BW C69

Chapter 69

It felt like something he had to do on his own. But he had no confidence. In matters of combat, he was completely ignorant.

If, before manifesting as a guide and being dispatched, he had had even a little more time, he would have read at least 손자병법 (The Art of War) or 병학지남 (Military Studies Guide). But as things stood, he was left with nothing he could claim strength in.

“Damn it…”

Hoeun leaned his forehead against the horse’s neck with a thump. The horse neighed in surprise, snorting sharply. Hoeun’s eyes went wide, and he hurried to pat its neck.

“Startled you? Sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.”

After murmuring that, he sighed heavily again. At that moment, something flickered in his line of sight. From the farthest reaches of the endless plain, a single column of dust was rising.

“…Ah.”

Hoeun stepped past the horse, approaching the stakes at the edge. But it was so distant that he couldn’t make out what was stirring up the dust.

“What is that…”

He stretched his torso out over the stakes, rising onto his toes, narrowing his eyes to pierce the haze.

Like a single thread of heat-haze, the shape became clearer as it drew closer. Judging by its direction, it seemed to be approaching here—and fast. The dust stream was thin; whatever came wasn’t great in number, but still, something was charging straight toward the encampment.

Something… running toward the camp.

Realizing that much, Hoeun’s face drained pale. His heart dropped like a stone.

“Could it be…”

Monsters?

Quickly, he looked around, hoping to raise an alarm. But near at hand there were only hundreds of horses. Of all moments, not a soldier was to be seen at the stables.

Without a second thought, Hoeun clambered onto a horse. He couldn’t mount gracefully in one go—he had to use the stake to hop up onto its back.

“We have to go to the General.”

He nudged the horse’s flanks. He didn’t know where Taemuk was, but he had to head somewhere, anywhere.

He galloped along the encampment’s barricade, questioning each soldier he passed as to Taemuk’s whereabouts. And all the while, he kept glancing at the plain—the rising dust was growing thicker.

Only when the dust had nearly reached the camp’s edge did Hoeun finally spot Taemuk. The General stood at the entrance to the defensive barricades—the one opening where the camp could be entered. His eyes were locked on that far-off dust rolling across the plain.

At the sight, Hoeun pulled hard at the reins, halting his horse.

“So you knew…”

Relief swept him. Of course. Of course Taemuk would know. The one who claimed to see every bird that passed over the camp.

“Haa…”

Hoeun exhaled shakily. The strength left his body, his back sagging, slumping wearily against the horse’s neck.

He glanced between the rising dust and Taemuk. The General was neither on guard, nor preparing soldiers for combat, nor giving orders. He simply gazed at the approaching cloud in stillness.

And soon, what raised the dust grew visible by sight.

Two horses. Two men astride them. From their uniforms, they seemed to be soldiers of the Daehan Empire’s army—yet they were not Jeokudae. There was no red banner, no black cloaks.

At last, the riders reached the front of the camp. Before going to Taemuk, they exchanged words with the Jeokudae soldiers guarding the entrance. When a few words had been shared, Taemuk gestured with one hand—permission to let them through.

The soldiers rode straight for him, dismounting before their horses had even stopped, and prostrated themselves full before Taemuk.

“…”

Hoeun frowned at the strange sight. Who were they? Why had they come? Did they seek to join Jeokudae? What of the unit they had deserted? And how did they even know where the Jeokudae camp was? As he eyed them curiously—

One suddenly swayed, collapsing sideways. Taemuk gave an order, and at once a Jeokudae soldier flung the man over his shoulder and dashed away.

Where the man had fallen, the ground shone wet and dark—blood pooling thick. He had come injured. The other soldier still knelt, bowing his head low before Taemuk.

The air thickened. Gilsang had appeared behind Taemuk. Dongja too was there. They exchanged terse words over the injured man. Then, after Taemuk spoke something low, they all nodded and scattered swiftly to the four directions.

And then—

BWOOOOOOO!

The sound of a 나각 (nagak, a war horn made from conch shell) split the skies.

At the blast, Jeokudae soldiers burst into motion, scattering with order, filing into shelters, emerging armed. When they returned, they bore different weapons each.

Seeing it, Hoeun drew a harsh breath, and then turned back to Taemuk.

“…”

Far in the distance, Taemuk’s eyes locked directly onto him.

Hoeun dropped from the horse and sprinted into the General’s tent. Urgency carried him, and he forgot to even announce his presence.

Within the tent, a dozen Jeokudae soldiers had gathered, alongside Gilsang and Dongja. In the center knelt the newly arrived soldier, drenched in blood. One of his ears had been bitten off, his cheek ripped ragged as if slashed by something sharp-yet-blunt.

On the wide table before them lay a map.

It seemed to be the map of a town, though blood had stained it blotchy, hard to make out.

“…”

At Hoeun’s sudden intrusion, all eyes turned toward him, but only briefly, before shifting back to the map. Only Dongja offered him a faint smile. He bowed in return, then clasped his hands low, standing hesitant.

It didn’t feel his place. Perhaps he ought to leave. And yet he had no destination—since coming to the camp, he had always been in Taemuk’s tent. He edged one step back, preparing to excuse himself—

“Young master, come closer.”

Gilsang’s quiet voice beckoned, hand waving him in.

“M-me too?”

Hoeun whispered back, glancing quickly at Taemuk. But the General, arms folded, said nothing, eyes still fixed on the map. As though Hoeun didn’t even exist.

“…”

After some wavering, Hoeun gave in and stood behind Gilsang. He leaned carefully forward, just peering so as not to disturb, and took in the map.

[Map of Ramjae Town]

Ramjae-eup. He didn’t know its place, but he had heard the name. Once called 바람재읍 (“Wind Pass Town”), it had shortened over the years into Ramjae-eup. A name recalling the place where winds swept through a mountain pass.

The map, broad as his body, was detailed. City gates, guesthouses, inner offices, arsenal. Even civilian places like Yeonghwa Restaurant, Geumgyo Herbal Clinic, Imperial Daily News, Daehan Mugo Hospital, Central Church, Seol Commerce, Seonghwa Girls’ School. Homes were marked only with neat blocks; some bore family names like Kim, Jeong, Hwang—noble households, he assumed.

At that moment, the soldier with the torn ear dragged his finger over the map’s thick walls.

“The eastern and western walls have collapsed. The line of defense is completely destroyed. So we had to shift to fighting within the town itself—but without walls, holding ground there is near impossible.”

“What about the people?”

Dongja asked. Her jaw was set, eyes narrowed fierce in a way unlike her usual manner.

“Our town has about two thousand. About five hundred are in this eastern shelter, three hundred in the hospital, another hundred in the school. The rest… I can’t say with certainty. They may be hiding at home, fled somewhere, or else…”

The soldier trailed off. Without hearing it, all there already guessed the truth.

Hoeun swallowed hard. Five hundred in the shelter, three hundred in the hospital, one hundred in the school—that was nine hundred. Out of two thousand. Half remained. Was that fortune, or tragedy?

He searched the map for the marked buildings: the shelters, the hospital, the school. Then Taemuk’s voice spoke.

“Which place where people gather is safest? Where they won’t need immediate rescue.”

“The shelter. It was built against monster attacks. Its door is iron, thick, provisions inside plentiful. They’ll manage for days.”

“And the most urgent?”

“That… would be the school. Though the hospital too cannot be called safe…”

“…”

Taemuk’s eyes narrowed to slits, then eased open. He held silence a long moment. Then Gilsang asked,

“Could more people be admitted into the shelter?”

The soldier shook his head.

“They could force more inside, but once shut the door is difficult to open again. Those who couldn’t reach it in time went to the nearer hospital. Ah—there is also a western shelter. That one holds five hundred. But…”

“But what?”

“It’s already crawling with monsters. Useless now.”

Gilsang scratched at his temple, then looked toward Taemuk—awaiting his judgment. Others too turned their eyes upon him.

Taemuk stood still, eyes tracing the map. Then, releasing his folded arms, he spread both onto the table.

“Everyone, listen.”

At those words, Dongja, Gilsang, and the rest of the soldiers leaned in against the table, awaiting command.

Footnotes

1. 손자병법 (Sunzi Bingfa / The Art of War): An ancient Chinese military treatise attributed to Sunzi, central to East Asian strategy.

2. 병학지남 (Byeonghak Jinam): A Joseon-era Korean military manual, meaning The Compass of Military Studies, distilling tactical principles.

3. 나각 (nagak): A conch-shell war horn, blown to signal troops. Used in Korean traditional military practice.

4. 읍 (eup): Refers to a market-town or township administrative district in Korea, smaller than a city but larger than a village.