They rose at dawn to depart for another battle. Only this time, their spirits were fired up with passion--more than before.
An Sun did not wait for the others. General Donghai's shout sounded from afar, but he could not hear. The moment he caught sight of the enemy up ahead, he ran. He ran and ran, armor clamoring against his chest, feet blazing with speed.
He tore through the advancing Tuhan ranks, shattering chests and faces, marking them with the meteor of his fury. By the time their bodies hit the ground, he was charging to his next opponent. The clang of steel echoed through the field as the others waged the battle around him.
One of the An Clan generals watched on the side as the young man tore down their defenses ruthlessly. He gripped his sword, roared angrily, and slashed down at An Sun's head. An Sun countered by raising his sword high, striking horizontally. His blow offset the generals, and the tip of his sword sliced cleanly across the man's face.
As the An General cried out in pain and clutched at his face, An Sun moved in close, eyes colder than a winter frost. He impaled the general's arm that held his sword, gripped his own sword halfway down the blade, and plunged it into his chest. The general's screaming stopped. He gasped, choked, and stared at his opponent with a mix of surprise and malice.
Chest heaving, An Sun's face was spattered with blood. "You will not take any more from me." His voice, thick, hoarse, and filled with bloodthirst.
He withdrew his sword and let him fall to the ground. His face was sweat-streaked, his breaths harsh. But he did not pause. He stared down at him and plunged his sword in his chest repeatedly, eyes flashing with anger.
Other men could not help but glance over to see the young man soaked in blood, ruthlessly driving his sword into the general until he was nothing but a pile of flesh and bones.
Underneath the jade sky was the grass thinned from warfare, drinking the rich blood of soldiers and generals. The An Clan's army retreated. Although the second battle was in their favor, all anyone could feel was a foul taste of resentment.
An Sun stood at the top of the hill. He gazed down at the army retreating, the sword in his hand trembling.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
...
An Sun and the others returned to the palace.
His entire body was red, up to his elbows, his knees, his neck, as if he had swum in a pool of rich blood and emerged, still dripping. He dragged his sword, a trail of red following behind him. Those he approached flinched.
While he was walking back to his quarters, a voice stopped his tracks.
"You did well today, Sun." Manchu approached from the side, a cloth in his hand. His eyebrows laced with worry. "Bathe and rest yourself for now. You've done enough. All right?"
"I'm fine." An Sun snapped.
Manchu pursed his lips. He stared at his old friend, drenched in the blood of others. It was hard to tell whether any of it was his.
He sighed. "Tomorrow night...Fan Mingli will be burned and buried. He would want to see you looking your best when he's put at peace."
An Sun's entire body flinched as if he was struck. His mind awakening from its dazed state.
It was only then he seemed to notice the fearful gazes of those around him. When he glanced down at himself, he also couldn't help but scrunch his brows.
It was only then that he began to feel the weight of the battlefield toll on him. He swayed for a moment, before completely collapsing onto the cold ground. Shouts came from all directions.
