The moon hung low over the slave camp, a pale sliver casting feeble light through the scattered clouds. Night had fallen like a heavy cloak, bringing with it a deceptive calm after the day's brutal labors and Cheong Gwang's lashing. His back burned with every shift on his straw mat, the fresh whip marks pulsing like embers under his skin. The herbs Baek had given him dulled the edge of the pain, but sleep eluded him. The camp was never truly silent—snoring slaves, the occasional cough, and the distant howls of wild beasts in the hills. But tonight, an unnatural tension hung in the air, thick as fog.
Cheong Gwang lay still, his senses sharpened by years of vigilance. The nails hidden in his sleeve were a small comfort, their sharp points pressing against his arm like whispered promises. He'd shared a few more words with Baek and Jin earlier, during the meager evening meal of thin porridge. "Alliances are fragile," Baek had warned, his voice barely above a breath. "But in the trenches, a trusted back can mean survival." Jin, with his mangled fingers, had nodded, adding, "Watch for the shadows. Raids come when you least expect."
As if summoned by those words, a faint rustle reached Cheong Gwang's ears—from the perimeter, beyond the flimsy barricades of sharpened stakes and thorny brush. He tensed, eyes snapping open. The guards were lax at this hour, most dozing by their fires or gambling with dice carved from bone. Kang's snores rumbled from his tent, a false sense of security for the overseer who relied on his qi to wake him in time.
Another sound: the soft snap of a twig underfoot. Intruders. Cheong Gwang sat up slowly, careful not to rattle his chains—though they were light at night, linked only to the tent poles for "rest." He nudged Baek, who stirred with a grunt. "Trouble," Cheong Gwang whispered. Baek's eyes widened, and he passed the alert to Jin and a few others nearby. No alarms yet; raising one prematurely could earn a whipping for "false panic."
The camp's layout was a crude sprawl: slave tents clustered in the center, guard posts at the edges, and trenches dug around the perimeter for defense—or to trap escapees. Cheong Gwang crept toward the edge of his tent, peering into the darkness. Shadows moved—human shapes, stealthy and deliberate. Not a full assault like the dawn raids; this was an ambush, probing for weaknesses, perhaps to steal supplies or assassinate key figures. Whispers among the slaves had hinted at escalating sect involvement: the Azure Dragons testing borders, or maybe Shadow Vipers seeking revenge for lost skirmishes.
A low whistle from a guard pierced the night—too late. Arrows hissed through the air, thudding into tents and flesh. Screams erupted as slaves bolted upright, chaos blooming in the moonlight. "Ambush! To arms!" Kang bellowed, bursting from his tent with whip in hand, qi flaring faintly around him. The guards scrambled, but the intruders were already inside, slipping through gaps in the trenches like ghosts.
Cheong Gwang grabbed a nearby stick—meager, but better than nothing. His chains limited his range, but he yanked free with a practiced twist, the weak link giving way as he'd tested earlier. Freedom, if only for the fight. He dove into the fray, the night air cool against his sweat-slicked skin. The ambushers were cloaked in dark fabrics, faces masked, their movements hinting at basic martial training—not the elite qi masters, but skilled enough to outmatch unarmed slaves.
One intruder lunged at a young slave boy cowering by a fire, blade raised for a killing strike. Cheong Gwang acted on instinct, charging forward and swinging his stick like a club. It cracked against the attacker's wrist, eliciting a pained yelp. The man spun, eyes narrowing behind his mask. "Filthy slave," he hissed, drawing a short sword infused with a subtle glow—qi enhancement, marking him as a low disciple of some sect.
The fight was tense, shadows dancing as they circled. Cheong Gwang dodged a thrust, the blade whispering past his ear. He countered with a low sweep, aiming for the knees, but the intruder leaped back with unnatural agility. No grace in Cheong Gwang's style—just raw, battlefield-honed desperation. He feinted left, then rammed his shoulder into the man's gut, driving him into the mud. They grappled, rolling in the dirt, the intruder's sword skittering away.
Pain flared as a hidden dagger grazed Cheong Gwang's side, adding a shallow cut to his growing collection. He ignored it, pinning the man's arm and smashing his elbow down on the masked face. Bone crunched, and the intruder went limp. Breathing heavily, Cheong Gwang retrieved the dagger—a small victory, its edge sharp and promising. But no time to savor; the ambush raged on.
Nearby, Baek struggled against another foe, his limp hindering him. The intruder had him cornered against a trench wall, sword poised. "Old man, you're done," the attacker sneered. Cheong Gwang sprinted over, dagger in hand, and tackled the man from behind. They tumbled into the trench—a shallow ditch of mud and spikes meant for defense. The fall jarred them both, but Cheong Gwang landed atop, driving the dagger into the intruder's thigh. The man howled, thrashing, but Cheong Gwang held firm, twisting until the fight drained from him.
Baek pulled him up, gasping. "You... saved me, lad." His eyes held a mix of gratitude and surprise. In this world of violence, empathy was rare—a spark that could forge bonds or invite betrayal. Cheong Gwang nodded, helping Baek to his feet. "Couldn't let them take you. We need your knowledge." It was pragmatic, but true; Baek's survival tactics had already proven invaluable.
The camp devolved into pockets of stealthy combat. Slaves fought with whatever they could—sticks, rocks, even bare hands—while guards clashed with the main force. Kang whipped qi-laced strikes at intruders, felling two with bursts of energy that cracked the air. But the ambushers were cunning, targeting supply tents and setting fires to sow confusion. Smoke billowed, obscuring vision and choking the air.
Cheong Gwang and Baek moved together now, a tentative alliance born of necessity. They flanked another intruder harassing Jin, who defended with a broken shovel. Cheong Gwang struck from the shadows, dagger slashing at the man's hamstring. Jin finished with a blow to the head. "Thanks," Jin muttered, his mangled fingers gripping the tool tighter. The three exchanged glances—fragile trust, but trust nonetheless.
As they pressed on, Cheong Gwang overheard snippets from the intruders. One, pinned by a guard, spat defiance: "The Azure Dragon Sect will claim these lands. Your Crimson Blade weaklings are finished!" It confirmed the hints: murim sects were escalating, their politics spilling into border skirmishes. The Warring States weren't just clan feuds; they were proxies for greater powers, with slaves caught in the web.
An arrow whistled past, embedding in the ground near Cheong Gwang's foot. He dove behind a burning tent, Baek and Jin following. The flames illuminated more intruders retreating, their ambush thwarted but not without damage—several slaves lay wounded or dead, tents smoldering. Kang rallied the guards for pursuit, but the shadows swallowed the foes.
In the aftermath, the camp buzzed with adrenaline-fueled murmurs. Cheong Gwang rebound his chains loosely, hiding the dagger in his mat. Baek clapped his shoulder gently, mindful of the lashes. "That was brave, saving me. Not many would." His voice carried weight; in the fragility of alliances, this act could mean a reliable ally—or a debt to exploit.
Cheong Gwang shrugged, though warmth flickered in his chest—rare empathy amid the violence. "We survive together, or not at all." Jin nodded agreement, the three sitting in the trench's shadow as the fires died down. They shared whispers: patterns in the raids, sect symbols spotted on weapons. "Azure Dragons favor water-based qi," Baek explained. "Slippery, adaptive. Hints at bigger moves—perhaps allying with riverside clans."
The world expanded in Cheong Gwang's mind: not just endless drudgery, but a chessboard of murim intrigue. His thoughts turned to Myeong-Wol—clever enough to navigate such webs. If sects were involved, maybe she was entangled too. The ambush had tested him, but it also revealed cracks: lax guards, hidden paths. With allies like Baek and Jin, plans could form.
As dawn approached, the camp settled uneasily. Cheong Gwang lay back, the dagger's weight a secret comfort. Shadows in the trenches had brought danger, but also bonds. In this barbaric realm, empathy was a double-edged blade—fragile, yet potent. He'd wield it carefully, forging ahead one shadowed step at a time.