Post-Battle Aftermath (1)
The backyard of the county office, where the clamor of battle had finally died down, was eerily silent. Just a few hours earlier, screams and the clash of metal had filled the air, but now there was nothing—only the drip of water from the eaves breaking the stillness.
Si-woo stripped off his blood-soaked robe, now stiff as armor. In modern times, he would have scrubbed it down with antiseptic soap multiple times over; the sticky feel was utterly revolting. The metallic tang of blood mixed with rainwater, flowing dark red into the drains, and the shallow gashes on his shoulder and side stung like fire as the briny water touched them.
With this era's medical knowledge, even wounds like these could be fatal. I'll have to apply every bit of modern hygiene I know.
It was a miracle the cuts hadn't pierced deep into muscle. Any deeper, and tetanus or sepsis would have been a real risk in this environment.
Si-woo roughly wiped himself down with a towel and began reviewing the battle data. There was no time for sentiment.
Heavy footsteps approached, and the defense captain bowed deeply. His face was caked in mud and blood.
"My lord, we've finished recovering the bodies and cleaning the battlefield. Shall I report?"
"Speak."
"Our side lost thirty-eight killed and eighty wounded. The enemy cavalry's charge was so fierce that the front-line spearmen phalanx took heavy casualties. They held with everything they had, but many were crushed under the horses' weight."
The captain's voice trembled faintly. He swallowed dryly before continuing.
"Also... many civilians couldn't escape the melee. Including the elderly, weak, and women, sixty lost their lives, and twelve homes burned down completely. Part of the warehouse west of the office caught fire, but fortunately, we saved the military grain stores."
Nearly a hundred lives turned into lumps of meat in the mud overnight. In a remote outpost like Onseong with low population density, that wasn't just casualties—it was the breakage of the very axle that kept the town turning.
"And... we've recovered the body of gatekeeper Oh Pan-seok from the north gate. He was hacked apart by the bandits' blades; it's hard to even recognize him."
Si-woo nodded in response. Useless as he was, the man had died holding his post. He deserved at least basic honors.
"Good work. I'll personally conduct the rites for the fallen, so prepare the list. For the wounded, treat them exactly as I instructed—using water that's been boiled clean and cooled."
"Yes, my lord!"
An hour after the captain withdrew, Si-woo headed to the gatekeeper's quarters to sort through the dead officials' belongings. The place felt desolate, like a house abandoned by its owner. While soldiers handled bodies outside, Man-seok, who had gone inside to gather items from the inner chambers, burst out pale-faced.
Man-seok glanced around warily before whispering to him.
"Young master... you need to come inside. Alone."
Following Man-seok into the inner chamber's secret room, Si-woo saw the bedding torn open beneath the bed platform, revealing a heavy wooden chest. Opening it unleashed a soft white glow from stacks of silver ingots—easily thousands of nyang.
"I checked the ledgers; no gatekeeper could amass this much! Even squeezing the locals dry, it wouldn't add up!"
Si-woo picked up a bundle of letters beside the chest. No seals, no sender's name, but the smooth paper and refined script screamed capital aristocracy—no one else could fake that.
Eliminate the county magistrate and open the north gate. Upon success, you'll be guaranteed lifelong wealth and honor, plus a position in the capital.
The moment he read it, his mind went ice-cold. Oh Pan-seok's death wasn't a heroic last stand against invaders. He'd been discarded by the bandits once his usefulness ended—a filthy deal where he'd unlocked the gates himself and sold his comrades' lives.
This bastard...
Si-woo ground his teeth. Blood seeped from his lips, clenched too hard.
History majors like him had studied countless recorded betrayals, but facing one firsthand made the cost far crueler than any textbook shame.
If Oh Pan-seok had just held his post, casualties would have been at least half what they are.
All those lives, discarded into the mud for a chest of silver and a scrap of paper.
"My lord, your lip is bleeding... Without a seal on this secret letter, we can't trace the sender. What should we do?"
Si-woo wiped the blood roughly with the back of his hand and murmured low.
"No seal doesn't make the culprit vanish. We just lack hard proof for now."
"Man-seok, distribute these ingots as condolence payments to the families of the fallen and the bereaved civilians. I won't let the price of my people's lives rot in a traitor's chest."
Si-woo took up his brush and drafted a letter to King Jeongjo, enclosing the betrayal's evidence with his victory report.
Your Majesty, we have exterminated the foes at Onseong, but traitors within the walls opened the gates first. This is no border raid, but internal rot stemming deep from the capital. I send this seal-less secret letter as vile proof—ponder who in the capital's shadows dares sell Your Majesty's land. Your servant shall excise this cancer from Onseong and establish new order.
After sealing the letter, Si-woo stepped outside and pointed to the salt crates.
"And Man-seok, pack all the bandits' heads in these salt crates. Especially Batou's—use the largest one. We need to send it to His Majesty."
"Pardon? Directly to His Majesty? But protocol..."
"Worry about protocol, and this letter'll burn in someone's hands before it reaches the capital."
He gazed down at Batou's head being packed in salt.
"His Majesty will see these heads and make their spines chill. They need to know exactly what it costs to touch my town."
The next morning, in the county office forecourt at Onseong. The night's rain had stopped, but the air bit colder than chilly, piercing the skin. Si-woo stood before the people in a clean official robe, free of blood.
At his feet sat Oh Pan-seok's silver chest.
"Hear me, all of you!"
His voice rang beyond the office walls. The murmuring crowd and sidelong-glancing local yangban snapped to attention.
"Yesterday, we lost thirty-eight brave soldiers and over sixty civilians. Do you know why? Gatekeeper Oh Pan-seok colluded with the enemy and opened this town's gates himself. This silver is what he got for it!"
"My child... my son died at the east gate..."
"Oh Pan-seok! That scum of the earth! How could a man we grew up with do this?!"
"My lord! Drag out his corpse and hang it in the market square! The blood our neighbors shed still soaks the ground!"
The crowd erupted in fury and sobs.
"Thus, I will not put a single piece of this wealth into the treasury. It goes entirely to those harmed by this raid!"
One yangban stepped forward, his hat strings quivering.
"M-my lord! Seized rebel assets belong to the national treasury by law. How can you handle this so privately? This violates the national code and sets no precedent..."
"National code?"
Si-woo cut him off, stepping close and staring him down.
"Where was your precious national code when bandits breached the gates and slaughtered our people? When my blade took enemy heads and my soldiers bled to hold the walls, where was your noble precedent hiding—behind which wall?"
"B-but... my lord..."
Under Si-woo's roar, the yangban stumbled back and fell on his rear.
"If you question my decision, go to Hanyang tomorrow and petition His Majesty yourself. You'll get your answer beside the head of Batou that I sent!"
The yangban paled at the fierce mention of sending Batou's head directly to the king. Those who'd dared criticize overstepping authority fell silent, overwhelmed by his direct line to the throne.
One hard truth from studying history: nations where groups claim rights without bearing responsibility always fall.
A deep silence settled over the forecourt. In the people's eyes flickered the faint spark of hope—they could live.
Si-woo drew a slow breath, surveying the yard.
You can't grow new flesh without cutting out the rot. Time to restore discipline in Onseong and rebuild the broken order.
His gaze lingered on a ruined wall amid an orphaned shoe and a child's bloodied jacket. The weight of irreplaceable lives pressed on his shoulders.