The Tumu Crisis - Part 3
"Why! Why! Why! Why the hell are those Joseon bastards suddenly showing up and stirring shit?!"
The game was all but won. It was a war that would've ended the moment they captured the emperor—until the Joseon army crashed the party and flipped the board entirely.
The Joseon troops that appeared from the rear steamrolled everything in their path. Try to hit their flanks with cavalry? They'd form up like a single organism and unleash a barrage of cannon fire. The horsemen stabbing at their sides fared no better. They'd swoop in with those weirdly shrill pipes blaring, pepper them with shots, then scamper off—and damn if those hits didn't sting. Chase after them? They'd just blast away with more cannons, sending the pursuers tumbling.
And to top it off, reports kept coming in that the desperate last stand at Tumu Fortress was still dragging on.
"Arrrgh!"
Crash!
He'd prepared a lavish victory feast in anticipation of the good news, only to flip the table in rage. Not that it changed reality—or eased his fury one bit.
"Kh-Khan...!"
One adjutant approached Esen Taishi, his eyes bloodshot as he scanned for something else to smash. The man couldn't even meet his gaze, bowing his head low as he made his suggestion.
"P-Perhaps... it's time to... c-consider... r-retreat...!"
"Retreat? Retreat? You think that word comes easy in this situation?"
"The troops are exhausted from the relentless assaults, and morale is—"
"Shut your mouth! Just a little further, and we'll have the Ming emperor in chains! Then this war ends!"
"B-But—"
"I said shut it!"
Esen Taishi snatched up the overturned table with one hand and swung it at the adjutant. The blow to the head sent the man crumpling to the floor, twitching but not getting back up.
"Khan!"
As everyone held their breath, a messenger burst in, clutching a scroll made of fine silk in his hand.
"What is it?!"
"A letter from Joseon's Crown Prince!"
"What? The Crown Prince? You mean Joseon's Crown Prince is here?"
Not just the Ming emperor, but Joseon's Crown Prince too? For a fleeting moment, Esen Taishi dreamed of greater glories—but the distant explosions yanked him back to reality.
"What does it say?"
"He... wishes for peace."
"Peace? Now?"
Esen Taishi yanked the scroll from the messenger's hands and unrolled it himself to read.
Your ghostly stratagems have pierced the principles of heaven.
Your wondrous calculations have mastered the principles of earth.
The merits piled high from victories in war.
Knowing contentment, I urge you to cease.
"This—arrrgh!"
Esen Taishi instantly recognized the mockery from the Crown Prince and nearly tore the scroll to shreds. But the thick silk wouldn't yield to his strength.
"Ack! Ugh! Grrgh!"
Even trying to rip it with his teeth failed.
"Arrrgh!"
If it were something chunky, smashing it might've felt good—but silk just slipped away when he threw it down and stomped it. Using a sword felt like admitting defeat to the prince, so he held back.
"Ugh, ugh, arrrgh! Aaaagh! Aaaaaaaaagh! Cough, hack-hack! Aaaaaagh! Hack!"
His throat caught mid-roar, fraying his already raw nerves. He bellowed until blood trickled from his throat, then rasped the retreat order in a hoarse voice.
"All troops... fall back...!"
"Khan!"
"I won't forget this! I won't forget!"
Esen Taishi ground his teeth, stained red from the blood seeping from his gums. All the while, he seethed over the cannons and powder they'd looted from the Ming army.
The emperor's guards had taken near-total losses. The northern barbarians had closed in close enough to lock eyes with the emperor himself, forcing the rear-commanding General Fan Zhong to draw his sword and fight personally.
"General! You must fall back!"
"How can I save myself when His Majesty is right there?!"
"Still—ack!"
Stab!
A blade erupted from the gut of the adjutant urging retreat. The northern soldier who'd stabbed him sneered.
"Th-These... filthy... northern scum...!"
Unable to contain his rage at the mortal wound to his faithful adjutant of years, General Fan Zhong lunged.
Slash!
"Guh... guh... guh...!"
Even a battle-hardened veteran like him had never lost an arm before. But he recovered faster than most grunts, snatching the sword from his flopping severed limb and fighting on.
"Hold just a bit longer! The Joseon army's coming! The Joseon army! They're on their way!"
Ignoring the bleeding stump, he bellowed at the top of his lungs. Hope flickered in the eyes of the Imperial Guard soldiers at his shout.
"Arrrgh! Die, you barbarian fucks!"
"Please, just let me go home!"
"Leave me alone alreadyyy!"
The emperor's elite guards were no longer fighting to protect him. Survival was all that mattered now.
"Fall back! Retreat! Retreat!"
The order rang out from beyond the surging enemy ranks. The Oirat soldiers mid-clash halted their blades at the unexpected command.
"Retreat! By the Khan's order! Fall back!"
Recognizing their commander's voice amid the chaos, they kept the Ming troops at bay while backing away.
"Wh-what? They're... retreating!"
"The barbarians are pulling back!"
"Wooooah!"
The Ming soldiers, their ornate armor drenched in blood, cheered as if witnessing a miracle.
But General Fan Zhong couldn't join them.
What... what just happened? Did the Joseon army beat the Oirats? Or... could His Majesty have...!
Blood drained from his body—or so it felt. And it wasn't just his imagination.
"General! Your arm!"
"St-stand back."
"No! We need to staunch the bleeding now!"
"This body's not worth sparing! But His Majesty!"
"D-did we win? Did I win?"
"Long live the Emperor!"
A plump face poked through the blood-spattered tent flaps. Spotting it, Fan Zhong prostrated himself, forgetting his severed arm.
"Hah... hah... hah."
"......"
"Tch!"
The soldiers didn't bow. Not even to the emperor they'd sworn to protect. His fear-sweat-free face was too pristine.
"......Long live the Emperor!"
But soon, one by one, they began kowtowing into the blood-soaked earth amid their comrades', foes', and their own gore.
"Long live the Emperor!"
"Mm, yes! Good work, all."
Startled by the soldiers' murderous glares, the Zhengtong Emperor feigned nonchalance before ducking back into the tent.
"Your Majesty! Emperor!"
Moments later, ministers emerged from the tent, unfurling a red carpet with feeble arms onto the bloodied ground. The Zhengtong Emperor stepped out with feigned dignity atop it.
"Long live the Emperor!"
Soldiers rising slyly slammed their foreheads back into the crimson mud.
In stark contrast to the filthy troops, the pristine emperor strode toward General Fan Zhong.
"General. This victory is all thanks to you. Because of your merit, I live—and Ming endures. Rise now. General? General?"
Only upon reaching him did the emperor notice something amiss. No response, even after repeated calls.
"G-General!"
The adjutant prostrating nearby checked. When they finally hauled him up, the general's eyes stared blankly at the sky.
"General! Pull yourself together! We won! We won and survived! General!"
"Waaah! Generaaal!"
"Oh no! General! Why'd you have to go?!"
The soldiers couldn't hold back their grief over the valiant general's death. Only the emperor and ministers remained dry-eyed.
Then, from the ruined walls came the sound of pipes.
Preeeeee! Preeee! Preeee!
"!"
The first to bolt was the emperor, waddling back the way he'd come, his jowls jiggling. Ministers followed.
"E-enemy! Enemy attack!"
"All soldiers, prepare defenses!"
"Draw swords! Arm yourselves!"
Those barking orders vanished into the tent without fail.
"......"
"......"
"......"
The survivors, wrung dry just staying alive, lacked even the energy to curse them. Bereft of their pillar, they only hoped for a painless end.
"Anyone alive?"
Against their wishes, the figure entering through the breached walls was a Joseon soldier. Spotting the Ming troops inside, he turned and yelled outward.
"Survivors here! Call the medics and surgeons! Survivors!"
Shouting in Korean, he stepped inside, followed by armored cavalry knights who stayed mounted.
"Hello? We are... Joseon... troops."
The Joseon soldier greeted the listless Ming soldiers in awkward Chinese.
One knight pushed past, dismounting to bellow into the fortress.
"Your Majesty! Joseon's Crown Prince has come to your aid! Where are you?!"
His Chinese was fluent, but he looked more general than prince—dust-caked from head to toe, bow in hand.
"Cr-Crown Prince? The Crown Prince?"
"Truly Joseon's Crown Prince?"
Enemy turned ally—their leader, no less. The emperor puffed up his tattered pride.
"I am here! Joseon's Crown Prince, come pay homage!"
"Joseon's Crown Prince pays respects to His Majesty!"
The self-proclaimed prince hurled himself facedown into the blood-soaked ground upon meeting the emperor's eyes. Rising for another bow, he was as gore-splattered as the Ming troops.
"Hahaha! So you're Joseon's Crown Prince! Truly valiant!"
To the emperor, this prince was a savior appearing amid peril and embarrassment. Emerging from the tent again, he gazed approvingly at the prostrating figure.
That was when it happened.
"In-vin-ci-ble! Jo-se-on! Invincible Joseon! Invincible Joseon!"
Joseon infantry, trampling Oirat heavy cavalry underfoot, poured through the walls. The emperor's eyes were drawn not to the prince, but to the infantry standing in perfect, unerring formation beyond.
Yes. Today's near-defeat wasn't my fault. It was the Ming army's lax discipline. Implant that Joseon discipline into my troops, and we'll avenge this humiliation. No matter what.
The emperor yearned for his Ming forces to master line infantry tactics like the Joseon army—never dreaming it was the poison the prince meant to plant in Ming's heart.