"What Are You Doing Here Alone, Student Yu?"
The endless chatter between the two of them was cut short by the sudden thunder of hooves.
From behind the hill came the sound of more than several dozen riders.
Even a few dozen horses are enough to trample the chest of a hidden man.
When the ground trembles, the heart trembles with it.
It is a sound that presses directly into the ribs.
On a battlefield, sound alone can steal a man's breath.
Yang Johwi's eyes widened.
He swiftly pulled their two horses behind low brush and scrub.
Soun leapt up toward the ridge to see whether they were friend or foe.
The hill was not high, but from its crest the view opened wide.
The moment he looked down, Soun's face lit up.
It was the White Dragon Unit.
He sprang down the slope and shouted.
"Uncles!"
His voice was not loud, but it carried force.
Twenty galloping horses halted at once.
It was masterful horsemanship.
They had been riding in column, yet as they slowed not one collided with another.
Each mount adjusted its stride with instinctive precision.
In a breath, they shifted formation and turned left.
Column became line.
Faces became visible.
Smiles spread.
"Student Yuuuu!"
"Uncles!"
Soun bounded down the hill like a child.
The riders slowed further and approached.
There is nothing more welcome on a battlefield than meeting one's own.
The warmth needs no reason.
One simply wants to draw near.
To stand beside them.
To remain together.
"What are you doing here alone, Student Yu?"
"Resting."
"And where's Yang the brewer?"
"Hiding the horses back there. Thought you might be the enemy. Heh."
"Tired?"
"We've already finished. Heh."
"Finished already? Wait—what were you two assigned to do?"
They were part of the third work detachment.
They did not know the full progress of the first unit.
It was natural that they did not know Soun's role.
"Kill the commander."
"What? You mean—you killed him?"
"Yes. Jang Sigi. Took his head just now. With Uncle Yang. Heh."
Soun grinned, almost playful.
He still looked like a boy of fifteen.
Yet the head he had taken was real.
The contrast was strange.
At that moment, Yang Johwi emerged, leading the two horses he had hidden.
"Well now, working hard, I see."
"Mm. You too."
"Where are you headed?"
"That's military secrecy. Can't tell you."
"Secrecy? Damn it. Our Student Yu's probably told you everything already."
Yang muttered, unsure whether it sounded like pride or complaint.
"An operation that's concluded isn't classified," one of them replied.
"Ah."
With his task complete, Yang felt a peculiar ease settle over him.
When he had been preparing, he saw nothing but his own burden.
Now that it was done, other men's work stood out clearly.
Leisure invites mischief.
He could not resist teasing them.
"You lot must be off to do something terribly important. Maybe drown five thousand Imperial Guards. Or burn them alive. Or bury them in stones. Terrifying stuff. We? We only killed one man. Boo hoo."
"Get lost, you idiot. We're leaving."
The twenty riders laughed and wheeled their horses away.
They knew he was joking.
This, too, was the routine of soldiers.
The ones carrying shovels mock the ones carrying spears.
The ones with spears mock those with shovels.
Who works harder is a pointless argument.
"Fools. Hurry it up. How'd you let the main force get this far?"
"There aren't enough of us. A hundred men split into five units, setting traps all over the place—think that's easy? Better than drilling, maybe, but still hard. Look at them. Once they held blades. Now they carry shovels and pickaxes. And that? A hoe. Ha! What are they going to do with a hoe? Plant crops?"
Seeing the White Dragon Unit wield tools instead of weapons was strange.
Hands that once cut down enemies now turned soil.
But that, too, is part of a soldier's life.
War is not only fighting.
It is digging trenches.
Setting traps.
Fortifying positions.
Sometimes it is indistinguishable from farming.
They laughed for a long while at the retreating backs of the third unit.
Laughter returned strength to their limbs.
"Shall we go then? See what the enemy's doing."
"Let's."
They trailed the enemy's tail from a careful distance.
Not too close.
Not too far.
A cavalryman reads the earth.
The depth of hoofprints, crushed grass, scattered dung—
these speak of speed and numbers.
This, too, is part of their craft.
The enemy had not gone far.
Leaderless, they had halted.
In the middle of the field they began to form ranks.
The grain there had only just begun to grow.
But crops meant nothing to them.
Tents were raised.
The formation shifted into defensive shape.
It rounded inward, almost a circular encampment.
The absurd death of their commander had struck hard.
Even a drunken commander sprawled in a carriage was better than none.
Without him, confusion spread.
The deputy officers gathered and conferred.
They halted the advance.
Though it was still afternoon, they pitched tents and ordered rest.
It was a sound decision.
A shaken army collapses if pushed.
Like a turtle drawing in its tail, the soldiers contracted toward the center of their formation.
From a distance, the White Dragon Unit watched.
There was a trace of regret in their gaze.
So passes another day of war.
163.
After-Action Report
Once the defensive formation was set, the plan to strike from the rear collapsed.
Ga Gyeong-pil, who had been harrying the enemy from behind, had no choice but to pause and catch his breath.
They formed a circular formation across the field and placed the very target Ga Gyeong-pil had been aiming for inside it, making it impossible for a small force to do anything.
He did not have the resolve to break through a wall of men.
As he rested at a vantage point overlooking the enemy lines, Yang Johwi came running with a report.
"We have taken the enemy commander's head."
"Really? That fellow—whatever his name was… You killed him?"
"Yes, sir."
The subject was unclear.
Ga Gyeong-pil asked again.
"Good work. Well done. But did you do it?"
Yang Johwi hesitated, then gave a sheepish grin.
Ga Gyeong-pil understood at once what that meant.
The question was whether he himself had killed the man.
And whether he even possessed the skill to do so.
"We did it together."
"Who took his head, I'm asking! Damn it! Can't you report properly?!"
"It was Scholar Yu. While I was firing countless arrows to distract and confuse them, he ran in like the wind and cut the commander down. The enemy general had stepped out of the formation… and so on."
Yang went on at length, but Ga Gyeong-pil listened only for the essential point.
A talkative subordinate required extra attention even in the midst of battle.
It took time to sift through unclear explanations and hear the reasoning behind them.
"Figures. Anyway, well done. Where is Scholar Yu now?"
"He's observing from behind the enemy formation."
"What for?"
"It seems they're holding a council. He says that if they appoint a temporary commander, he intends to kill that one as well."
"…Understood. Stay on standby. Join him."
"Yes, sir."
Ga Gyeong-pil sent an urgent dispatch to Lee Hui reporting Jang Sigi's death.
He let out a quiet breath of relief that the first objective had been accomplished.
Now all that remained was to destroy the supply train, but the enemy would not give them an opening.
Even while advancing, they had placed the supply unit between the central force—where Jang Sigi had been—and the rear guard, choosing protection over speed.
It was a cunning move.
All that Jang Sigi required was within the supply unit, so it had been positioned directly behind the main body.
It was sound tactical judgment.
Supply was not everything.
Even if the supply train were annihilated, they could plunder nearby villages and replenish their needs with ease.
They curled inward and formed a tight circular defense.
The strategy of trailing behind and harassing them would no longer be effective.