had not disobeyed the order. Not yet.

Inside the Rock Gorge.
It was when the campfire grew bright again.
Taikan lowered his body southward from atop the boulder.
“Clan Leader.”
He spoke. His voice was shorter than usual.
“Speak.”
Aelak received him.
“The cavalry captain at the far left end of the siege line has moved toward his horse.”
Aelak opened his hand loosely.
“He’s staring at the Lord’s flag.”
“Go on.”
“He’s been nervously unwinding and rewinding the leather cord around his sword hilt.”
Taikan added a moment later.
“That captain’s sword is acting up, sir. It wants to fight.”
Aelak received him.
“A blade knows the hunger for battle before its master does.”
Only then did he raise the North Ming Blade.
The newly-formed ridge along the blade’s spine caught the firelight.
“… I can see which side will crumble first.”
He spoke in a low voice.
Garkan laughed softly beside him. The laugh was very brief.
“So that’s what they mean by saying the feet move first. That captain’s mind hasn’t moved yet, sir. He’s still obeying orders.”
“Right.”
Harku raised his Twin Short Swords. A newly-sharpened edge stood along the blades.
“Clan Leader, my Twin Short Swords look a bit prettier now, don’t they? When do I use them?”
“The moment that captain breaks his orders.”
“When will that moment come?”
“Tonight.”
Aelak answered shortly.
“He won’t be able to wait until dawn. The fire’s already caught in his heart.”
He paused and added.
“When that captain charges through first, a thousand soldiers will split into two pieces. We walk through that split, toward the Lord.”
Garkan received quietly.
“… But there are only two hundred of us. Can one man’s charge split a thousand?”
“One man is enough. The rest we do ourselves.”
Harku finally smiled, baring his white teeth.
“I thought we could never make a direct assault. Waiting isn’t so bad, Clan Leader.”
“Waiting is also fighting.”
Aelak answered.

The smoke from the campfire inside the Rock Gorge drifted eastward, line after line. The wind that pushed the smoke crossed the wasteland. And finally reached the southern siege line.
A sound that should not have carried three hundred paces away was heard.
Tap, tap, tap.
That rhythm circled somewhere inside Durek’s ear.
The sound of the Ice Chain. A tapping that called him to come fight.
In time with that sound, his fingertips went back to the leather cord.
Durek’s Twin Swords came loose for the fourth time in the darkness.
And this time the knot did not tie again. The loosened cord brushed across the back of his hand in the darkness. His hand swept down across his horse’s belly.
The horse took a step, moving toward the darkness.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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