Onseong Governorship (10)
On the third night after Kang Seok-hu had departed, a courier arrived at the Onseong magistrate's office. The sender was Kang Seok-hu himself.
Sir Magistrate,
As expected. On the first night as the prisoner escort entered the Machonryeong Pass, three of the guards vanished into the darkness. Kim San, the Hamgyong Governor and nephew of Lord Kim Gwi-ju, personally deployed official troops to blockade the route. But heeding your warning, I had already altered the path to a remote mountain trail devoid of travelers, and we passed safely.
Choi Du-sik lives, and I shall surely set foot in Hanyang.
Si-woo read the letter and quietly folded it away. It was just as he had anticipated.
Kim Gwi-ju himself made his move. Lord Kang, hold strong.
Si-woo tossed the letter into the brazier. Gazing at the paper turn to ash, he looked up at the northern sky. Somewhere beyond Machonryeong Pass, Kang Seok-hu was still pressing on even now.
"Your Highness! Arrest the Onseong Magistrate Yi Si-woo at once and punish him severely! This is the only way to uphold the national law and safeguard the ancestral shrines and the state's foundations!"
The early morning in Hanyang's court began with Kim Gwi-ju's shouts. On King Jeongjo's desk lay a mountain of petitions from the Noron hardliners, gathered overnight from across the capital.
Leading them, the Noron ministers prostrated themselves on the audience hall floor as if by prior agreement, crying out in unison.
"A mere rural magistrate, without the court's permission, has mobilized troops on his own whim, melted black iron to forge bizarre weapons! Your Highness, if this is not private soldiery, then what is it? He received a bronze ruler and Your Highness's grace, yet now he acts as if the frontier is his personal kingdom, daring to play at being king!"
Jeongjo gazed down at them without a flicker. His cold gaze, sunk deep beneath the throne, pierced sharply into the trembling nape of Kim Gwi-ju's neck. Yet Kim pressed on undeterred, slamming his forehead against the floor.
"Your Highness! From ancient times, it has been said that a frontier magistrate privately arming and gathering men is the seed of rebellion. Your royal grandfather, the late king, so strictly emphasized military discipline—how can Your Highness turn a blind eye? If we do not seize him now, the north will slip from court control and become a monstrous beast devouring the realm!"
"Treason... Lord Kim, Chief State Councillor, does a magistrate raising a shield to protect the northern people truly appear such a grave traitor in your eyes?"
Jeongjo's voice was low, but it seethed with boiling fury.
"Your Highness! Without procedure, law crumbles; without law, the nation's discipline shakes to its core! Yi Si-woo wields Your Highness's trust as a shield to swell his private army for selfish gain. Forging grotesque weapons far from standard issue, training men loyal only to him—this is nothing less than a direct denial of Joseon's laws!"
"Laws! Is the 'law' you prate on about sitting in Hanyang filing petitions while bandits beyond the Tumen River slaughter our people and plunder merchant trains?"
Jeongjo shot to his feet, snatching up the report Si-woo had sent and hurling it before the ministers. The crumpled papers scattered limply across the floor before Kim Gwi-ju's face.
"Behold this report! Yi Si-woo foresaw the enemy's appearance, grasped their numbers and route, and reported in detail to Us. We admired his loyalty and insight, granting him full authority personally. To brand as traitor the man upholding Our command to guard the border—is that not to deny Our eyes and defy Our will?"
"Your Highness, but those weapons are unnatural! Repeating crossbows and steel shields we've never seen or heard of! If an army with such arms moves only at a frontier magistrate's whim, who can guarantee it won't turn toward Hanyang?"
"Silence!"
Jeongjo's thunderous command froze the hall's air in an instant. Kim Gwi-ju gasped and fell silent; the officials who had lifted their heads slammed their noses back to the floor.
"We permitted it. Onseong's steel and soldiers belong solely to this Joseon, shields to protect Our people. If you have no way to fend off three hundred Black Forest bandits with your tongues when they cross the border, then shut your mouths and await Yi Si-woo's victory report!"
Jeongjo stepped forward, looming over Kim Gwi-ju as he added,
"If any speak of 'private troops' again to bind Our limbs, We shall deem that one the true traitor colluding with bandits to open the border and sell the nation. Do you hear Us?"
Kim Gwi-ju trembled with rage and humiliation, clamping his mouth shut, but his downcast eyes still gleamed with a sinister venom mocking Jeongjo's resolve.
"If it is Your Highness's will, this minister shall speak no more. However..."
Without lifting his head, Kim added in a measured tone laced with barbs,
"Entrusting the nation's safety wholly to one frontier magistrate—if that hope crumbles, the chaos the court must then endure falls to Your Highness as well. This minister fears only for the peril to the altars of state."
His words feigned loyalty, yet carried a treacherous warning: failure would pin all blame on the throne.
"Lord Kim!!!"
Chae Je-gong could endure no more and raised his voice, but Jeongjo raised a hand to silence him.
"Your worries are excessive. We trust Our eyes and the man We chose. Yi Si-woo, Onseong's magistrate, will prove your fears unfounded. Stay by Our side and witness the victory report."
"But if, upon his triumphant return, your fears persist, then We shall personally seal your mouths to ease your anxieties. Understood?"
"....."
Kim Gwi-ju prostrated deeply toward the floor in lieu of reply. He already knew victory wasn't decided merely by weapons or numbers. He planned to twist supply lines to Onseong through court officials or hatch schemes to intercept any triumph.
The heavy tension filling the hall lifted gradually as the ministers withdrew. Jeongjo gazed at the distant northern sky beyond the window, murmuring softly,
"Yi Si-woo... We have laid the entire board for you."
Leaving Hanyang's heated court debate behind, Onseong's dawn broke amid the sharp tang of molten steel. Atop the walls, Si-woo clutched His Highness's reply from the capital.
Full authority is tantamount to full strategy.
Failure would turn this fortress into the poison draft for his own execution.
Im Chi-gwon at his side moved to speak in tearful emotion, but Si-woo cut him off with a light tap of the bronze ruler against his palm.
"No time for sentiment. The bandits beyond the river are already blinded by the silver stacked in our warehouses. A beast gone feral sees naught ahead—let their greed be the surest bait to lure them into their own graves."
Si-woo headed straight for the forge. In that stifling heat from the furnaces, he unrolled his personally drafted blueprints across a bench.
"Supervisor, halt all farm tool production from today. Fire every furnace to stamp out only the triangular arrowheads and steel plates I specify. Tolerate not a single ri's deviation from spec. That tiny gap becomes a soldier's death."
The arrowheads Si-woo designed were truly grotesque. Y-shaped barbs split the tip, sprouting fine hooks. Once embedded, they tore flesh if removed—a form forged purely for slaughter.
The shields issued to soldiers were no heavy wooden slabs. Thin steel layered for maximum resilience deflected musket balls or cavalry blades with ease.
"Hone the shield edges razor-sharp. Not mere blockers, but blades to sever enemy mounts' legs."
Two weeks later. Faint dust rose beyond Onseong's northern horizon. Barely discernible to the naked eye at that distance, but Si-woo's gaze from the watchtower pierced it already.
Black-armored figures in grotesque masks crossed the Tumen River shallows, setting foot on Joseon soil. Three hundred Black Forest bandits. Like starving wolves, they advanced slowly yet oppressively toward Onseong's wealth and steel.
Without glancing at the soldier beside him gripping his spear with trembling hands and ragged breaths, Si-woo asked softly. In his grip gleamed a smooth ebony command baton.
"Wind direction?"
"...N-northwest wind, sir. Blowing slantwise from the river toward the walls."
Si-woo nodded faintly, tracing the air lightly with the baton's tip.
"Strength?"
"The lindens below quiver harder than usual—arrows will drift a full handspan farther. Nasty wind, sir."
Si-woo halted, tapping his shoulder lightly with the baton.
"If it pushes arrows a handspan, yours will veer half a cheok right at 150 cheok. Don't aim for chests—target left shoulders. The wind, not your will, will guide them to hearts. Clear?"
"Pardon? Ah, yes! Left shoulder... left shoulder it is!"
At the reply, Si-woo wheeled, raising the baton high toward the signalers lined along the wall. At that single motion, a dozen signalers atop the walls hoisted black flags overhead in unison.
The soldiers filling the ramparts held their collective breath.
"Signalers, eyes only on my baton's tip," Si-woo commanded coldly, overlooking the wall below.
"While it stays level, no arrow flies, no breath escapes beyond these stones. The instant they trample the red flags they've planted below, I'll snap it vertical—then drop your banners. That signals their requiem knell."
Si-woo turned back to the horizon. The Black Forest band now neared firing range. Their leader, Heuksa, bellowed a menacing roar from the fore, but to Si-woo, they were mere approaching coordinates.
His baton held rigidly level. The signalers' black flags behind stood stiff as the hush before a gale.
Three hundred cheok, two hundred—and at last, enemy hooves crushed the red flags staked in the plain.
"Loose!!"
Si-woo snapped the baton downward decisively. Black flags plummeted in sync; hundreds of crossbow bolts screamed skyward, shredding the air and blotting the heavens.
Si-woo watched the inferno's dawn with blank expression, raising the baton anew to mark the next coordinate.
"Today, Onseong's plains become the grave where they learn the cost of treading Joseon soil—etched into their bones as they die."