Sergeant Hartman of Primitive Ancient Chinatown
“You all right?”
“Keh! Cough! Urgh!”
“…Sorry.”
Even a finger to the throat would leave someone hacking for a while. She had taken a blade straight to it. I patted her back as she knelt, coughing. After emptying everything but blood from her mouth, she glared at me through eyes damp with tears.
“You are cruel.”
“Practical, though.”
“…”
Honestly—very honestly—her swordsmanship was full of holes. Dual blades were one thing; I had seen a local notable show off a two-sword style over drinks once, and the talk about holding a beer mug in one hand during a fight had made sense. I remembered how much trouble I had gotten into when ambushed on a battlefield. A rifle was too long for the space, a pistol too slow to draw against a swinging blade. I had taken a knife to the thigh in exchange for putting a few rounds into someone’s gut… but it had not been easy.
Her dual-sword technique, however, was simply bad. The wide sleeves looked flashy when they fluttered, but the arcs were too linear to blind anyone, and the movements were too large to catch my own. …Was this right? I had been a soldier, but I came from the age of guns and bombs. I had seen mad terrorists charge with knives when they could not get gunpowder, yet the sword era had ended long ago. Shouldn’t people of this age—when arrows rained and blades flashed—handle swords better than I did? Or not? I had no idea.
“I heard you were a scribe. Where did you learn that kind of martial art?”
“From a friend. One I cannot see anymore.”
“…I see. Originally… cough! I meant to teach you proper swordsmanship after seeing your skill, but it seems I am the one who must learn.”
“It is nothing special. Just an assassin’s style meant to deceive the eye and betray familiar movements.”
“But it is practical.”
“…It is.”
“Master Lu Zhi said the same, and our sparring just now confirmed it. I seem to be weak when it comes to that practicality.”
I was honestly a little surprised. She still looked like a child who had not shed all her baby fat, yet she was one of the heroes who would one day divide this vast land into three. Like every “hero” I had met, I had expected some pride, but she changed her stance immediately. …Maybe that was what made her a hero.
“Still, I do not know how to wield a long sword. I only honed techniques to protect myself. Master said you seek power, did he not?”
“That is true. But the Ten Eunuchs grow more tyrannical by the day, so chaos is inevitable. Even while building my own forces, I need a way to protect my own life.”
“Very well.”
She was the seed of a future warlord who would swallow a third of the continent. No harm in planting a little goodwill early.
---
Several months passed.
At first she had been wary of his obsessive practicality, then eager to learn his brutally efficient swordsmanship, and even impressed by his systematic training methods. Now, however, the feeling Liu Bei held toward the man before her—Gongsun Zan—was pure fury.
“Number One Owl, twist your waist more!”
“Agh!”
“Damn it! Speak up! Is that thing between your legs just for show?”
““No, sir!””
Sword training lasted only about an hour after breakfast. He hired nearby cooks to stuff the men with enough food for two grown laborers per meal, then forced them to study military manuals he had apparently written himself until digestion finished. Once that was done, the hellish physical training repeated until the next meal.
“Full-body twists, ten! How many?”
““Ten!””
“Too quiet! Twenty! How many?”
““Twenty!””
“Do thirty!”
““Agh!””
Worse, because the physical training—called “guerrilla drills” by him—dragged in the dozens of men she had gathered herself, the recruits’ resentment naturally turned toward her. The stress of balancing her subordinates’ glares and the commander’s orders grew heavier every day.
““Twenty-nine!””
—Thirty.
Because she never once took her eyes off the man walking among them, fueled by rage, she saw it. He had spoken the final count himself.
“Instructor! Hah… hah… isn’t this too much?”
Fortunately, she was not the only one who had seen. One of her childhood friends from Zhuoxian broke posture, stood, and began shouting at Gongsun Zan.
“…”
“The final count! Hah… yes! I know why! To make us focus! Then we should all finish together once we are united! Instructor… why… did you… take… the last… count…”
The boy had started boldly, but under Gongsun Zan’s silent stare his voice grew smaller and smaller.
Nearly eight cheok tall—roughly 190 centimeters—and close to five hundred geun in weight—about 125 kilograms—his body, stripped to the waist for training, rippled with muscle. In stark contrast to that grotesque bulk was a face so handsome it was annoying. Yet the expressionless gaze he turned down on the boy was cold. It was only natural that a mere alley boss from Zhuoxian would shrink.
‘How is that man a civil official… even the Bingzhou cavalry would look delicate next to him.’
Completely crushed, the boy’s voice dwindled until it was barely a mumble. Then Gongsun Zan spoke.
“You. What is your name?”
“Gan… Ong, sir.”
“Wrong. What is your name?”
“Gan Ong!”
“Wrong again. Your name is Horse Dung. Like the new name?”
“Wh-what kind of—?!”
“Why? Pissed off? Feel like shit? Or would you rather be called Dog Shit?! Choose! Shut up and keep training, or pack your bags and go home to shovel your old man’s dung!”
It was verbal abuse. Insulting stragglers was common enough. But dragging in a man’s parents was a declaration of enmity—an oath to become mortal enemies. Yet this man had done exactly that from the very beginning.
“The moment you soft little bastards leave this place, the moment you finish this basic training, you will become weapons! You will be reapers who hunger for war! Until then, you are nothing but shit-stirrers. The lowest creatures on this Central Plains. Not even human! Lower than maggots swarming on filthy, useless dung! You will hate me. You will see me as your eternal enemy! But the more you hate me, the more you will learn. I am a bastard, but I am fair. I will treat everyone equally like shit—man or woman, son of a high minister or son of a whore. Because you are all worthless maggot spawn! Understood?!”
The polite impression he had first given was nothing like the muscle-bound monster who now stood bare-chested in the training yard.
“We will stay!”
“Good. Then shut up and get down! Fifty! How many?”
““Fifty!””
“Begin!”
The man knew the human body far too well.
“Hah… hah…”
“You. Get the hell back and drink some water.”
He walked slowly among her gang—his “trainees,” or sometimes “maggot spawn”—singling out those who had reached their limit and granting them rest.
“You! Stop pretending to be tired, damn it! If you want to whine, go home and suck on your mother’s tit!”
He caught anyone slacking with uncanny precision and whipped their focus back with humiliation and fear. The street thugs who had once roamed alleys doing as they pleased now carried a faint glint of soldier’s venom in their eyes.
“Well, well! Hey! Look at that milk-boy’s eyes spinning! What, seeing real men sweat gets you hot?! Planning to spread your legs tonight?!”
“No, sir!”
“Focus! Focus! You want to lie around with a broken back?! What?! You are going to pacify the realm?! You cannot even pacify your own husband’s cock!”
“No, sir!”
That bastard… If only his face were a little uglier… damn it.
---
It was unexpected. No—given Liu Bei’s reputation and the fact that she had plucked out several legendary generals whose names even I, who knew nothing of the Three Kingdoms, recognized, I had assumed she possessed some eye for talent. Yet this was far beyond expectation.
Fifty men. Exactly fifty. The ruffians she had gathered from her hometown of Zhuoxian still carried some of their old swagger, but none of them were irredeemable trash. In fact, they were rather fine A-grade recruits.
“Rest for one gyeong!”
““Rest for one gyeong!””
Three months of basic training. There were no rifles to fire, no grenades or chemical warfare drills, so some adjustments had been necessary, but the core of basic training never really changed no matter the era or country. March when told, rest when told, run when told, sleep and wake when told. Learn to bind a comrade’s wound, however crudely. Learn to cross rough terrain. Hold your ground even if your commander dies instead of running. That was all.
Swordsmanship? Unnecessary. I had learned while talking with Master that infantry of this age simply gripped a long spear and kept thrusting until the battle ended—or until they died. I did not know the finer points of spear work; they would pick it up on their own while roaming outside. No need for me to teach it.
Those with some promise, like the boy Gan Ong who had talked back earlier, were receiving basic tactical instruction alongside Liu Bei, but most of the raw recruits could already be called elite soldiers.
“Hey, little brother.”
“Yes, big brother.”
By now Liu Bei had started calling me “big brother.” I gave her the passing grade.
“Training ends this month. You will not be called neighborhood thugs anymore. Armor and blades are your problem.”
“…Thank you.”
“Tough job putting up with that bastard.”
“…Not at all.”
After rolling through an entire season their minds were probably quite worn, and a little kindness now would have left a deep enough impression to serve as future groundwork. But I closed my mouth there.
“I will repay this debt someday.”
“Forget it. Just buy me a meal when I am broke later.”
I looked over the fifty soldiers one by one, crossed the yard slowly, and stepped into the small academy where Master waited.
“Sit. Let us play a game of Go.”
A Go board. Despite my vow never to play again, conversations with Master occasionally led to a few moves. I had not won a single game since the first.
Well, according to Liu Bei he was the greatest general, scholar, and politician of the era. Someone whose only talent was war had no chance.
I picked up a black stone and placed it on the upper-left three-three point. Master placed a white stone on the lower-right three-three.
“This position… is truly exquisite.”
“Is it?”
“It is. You have no idea how much profit those young friends of mine make with this opening these days.”
“Is that so?”
“You really only know how to say ‘Is that so?’”
“…”
“Where did the Go player go?”
“…It has been a while since I heard that.”
Gradually, as always, I moved my troops. The black stones formed a small company tactical base, while a detachment struck at the rear of the white stones’ position. It was still too early to eye the vast central territory; time remained to consolidate footholds in the provinces, yet the white stones’ fortress looked impossibly solid. The detachment was already surrounded, and the company base was being ignored with perfect composure.
“Your eye for power has improved.”
“…So it seems.”
Forced to sacrifice the detachment, I built the next base and completed a single line connecting the points. It resembled… hmm… trench lines from the First World War. No walls, no towers, yet a tough trench line that would grind any attacker to dust if they entered. Master tested the trench’s strength by placing several stones, and when he found it unyielding, he began reinforcing his own position and advancing step by step. My skill was too poor to read “style,” but even an amateur like me could feel the solidity of his Go.
“Will you leave?”
The question came out of nowhere, yet I sensed what he was about to say.
“Not yet. I must stay a full year.”
“Liu Bei said she would leave as soon as the snow melts.”
“If I return without finishing the year, I will not be able to marry.”
“Haha! Fair point.”
Master rarely taught directly, but he often spoke of current affairs or lessons from his life while playing Go.
“The provinces are stirring uneasily.”
“You mean those cultists?”
“Yes. As you said, if only His Majesty possessed the qualities of a wise ruler…”
I had said it many times: this was the period of strongest imperial authority in Han history. The only power besides the throne belonged to eunuchs who held no fiefs. Eunuch power existed only by the sovereign’s permission; had the emperor possessed even a fraction of King Yeongjo’s political skill, he could have quelled the coming chaos. The problem was that this mad emperor cared only about stuffing his Swiss bank account—more than even El Presidente. Expanding the pie would have filled his coffers automatically, yet he was trying to carve open the still-growing pie and stuff it into his mouth. Absolute power could not function that way.
The Clean Stream faction he had crushed—or rather, the local gentry—were quietly building strength and waiting for the age of great warlords. The few remaining Clean Stream scholars, devout Confucians like Master, were turning their eyes away from this mad era and focusing on nurturing the next generation.
Black and white stones had each claimed their corners and were now reaching tentatively toward the center. A clash between the two vanguards was only a matter of time. Unlike Master’s rock-solid fortress line, my company bases and trench lines looked larger on the surface and offered more room to maneuver.
“You are wagging your tail quite openly. If you were a woman, even a badger would weep and leave.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Of course. Such an appetizing bait. Even knowing it will cost you your waist, you still want to bite.”
“Ahem.”
“Still thinking the same?”
“Yes… well.”
“Thinking the same” meant whether I still had no intention of going to the capital. And what I had learned after living nearly twenty years in this world was that central power in this primitive ancient Chinatown was a poisoned chalice—fine on the outside, deadly within. Besides, the Danggu Purge was no joke. Even the greatest noble houses could lose their heads overnight if they chose the wrong side. Why would I willingly walk into that? Betting on Liu Bei, the most human of the three sworn siblings who would become history’s winners, and flirting with my wife was the best move. What if Liu Bei’s forces collapsed? I would probably die before that happened anyway.
While lost in idle thought, I continued playing. In the end, my large group that had failed to cut through the white stones’ waist was captured.
It was winter.