Father, the patriarch of the Moyong clan, exuded an air of dignity and reliability, reminiscent of a Great General of the North. Even in a dream, I was overjoyed to witness his renewed strength and vitality. “That child’s name… I’m certain of it,” he declared. “—is So-hyeon.”
“So-hyeon.”
There was something about the name that resonated with a soft, rolling quality, and I couldn’t help but repeat it to myself, over and over.
“There’s no need to worry,” Father spoke comfortingly, perhaps mistaking my expression. “He is the son of my oldest friend, the Number One Sword under the Heavens, and the Medicine Fairy.” Then, just like in the old days, he stroked my head with his large hand. “I’ve heard that he is exceptionally bright and kind-hearted. However…” Father’s hand paused, and a hint of concern crossed his face. “I don’t know the full details myself, but that child was born with a tragic fate and carries a deep, complicated past.”
With a solemn expression, Father knelt down, lowering himself to meet my gaze. He entrusted me with a request. “That is why I wish to bring him here as your husband. So, Woonjeong, you must be the one to protect him.”
***
“My name is Yeon So-hyeon.”
The first time I laid eyes on him, the child had a pale white face and deep, penetrating eyes.
“I’ve heard that clashes between the Haedong Kingdom and the northern tribes have become increasingly frequent in Jilin Province recently,” he remarked.
Even standing before my father, the Great General of the North, the child exuded an air of unwavering confidence. He spoke his mind without hesitation.
“Great General, before the northern tribes spiral further out of control…” The child’s small hand, as delicate as a bracken frond, moved decisively, pointing to specific spots on the map. “…you must take preemptive action to bring them under control.”
“Oho!”
Impressed by his bold demeanor and astute analysis, my father momentarily forgot that this was even our first meeting.
“Your thoughts align perfectly with mine!” He began an animated discussion with the child, “Yes, that’s precisely right,” before finally asking, “In that case, do you have a secret plan for this?”
“Yes, of course…” The child, who had been about to speak, was suddenly overcome with a dark expression and swallowed his words. “…I apologize.”
Why? Is it related to that “deep story”?
The child bowed his head. “What secret plan could a young child like me possibly have? Please, just consider this a child’s tantrum you have just witnessed.”
“A tantrum? Not at all!” Father laughed heartily. “Just that analysis alone makes you far superior to any of my strategists! Woonjeong,” he said, giving me a mischievous smile, “if you refuse to take him as your groom, I’ll have to take him as my personal strategist!”
I blushed and secretly pinched my father’s waist. “Ouch!” he feigned, “You take after your mother! Your hand gets sharper every day!”
“Father!”
Even amidst the commotion, I couldn’t take my eyes off the child. He had turned his head to the window, as if to distance himself from the connections of others. The faint, bitter smile on his face, for some reason, felt so fleeting. It felt as if he might suddenly spread his wings and fly far, far away, disappearing into the sky.
It was then, I thought.
I will be the one to protect this child.
***
“Elder brother!”
Then a voice called to Woonjeong, who was lost in a dream, listening to the sound of young So-hyeon’s flute. “My lady!”
Before her attendant could even shake her, Woonjeong’s eyes snapped open.
A sword was already in her hand. Ever since her father had fallen during the Northern War, she had not slept a single night without a blade by her pillow.
“Is it another night raid by the Yelü tribe?” Moyong Woonjeong shot up from the bed, revealing the leather armor she wore even in sleep.
“Yes!”
Her attendant, with practiced, familiar motions, began strapping iron plate armor over it. “The Yelü cavalry is setting fire to Umut Village and pillaging as we speak!” The attendant was skilled at both armoring her and briefing her. It was a small detail that spoke volumes about the life they had been living.
“Umut Village… That’s the land of a pro-Central Plains tribe!” Moyong Woonjeong bit her roughly chapped lips. The Yelü tribe’s dark ambitions were now being displayed with open contempt.
“May your fortune in war be with you!”
Sent off by her attendant, Moyong Woonjeong’s warhorse snorted and galloped into the night.
***
“Any last words?”
The prisoner gave no answer.
Moyong Woonjeong’s longsword slit his throat.
Slash—
“Keo, keoheok…!”
The sound of blood gurgling echoed from the half-severed neck as the prisoner writhed in agony. Moyong Woonjeong watched with an expression of steel, then sheathed her sword.
“Great General Regent.”
She accepted the long spear offered by a subordinate, and with one hand, Puuk, skewered the now-dead prisoner’s body and planted it firmly in the ground. At the impact, the enemy’s half-severed head fell to the dirt.
“Ptui.”
The soldiers guarding her spat on the head, degrading the enemy’s honor. There were more than ten such heads on the ground and dozens of bodies skewered on spears. The blood pooled, forming a small stream that trickled through the steppe grass. This was the price for their pillaging and a warning to others. However, though the battle was a great victory, there were no cheers. The army’s morale was not high.
“In there…!”
Suddenly, Moyong Woonjeong’s gaze snapped toward a scream.
“My child is in there! Please save him! Please!”
“You’ll be burned to death if you go in!”
“Stay back!”
A wailing mother, held back by soldiers, was staring at what was left of the nomadic village—a collection of gers. The entire camp was engulfed in terrible flames.
“The sheep! My family’s sheep are all…!”
“Just why… Why did you come so late?!”
The anguished cries of the nomadic tribespeople, who had lost their families and their livelihoods, echoed vainly across the night-blackened steppe.
“It was splendid command today, Great General Regent.” Her Direct Adjutant, sheathing his sword, approached and quietly congratulated her on the victory.
“Enough.” Moyong Woonjeong removed her helmet and roughly wiped her face with the cloth he offered. “Can the village be rebuilt?”
Watching the cloth instantly turn dark red, her adjutant shook his head grimly. “It will be difficult. The young warriors who stepped up to protect the village are all dead or captured. On top of that, most of their sheep and horses were stolen…” He clicked his tongue softly. “Their ‘father tribe’ won’t be able to support them, not with the repeated raids they’ve been suffering themselves.”
Ureureu…
Before the troops could even begin to fight the flames, the charred support poles of the gers gave way, and the structures collapsed. The wails of the people grew louder.
“Accept them into the Great General’s Headquarters’ attached village.”
“But, Sister—!” Her adjutant, who was also her younger brother, raised his voice.
“That is an order.” She turned her back, leaving only that command.
“…I will obey.”
The steppe night, unlit by the moon, was brutally cold and dark.
***
Great General’s Headquarters. Military Camp Meeting.
“The attached villages have reached their capacity.” A general spoke, avoiding Moyong Woonjeong’s gaze. “To cover the food we’re allocating to them, we are now on the verge of breaking into our emergency military rations.”
“The people are all well aware of the Great General Regent’s deep compassion,” a strategist carefully added, following the general. “Perhaps it is time to return their roles to their respective tribes.”
“The troops’ fatigue is also past its limit. We need a countermeasure.”
“With tribes defecting from the alliance, recruiting new troops is also proving difficult.”
Once one of them had spoken their piece, the others, who had been holding back, chimed in. Every one of them was a hardened veteran of this harsh northern land. Moyong Woonjeong, the Great General Regent, knew better than anyone that these were not mere complaints.
“Is there… any chance of additional support from the Moyong Clan?”
“Impossible,” Moyong Woonjeong stated, shaking her head beneath the helmet. “They refused the request.”
Ever since the Dread King had appeared among the Yelü, the Moyong Clan had been fracturing from within.
“To think they would ignore the words of the Great General Regent and the Acting Patriarch.”
“I heard that voices within the family are growing louder, saying they should just cooperate with the Dread King.”
“The Moyong clan is going insane.”
“We do not need their support,” Moyong Woonjeong cut them off. “Request the necessary supplies from the Great War Merchant, Dong Gahu, as we have been.”
“But, Great General Regent,” the general who had spoken first voiced his concern. “That man is a merchant who knows no blood or tears when it comes to money. He is cooperating now, for some reason, but…”
Others carefully added their warnings. “In a situation where we don’t know when he’ll turn on us—”
“—Increasing our dependency on his merchant group is extremely dangerous—”
“Enough.”
At her voice, everyone fell silent. She was the Great General’s chosen regent, a leader whose abilities everyone in this room acknowledged.
“The Northern War Merchant Dong Gahu can be trusted.”
There were no more objections, but the atmosphere in the meeting grew even heavier.
***
After the meeting ended, one person remained.
“Sister.”
It was her younger brother and Direct Adjutant, Moyong Ho.
“Dong Gahu, that man—”
“You are aware that he was sent to us directly by the Grand Young Master of the Luoyang Sword Clan, are you not?”
“Of course.”
“The Grand Young Master said he could be trusted, so I trust him.”
“I feel the same way. But…” Moyong Ho hesitated, fumbling with his words before finally forcing them out. “Recently, the Grand Young Master’s name has been heard, even this far north.”
“No.” Moyong Woonjeong, knowing exactly what he was about to say, shook her head firmly. But Moyong Ho finished his thought.
“Perhaps, asking the Grand Young Master of the Sword Clan for additional support—”
TAANG!
She slammed her hand on the desk, cracking the wood. “How many times have I said that is impossible?!”
“Sister…”
“The moment he decided to end his seclusion and live as the Grand Young Master,” she raised her voice, “our engagement was nullified! It never happened!”
“But—”
“Just sending the War Merchant Dong Gahu was already more than his duty required! I must protect this North in my father’s place! And he must protect his family!” A sound like a scream tore from her throat. “He and I are nothing to each other now!”
Her brother, stunned by this rare, violent display of emotion from his sister, bowed his head deeply. “…I apologize, Sister.”
After he left, Moyong Woonjeong remained alone, burying her face in her hands with a long sigh.
A moment later, her hand opened a drawer. Inside was a single letter. It was the letter the Grand Young Master had sent her, via Dong Gahu. Her hand, stained by use, unfolded the worn paper. The short message filled her vision.
‘I will help you. I promise.’
Her rough, calloused fingers traced the words, over and over and over.
“…I wish I could hear you play the flute.”
A lock of hair, which had been tied up tightly, slipped from her helmet, hiding her face.
***
“What… did you say?” Moyong Ho, who had been standing beside Woonjeong, stepped forward. “What did you just babble?”
“Oh, my.”
The chieftain of a tribe subjugated by the Yelü shrugged. “It seems living on the battlefield for so long has damaged your hearing.” He spread his hands.
“As the envoy of the Dread King, I am presenting His Majesty the Dread King’s most merciful offer.”
“You!”
The envoy ignored Moyong Ho, his gaze fixed on Moyong Woonjeong at the head seat.
“Kneel and offer the Great Generalship to the Dread King. Then, as proof of your loyalty, you will marry the Third Young Master of the Luoyang Sword Clan, our new ally.”
He bared his yellow teeth in a grin. “Do this, and the Moyong Clan name will not disappear from this north.” His gaze swept the assembly. “Of course, His Majesty the Dread King will graciously absorb all of the Great General’s forces.”
“You bastard…!” Moyong Ho’s roar thundered through the hall, but no one—not even he—dared draw a sword on the Dread King’s envoy.
“…The Third Young Master visited the Yelü tribe?”
“They’ve even formed an alliance?”
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the buzzing murmurs of the men.
“A ridiculous offer.”
“But we have no chance of winning if we fight.”
“This is the North. If the Dread King unifies this land and then just pretends to be loyal to His Majesty the Emperor, the Imperial Family will have no choice but to accept him.”
“That’s true, but…”
The outraged Moyong Ho turned to his sister. “Sister! This offer isn’t even worth considering!” He knew his sister’s heart. “Refuse him immediately! Everyone in this camp will fight and die to the last man!”
Moyong Woonjeong’s lips remained sealed. She closed her eyes, her hand finding the letter hidden in her robes.
“…Sister.”
Moyong Ho’s face crumpled in sorrow. The envoy’s smile only widened.
“…I.”
At last, after a long, agonizing deliberation, her lips parted. Her eyes were filled with nothing but the torment of anguish.
“The answer is ‘yes,’ of course?” the envoy interrupted, not letting her finish. “But you can take a little more time to decide. It’s fine.” He cackled. “In that time, even more tribes will kneel beneath the Yelü flag, and we will only grow stronger.”
Her lips twitched. “I…” Her hand, which had clutched the letter one last time, began to move slowly.
“…?”
The envoy’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Her hand was moving toward her sword.
“Don’t tell me—” Before he could finish, her voice cut through the hall.
“I am the Acting Head of the Moyong Clan, and the Regent of the Great General of the North, tasked by His Majesty the Emperor to protect these lands.” She stood, her hand on the hilt of her sword, and looked down on the envoy from beneath her helmet. “The only place I will meet a brigand who falsely claims a throne is on the battlefield.”
Gasps filled the hall.
“Foolish!”
The envoy’s face turned beet-red. “Foolish! You are utterly foolish! You will be isolated and annihilated by your own allied tribes, who have already knelt to the Dread King, before you even see the battlefield!” He jabbed a finger at her. “And you, you bitch, you’ll be dragged from that seat and forced to warm the Dread King’s bed—”
Just then, with no warning, the ceiling exploded.
A black thunderbolt fell from the sky.
Thunder!
The Dread King’s envoy didn’t even have time to scream. His large body was crushed, and he died instantly.
“I sent word ahead—“
That clear, bright voice, a voice embedded deep in her memory. Moyong Woonjeong’s eyes flew wide.
“—but it seems, in my haste, I arrived before my own letter.”
Bathed in the sunlight pouring from the gaping hole in the ceiling, the Grand Young Master Yeon So-hyeon, his black silk coat fluttering, smiled down at her.
“It’s been a long time, Woonjeong.”
***
Dulce bellum inexpertis. (War is sweet to those who have not experienced it.)
- Desiderius Erasmus [1466.10.27-1536.7.12.]