by Fred Yu
Ko Sun retreated to the door. This was the man who slaughtered a woman and two children with a smile on his face. Feng tried to close the distance so he could launch a needle, but his legs were still weak, and the battle was too chaotic.
The hunter was also targeting Ko Sun, barreling through wave after wave of guards stepping in to protect their commander. Ko Sun was fast and brutal, and the big hunter could not injure him before the guards distracted him again. The shield he had used earlier was destroyed, and he was now bashing his enemies with a chair.
At that moment the tall warrior slashed through another two guards, and the hunter threw a man across the room. The squirming body crashed through the unsuspecting men and cleared the space.
Feng saw his opening and threw a handful of floor spikes toward the door, scattering them near the entrance behind Ko Sun’s fleeing figure.
“Colonel Ko Sun!” Feng shouted. “Your men will testify that you’re running from your post. Can you lose the Red Crest and still face the Judge?”
Ko Sun stopped and turned around to glare. He had already stepped through the door, but being now without a choice, he entered the room again. He glanced once at the floor, then leaped over the spikes and directly toward Feng.
Feng had been waiting for this opportunity. He threw all three needles at once, pivoting off one leg and flinging them with all his strength. Ko Sun reacted in midair, expecting the assault, and lurched to the side.
The three needles were decoys. Feng had a single needle hidden in his other hand. He flicked his wrist and launched his missile. Ko Sun saw it coming too late. His feet had barely touched the ground from his initial jump, and he was out of balance. He lifted his arm to shield his face, and the needle buried itself in his hand.
Ko Sun stared at the Orchid Farmer’s severed hand, lifted his sword, and slashed through his own elbow without a moment’s hesitation. His forearm along with the embedded needle dropped to the floor with a thump. He screamed in pain, clutching the stump that was his arm. Blood shot out in short spurts. But he didn’t hesitate. He kicked his severed arm across the floor, clearing away the floor spikes, and without a glance at Feng or the hunter he ran for the door.
Men poured into the room, all of them heavily armed. Some of the men were using only partially finished weapons. These were the Orchid Farmer’s blacksmiths.
Ko Sun ran past them, through the door, and out into the courtyard.
The blacksmiths, numbering no more than twenty, poured in to attack the guards, their heavy weapons tearing through the remaining enemies. The blacksmiths weren’t skilled warriors, but they had the element of surprise. With sheer momentum alone they pressed the guards into one side of the room. Feng saw another opening and launched three needles into the front line of guards. They screamed and stumbled back, their defenses breaking, their morale in complete chaos.
The tall warrior stood aside, his sword lowered, waiting for the battle to run its course. The hunter was nowhere to be seen.
The teenage boy was crouching over a lifeless figure.
“No,” Feng whispered. The Orchid Farmer lay on the floor, a pool of blood growing around him. “No!” Feng screamed.
The cries of dying men became louder. The blacksmiths were slaughtering the guards in cold blood. Outside, the cries intensified. The second unit was returning.
Feng stepped over a dead guard and approached the Orchid Farmer on the floor. All around him were dead bodies. The room was not large, and the dead had fallen over each other, forming a second layer of bodies, some of them still squirming, covering the entire room in a carpet of flesh.
“Sir,” Feng said. There was a gaping wound in the weapon maker’s upper abdomen. Feng had seen these before. The victims always died within the hour.
“Sir . . .”
The Orchid Farmer released his son’s hand and reached for Feng’s.
“Why?” Feng asked.
“I left the Judge’s father to die. The Judge would never spare my family. He will use me, and then he will kill us all.”
“I’m not worth it,” Feng said, tears streaming down his face. “How could you? How could you watch them die like that?”
The screams had faded. The blacksmiths were finishing off the remaining guards.
“I will see them soon,” the Orchid Farmer said in a low, raspy voice. “But you. You hope to die. But you can’t. You must stay alive. You must. Only you can unite the people and take the country back. Only you.”
“I don’t have magical powers, sir.”
The Orchid Farmer choked once, and a gush of blood spewed out of his mouth. His son reached over to wipe the blood from his lips.
“Sir,” Feng said. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to stop him.”
“Go to the City of a Thousand Heroes. Go and show General Yang what you showed me.”
“General Yang?”
“He will protect you. He will know what to do.”
“Why protect me?” Feng asked. “Why does it matter if I live or die?”
“Master!” someone shouted as he ran into the room. A blacksmith, bloodied and dripping in sweat, rushed in with a damaged weapon in his hand. “Master, we’ve killed all forty soldiers from the second unit. We’ve sealed the doors, and our men are tending to the wounded.”
“How?” the Orchid Farmer asked. “How did you defeat forty professional soldiers?”
“The big hunter killed most of them all by himself,” the blacksmith said. “We’ve never seen anyone like that. He fights like an animal. And their archers were all dead.”
“Any survivors?” Feng asked.
The blacksmith turned to him. “Survivors?”
“Enemy survivors.”
“Ko Sun got away. He was with two other guards.”
“How?” Feng asked.
“No one had a chance to stop him. We were fighting the soldiers, and . . .” The blacksmith trailed off.
“He’s coming back with a much larger force,” Feng said. “Maybe Zhuge Nu archers. We need to leave.”
The Orchid Farmer coughed another swath of blood. He motioned for Feng to move closer.
Feng lowered himself to his knees.
“Zhuge Nu,” the Orchid Farmer said between gasps. “The cylinder at the head of the bolt is heavy. They may fly far, but they have to rain from above. They cannot shoot anything close.”
“So, we need to charge them as soon as they release the arrows,” Feng said.
“Yes! You got it.”
“You made the cylinders whistle so everyone can hear them coming,” Feng said. “You’ve built flaws into these weapons. Then their other weapons must also be flawed.”
The Orchid Farmer smiled, turning to the blacksmith with a nod. The blacksmith rushed to the closest dead soldier and wrenched free his helmet. Blood dripped from the rim.
“I don’t know how to say thanks,” Feng began.
Both the tall warrior and the big hunter stood behind him. They were silently listening to everything that transpired. Other blacksmiths, many of them injured, were trickling in. Some were helping the injured while others carried broken enemy weapons in their hands.
“Master,” the tall man said, approaching the Orchid Farmer. The rest of them fell silent.
The tall man leaned closer to the Orchid Farmer. “I know time is precious now. Please, if you can spare one minute for me. It’s urgent.”
The Orchid Farmer nodded. He gestured to his son and a handful of men gathering around him. “I will speak to this master alone.”
“Yes, sir.” They stepped back.
The blacksmith with a sword in one hand and a helmet in the other motioned for Feng to follow, and they crossed the room to a quiet corner.
Feng noticed the hunter was beside him, and he managed a smile. The big man placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of the better warriors I’ve ever seen. I hope we can fight together again.”
“I don’t understand,” Feng said.
The blacks
mith leaned the sword against the wall and flipped over the helmet for Feng to see.
The side of the helmet was punctured. On the spot that had endured the heavy stroke, the metal was shredded and bent out of shape. Sharp metal protruded from the inside of the helmet, and blood was visible on the tips of the stripped metal.
“How did we kill all these professional soldiers?” the blacksmith asked. “Because when this helmet was struck near the right ear, it folded into a sharp point like a spearhead. Our master designed it to puncture the area below the ear if that part of the helmet is struck with moderate force. It kills the user instantly.”
Feng drew in a sharp breath. “We need to notify the Tiger Generals.”
“Be very careful with that,” the blacksmith said, turning his gaze to the Orchid Farmer. The tall warrior knelt beside him, speaking to him in a low voice. “The Judge could intercept any message we send. He would find new helmets for his men, and we would all be dead.”
“I understand,” Feng said. “I’ll deliver this news personally to my . . . to the Tiger Generals.”
“And the sword,” the blacksmith continued, reaching for the long blade leaning against the wall. “These swords have a small hollow area near the hilt.” He lifted the hammer hanging from his belt, held the sword in front of him, and separated the blade from its handle with a heavy stroke. The thick metal sword broke in two as if it were a toy. “They can be broken if you strike it near the handle, but only if the impact comes from the side and not against the edge of the blade.”
The hunter smiled. “I knew that.”
The blacksmith peered into his face. “You did?”
“By the second sword I broke, I knew.”
“And their shields?” Feng asked.
“Their shields need to be struck from the left side,” the big hunter said, responding for the blacksmith. “They crack down the middle. Very poor design.”
“Very good design,” the blacksmith retorted. “Do you know how long it took to make every shield break the same way? The master didn’t sleep for weeks designing these.”
Feng turned back to the Orchid Farmer. The tall warrior stood beside him, his head bowed. The teenage boy was nowhere to be found. The Orchid Farmer supported himself on one elbow and motioned for Feng to approach. Feng hurried over and stood next to him.
The Orchid Farmer then turned to the hunter.
“You have something to ask me?”
“I need to ask you in private,” the hunter said, crouching down to take the Orchid Farmer’s hand.
“You will, and I will tell you whatever I know. That’s a promise.”
“Thank you.”
“I have a favor I must ask.”
“Say it.” The hunter’s voice was beginning to break. The pool of blood under the Orchid Farmer continued to expand.
“I gave up my family. I gave up my life. I have nothing left except this last breath. And I ask for your help.”
“Say it,” the hunter whispered.
“Promise me. Escort this young man to the City of a Thousand Heroes. Make sure he arrives safely.”
Feng shook his head. “Why? Why am I so important?”
“It’s best you don’t know,” the Orchid Farmer said. “You’ll be safer.”
The hunter clasped the Orchid Farmer’s hand. “It’ll be my honor to fight beside the poison user. He’s a great warrior.”
“Thank you,” the Orchid Farmer said.
The tall warrior stood behind them. “My name is Chen Han. I also promised the same. The three of us will travel together.”
Feng was speechless. Even now as he lay dying, the Orchid Farmer was doing all he could to ensure his safety.
“And your son?” Feng asked. “Who will protect him?”
“I can protect myself,” the boy said, appearing suddenly with a silk-embroidered box under his arm. He handed it to Chen Han, who received it with both hands.
The dying man smiled. He waved his son over and whispered into his ear. The teenage boy jumped to his feet and ran off.
“My name is Ah Go,” the hunter said. He bowed to Han. “I have never seen a warrior like you.”
“The respect is mutual.” Chen Han returned the bow.
“We should fight one day. I want to see how fast you really are.”
Chen Han smiled and said nothing.
The boy returned, running as fast as he could. He carried a long box wrapped in cloth. Two other men, bloodied blacksmiths who were still able to run, followed him with more boxes in their arms.
“I have great inventions,” the Orchid Farmer said, his voice breaking. His breathing became heavier, and his words slowed. He turned to the boxes his son brought. “They are all here.”
His son pushed over a heavy box, crouched on his haunches, and lifted the lid. A massive saber, its blade twice the width of an ordinary saber, lay inside.
The Orchid Farmer turned to Ah Go. “This is for you. You are strong enough to use it.”
For a moment Ah Go was speechless. “Why?”
“I’m asking you for an enormous favor. This saber, it can break other weapons. Other weapons cannot break it. It seems big and heavy, but it can dance in the air with ease. I named it the Butterfly.”
“I’ll treasure it always.” Ah Go picked up the weapon. The blade was immense, the blackened steel glowing, the long curve of the outer edge culminating into a very sharp point. “It’s not heavy,” he said. “How can it be so light?”
The Orchid Farmer smiled. “That is my secret.” He motioned for his son to bring the next box.
It was a double-edged sword—narrow, thin, almost flimsy. The steel, also blackened, was dull and uninteresting. The Orchid Farmer pointed a trembling finger at Chen Han. The blood was draining from his face, and Feng knew he would not last much longer.
Han crouched next to the Orchid Farmer and took his hand.
“I recognize you,” the Orchid Farmer said. “There could be no one else. With your help this young man will be safe. I offer you this gift. It’s the greatest sword I have ever created.”
“I can’t accept this gift,” Han said. “I don’t deserve it. But I gave you my word that I’ll escort . . .” Han froze, speechless for a second. “You don’t even know his name,” he whispered.
“Mu Feng,” Feng said, stepping forward. “My name is Mu Feng.”
The Orchid Farmer smiled. “Of course. The Tiger General’s son.” He turned back to Han. “This sword may appear flimsy, but it can’t be broken. It has no glimmer, and it has no sound. With your speed your opponent won’t be able to see it or hear it. This weapon will make you so much more powerful. I’ve named it the Dart.”
“I—”
“You must,” the dying man said, his short gasps for air becoming more frequent between words. “You must so I can die knowing I’ve thanked you for the favor.”
“I . . .” Han repeated. The Orchid Farmer was fading, his eyes becoming dim, his breathing increasingly shallow.
“I thank you,” Han said.
The Orchid Farmer released Han’s grip. He pointed to the last box, a smaller square container made of dark wood. “For the general’s son.”
The boy pushed the box in front of Feng and opened it for him. Inside was a thick leather belt and a pair of silver gloves long enough to cover his forearms.
“How can I accept another gift from you?” Feng asked.
“If you don’t . . . If you don’t take care of yourself . . . then none of this will be worth it.”
A large tear rolled down Feng’s cheek. He collapsed to his knees and lowered his forehead to the floor. “I will. I swear I will.”
“This belt carries three hundred throwing needles. You know how to use them. And these gloves. They feel like silk, but they cannot be cut open. Use them to grab enemy swords. The needles are best in long-distance fighting and the gloves in short distance fighting. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
“No,” Feng whispered.
&nbs
p; The Orchid Farmer gritted his teeth, planted his elbow into the floor, and lifted his head. His son reached over to help support him. He was shaking, his eyes barely open, but he turned to Ah Go. “Your question . . . in private.”
Feng staggered to his feet, lifted the wooden box with both hands, and bowed once more. “Thank you,” he whispered. He turned and left the room. Chen Han and the Orchid Farmer’s son were behind him, leaving Ah Go alone with the dying man.
Feng bowed to the tall warrior. “My name is Mu Feng. I’m not sure who I am, and . . . and I’m ashamed you have to protect me.”
Han returned the bow. “Don’t be ashamed. How about this? One day, when you have to protect me, I promise not to feel ashamed either.”
Feng shook his head with a weary grin. “I can barely see you when you move. Who can possibly harm you?”
He turned to the boy next to him and gripped his hand. “I swear to you,” Feng said, “I will personally shred Ko Sun to a thousand pieces.”
“Keep your promise to my father first. That’s most important.”
“I will.”
“Do you need anything before you leave? We don’t have much here. All we have are weapons.”
“I need a map of the area,” Feng said. “A detailed map.”
“I have it.” The boy ran off.
The door opened, and Ah Go emerged, a frown on his face. The Orchid Farmer was motionless on the floor, his arms folded and placed over his chest. His body was no longer twisted. Ah Go had straightened him into his final resting position.
“He’s gone,” Feng whispered.
Ah Go nodded. He lifted the heavy saber in his hand, gazed at it for a moment, and sighed.
The boy returned with a long rolled cloth in his hand. He took one look at Ah Go’s expression and ran into the room. Feng wanted to say something, anything, but no words came. The Orchid Farmer’s entire family had died to save his life, leaving a young son he could not take care of. Apologizing would be meaningless. Swearing to take vengeance for them would be equally hollow. There was nothing left to do but follow the boy into the room and kneel in front of the Orchid Farmer’s body.
For a long time Feng stared at the dead weapon maker. He had given up everything so Feng could live. He almost gave up his eldest son, a boy of noticeable talent and character, to save someone who had arrived that day to murder him. All because of the Red Crest. There were countless people out there trying to kill him because of the birthmark. Now, lying at final rest before him was a man who had given up everything so he could live.
