Wandering_2 — Friction on the Road Home
What were Lee Hui's people to be called now.
The White Dragon Remnant.
The Returning White Dragon Unit.
Names did not settle anything.
Those who could go, left.
Fewer than fifty remained, and they moved south along the official road toward Hanam.
Because Lee Hui was heading for the Jin household in Hanam, those who chose to follow him naturally took the same path.
And wherever they passed, they spoke of the Great General Jin Mugwang's death.
In some places, the words "White Dragon Unit that served the Great General" opened doors and brought uneasy welcomes.
In other places, it earned them the cold stare reserved for unwanted returning soldiers.
Sometimes they bought food and necessities in large market towns.
But more often they preferred camping and sleeping under open sky.
People's eyes were not kind.
They did not want to look like men begging for favors.
And they did not have the money to lodge a large group in expensive inns.
On a long road south, friction was unavoidable.
A body of armed men moving together would draw attention in any district.
They had to endure inspections of identity.
They had to swallow the fearful, wordless looks fixed on their weapons.
They had no letters of passage, no cooperation writs—nothing official to smooth their way.
As returning soldiers, their position was thin and exposed.
They avoided trouble whenever they could.
But some collisions could not be dodged.
The official road was a road maintained by the state.
Fifty-odd mounted men, armed, riding warhorses—there was no way they could remain unseen.
And if they used the official road, they could not avoid the large cities.
They sometimes made long detours around major walled towns, but there were places that had to be crossed.
Often they would set the Great General's relics at the front and pass through the crowd with grief written on their faces.
More often than not, the crowd parted and let them through.
Near Anyang, a hundred local troops blocked the road.
Hyanggun (鄕軍)—local militia.
A rabble force, a mixed levy.
They might even have been Black Troops (黑軍).
Ahead of them stood a force that looked easily over two hundred.
A short petty officer stepped forward and barked,
"Who are you, and where do you come from."
His tone was harsh from the start.
They carried no clear insignia of an active army unit, and he seemed to think that meant he could treat them as nothing.
A good-natured officer from Lee Hui's side answered first.
"We served in the White Dragon Unit under the Northern Expedition Army.
We are transporting the Great General Jin Mugwang's belongings to his main household."
A soldier beside the petty officer muttered, half-laughing as though the claim itself were an offense.
"Northern Expedition Army… White Dragon Unit… Great General Jin Mugwang… belongings…."
Then the petty officer sneered.
"A grand set of names.
Do you not know that armed men on warhorses are not permitted to travel this road."
"If the official road is forbidden, we will take another route."
"You've already been using it for quite a while, haven't you."
"Tell us what must be done.
Shall we throw away our weapons.
Shall we turn off the road.
We will do as you command."
They had already faced several such encounters, so they lowered their posture and answered carefully.
The good-natured officer stayed forward for a reason.
He feared Lee Hui's temper might flare and cause a disaster, so he kept Lee Hui behind him and tried to resolve matters peacefully.
But the moment they yielded, the petty officer's confidence swelled and his voice rose.
"We'll verify your identities at the guard post.
Weapons and horses will be confiscated."
The officer spoke again, this time with restrained force.
"That is too harsh.
We fought for the realm, and though we have now resigned, we are carrying the relics of the hero who saved the country from the barbarians to his family.
What crime is there in that.
I ask you to show mercy."
The petty officer did not listen.
"First we confirm whether you truly belonged to the expedition army.
Then we talk.
All of you dismount, surrender your weapons, and come to the magistrate's office.
What kind of fools ride warhorses with weapons on an official road."
His words were open provocation.
He called them "fools," "dogs," "bastards"—the language slid lower with each breath.
He had no interest in hearing explanations.
He intended to drag them in by force.
The officer tried to plead, almost offering to strip himself bare.
"Why must you do this, honored sir.
If you take what little we have, we will arrive at the Great General's household as beggars with empty hands.
Even in appearance—"
He did not finish.
Lee Hui spurred his horse forward and rode out.
Even two hundred infantry would not have made him blink.
What could local militia do to him.
A local unit did not block a road without a reason.
If they wanted coin, then paying them off would have ended it.
But demanding not only money—demanding the horses and the weapons—was excessive.
Their greed had crossed a line.
"I am Lee Hui, commander of the White Dragon Unit."
The petty officer flinched.
The difference between Lee Hui and the pleading officer was immediate.
Even looking up at him felt like looking at a blade.
His face was cold, his eyes carried the ruthless decisiveness of a man who had lived by cutting down enemies.
Standing too near him felt like standing beside a sharpened edge.
"Speak.
I may be nothing more than a returning soldier now, but I once drew a formal salary as an officer of the realm.
Must I hand my sword to the likes of you."
The petty officer stammered.
"I… I only follow orders from above.
I can't help it."
Those who hide behind "orders from above" are the most useless men in the world.
They perform the act without even the ability or sincerity to explain why it is just.
He looked frightened—yet he still did not step back.
Which meant he believed he had someone behind him.
"Above.
Above where.
Are you saying you truly received orders to seize our horses and weapons."
"Yes.
The order was disarmament."
"Then answer one more thing.
If we surrender them, will you let us pass."
"That… that is not part of it."
"One more question.
Who issued the order.
Was it the county magistrate."
Lee Hui wanted the source named.
A man who had lived in organizations knew the surest method: strike the point where the order begins.
"From above" was often a lie.
Or a dull-witted man's overinterpretation of a vague suggestion.
It was also the easiest phrase to hide injustice behind.
"It is difficult to say."
Lee Hui nodded once.
"Then you will carry responsibility.
In the army, a report shifts blame upward.
An unreported act belongs to the one who acts.
I will go with you.
I will 'hand them over'—in front of the one who ordered it.
But if there is any error, you and the Anyang office will burn.
Do you understand.
If you will not name the source, then nothing is clear, and you will bear that weight.
Everything that happens here today will be recorded as your negligence."
Under that pressure, the petty officer took a step back.
"How can you say such reckless things."
Lee Hui lowered his voice further, colder still.
"And there was no order that said you must return with your head still attached, was there.
Was there.
Or wasn't there."
Poison sat in the words.
The petty officer clenched his teeth.
"You threaten me."
Lee Hui lifted his chin.
"I do.
We are men who fought the barbarians, broke Gateukrip, and returned.
Local militia who spent the war eating and sleeping do not get to command us.
If I have not acted yet, it is only because the Great General's mourning lies on us.
But if the order truly forbids us from delivering his relics to his household, then I will refuse it and demand answers.
And before I go, I will deal with those who dared block our road.
Drop your weapons and kneel on this official road, and you will live.
Refuse, and there will be no mercy.
Drop your weapons.
Kneel."
No one kneels simply because he is told to kneel.
The two hundred militiamen hesitated, then, at the petty officer's shouted command, drew their spears.
But the spears were poor things—spearheads lashed to wooden shafts, more for display than for war.
They were soldiers who had never learned battle.
They craned their necks, confused, and extended their spear points clumsily.
Two hundred against fifty.
They trusted numbers.
Lee Hui raised a hand.
Formation snapped into place.
With thunder of hooves, a crescent-shaped half-circle spread wide to left and right.
Some swung behind to cut off escape.
It was not a wedge meant to pierce and scatter.
A crescent meant one thing.
Enclosure.
With fifty men, he encircled two hundred.
A flicker of worry crossed the militia's faces—then vanished under the comfort of counting.
The petty officer shouted, "What are you doing."
His words drowned beneath hoofbeats.
The militia, whose only tactic was to surge forward with spears, froze at the sight of disciplined movement.
The White Dragon remnant moved like a single body.
Sharp. Silent. Ordered.
Lee Hui dismounted.
He glanced around the crescent and spoke.
"You hold.
Do not let a single one escape."
"Yes, General."
A heavy shout rose as one.
And Lee Hui leapt alone into the militia's center.
He deflected the first spear thrust.
Struck the wrist that held it.
Cracked the jaw.
Blood burst from the man's nose as he flew backward.
It was too fast to follow.
Lee Hui stepped on the fallen man's shoulder, drove a kick into his waist, hooked his neck with a turning leg, dragged him down, and smashed an elbow into his forehead.
Brutal.
The man went limp—
and Lee Hui struck the head once more.
Poison had climbed into his hands.
Three or four rushed him together from behind, pushing spearheads forward in a reflexive mob rather than any formation.
Lee Hui dropped low and smashed the lead man's knee.
Bone cracked.
The man collapsed and dropped his spear.
Lee Hui stomped down, breaking the leg completely.
The sound—thud, crack—carried.
A long, grieving scream rose.
The men behind him recoiled.
Two down, and already the militia line wavered.
Because every blow was not merely a blow.
It was meant to ruin.
To make a limb unusable.
To leave a body broken.
His fury made his hand merciless.
Anyang was close—close to the Great General's home.
If this was how they dared behave here, how had officials treated the Great General's family.
The answer was obvious.
The militia scattered like sheep.
Lee Hui moved among them like a wolf.
He seized one after another, dropped them, and those who fell did not rise again.
Cries and pain filled the road.
The petty officer, at some point—no one saw when—was on the ground with an arm twisted at an impossible angle, sobbing like a child.
"Run."
When men face disaster, running is the first thought.
A dozen tried to slip out toward the outer edge of the White Dragon crescent.
They moved fast, searching for a gap—
but every man in the White Dragon remnant was mounted.
"Gene—ral…."
Lee Hui turned.
"What."
"Can we kill them."
Lee Hui answered flatly.
"As you please.
If you pity them, let them live.
But break one limb.
Make sure they never do this again."
His voice sharpened.
"Men who eat the country's rice and do this—
taxes were not collected for this.
Those who wear uniforms and puff out their throats on borrowed authority—
they are all the same kind."
The crescent tightened.
Hoofbeats hammered fear into the chest.
The ring swung, cutting off the escape.
Those who fled slammed into it and fell.
When fifty riders pressed in, the field was decided quickly.
More than a hundred militia lay on the ground.
Few were dead.
But arms were twisted, legs shattered, shoulders torn loose.
Lee Hui did not stop.
He gathered them and began to "teach discipline."
Strip armor.
Surrender weapons.
He cursed them for weakness.
He struck them as he walked among them.
He made them bow their heads to the dirt.
Crawl.
Roll sideways across the ground.
To receive punishment while injured was hell.
In the past he might have ignored such things and hurried onward.
But Anyang was close to Jin Mugwang's home.
If discipline was to be driven into them, it should be done here.
At the very least, the Great General's village must not be treated without respect.
So close to the gate, with such a commotion, rumor could not help but spread.
Militiamen knelt packed together under the pressure of long spears.
Lee Hui mounted again.
"Bring the petty officer."
The same petty officer who had started it stumbled forward, clutching his nose.
One arm hung loose.
"Bow your head."
"What."
"Bow your head."
The officer moved, trembling.
Lee Hui asked again,
"Who gave you the order."
The petty officer swallowed.
"The county magistrate… and a man beside him.
A man from the imperial palace."
"From the palace."
"Yes.
A very high man, it seems.
Even the magistrate fawns over him.
I don't know his name."
Lee Hui drew a slow breath.
"Is the Great General's household safe."
The petty officer fumbled for words.
"They're… alive, at least."
"Do they have food."
"Yes.
They have fields, and more land was granted recently.
They eat well enough."
"Then what is the problem."
"The palace men… they meddle. They paw at them."
"How."
"If you go, you'll see."
Lee Hui's body trembled.
He had feared it.
And it was true.
"Lead the way."
"How—"
"Line up in files.
Five-by-ten ranks.
Spears forward."
Anyone who resisted took a stone to the forehead.
Crack—
crack—
Foreheads split and blood ran, and still they did not dare run.
Terror pinned them in place.
Even half-standing, half-broken, they forced themselves into ranks.
"When we fought the barbarians, you ate and slept.
If nothing else, you should have practiced lining up."
Lee Hui drove the two hundred militia ahead of him and marched them toward the Great General's household.
Behind, the fifty riders of the White Dragon remnant followed—
almost regretful, as if they were licking their lips because their bodies had not yet fully warmed.