Bandit Subjugation Operation
The moonlight vanished behind the clouds. It was perfect weather for moving in stealth.
"Keep your footsteps silent."
At my low command, the fifty able-bodied men following behind held their breath. Just days ago, these guys had been drunken louts carousing wildly, but now they carried themselves with real soldierly poise. As expected, the shit-hauler training—no, the PT calisthenics—had worked wonders.
We were crossing the foothills of Chuwolsan, the border between Damyang and Seonchang. Black Mountain Stronghold. The place had a sinister ring to its name, hunkered like a fortress between sheer cliffs.
"Boss, you sure this is gonna be okay?"
Choi Ga sidled up close and whispered. The club in his hand trembled faintly.
"What about?"
"The Black Mountain crew. Word is their boss slices throats like chopping leeks..."
"Even restaurant ajummas chop leeks like that."
I chuckled softly.
"Don't worry. No matter how tough they think they are, they're just a ragtag bunch with no training. No different from you lot."
"But we've been trained!"
"Yeah. Shit-hauler training."
The guys snickered at my words. The tension eased a bit.
"Listen up. They're bandits. Half of 'em are probably passed out drunk or screwing around with whores. Nothing easier than cracking the skull of a careless bastard from behind."
I clapped them on the shoulders.
"And what's in their warehouse?"
"Booze! Meat! Cash!"
"Right. All yours tonight. Get through this, and I'll let you eat and drink till your guts burst."
Nothing motivates like desire overpowering fear. Their eyes started gleaming again.
About an hour later, the entrance to Black Mountain Stronghold came into view.
A wooden palisade atop a steep hill. Watchtowers flanked the gate, torches flickering.
"Halt."
I raised a hand, stopping the march.
Two goons in the watchtower were dozing off. Slack discipline, as expected.
"Choi Ga."
"Yeah, boss."
"See that? The watchtower."
"Yep."
"Go take care of it."
"Me?! Alone?!"
Choi Ga freaked out.
"Not alone. Take this."
I pulled something from my bosom and handed it over. A bamboo tube with a fuse—Na Dae-yong's rush-job "Prototype No. 1" from earlier today.
"What's this? A bomb?"
"Not a bomb. More like a 'surprise gift.' Light the fuse, toss it up to the tower. Then plug your ears and hit the dirt."
"It won't blow my hand off, right?"
"It won't. You don't trust me?"
Choi Ga made a sour face but took the tube without further protest under my glare.
"Go. Fail, and no dinner tonight."
Choi Ga crept forward like a cat. For his bulk, the guy had killer stealth skills—honed from years dodging trouble as a thug.
I spread the rest of the men wide to the flanks.
"Charge when the signal goes off. I'll handle the gate crew."
Tension thickened the air. Choi Ga reached the base of the tower. A faint click of flint on steel.
Hiss—
The fuse ignited. He lobbed the tube up to the tower and flattened himself.
One bandit in the tower rubbed his eyes awake.
"Huh? What's this? Some kinda barrel..."
That instant.
Flash—!
A blaze split the night sky.
BOOM—!!
A deafening roar, white smoke swallowing the tower. Low lethality, maxed-out light and sound—a Joseon flashbang. Na Dae-yong, that genius. A tweak to the gunpowder mix, and boom: this beauty.
"Aaaagh! My eyes! I can't see!" "Ghost! A ghost appeared!"
The bandits in the tower screamed, tumbling to the ground. The silent stronghold erupted in chaos.
"Now! Charge!"
I bellowed and bolted forward.
"Waaaaah!"
The Ikho Army roared after me.
I sprinted like it was a hundred-meter dash. The palisade gate loomed, barred shut.
Normally, you'd ladder up or bash it down, grunting away. No time for that.
"Outta the way!"
I didn't slow. Rammed it shoulder-first.
KRA-BOOM!
A thunderous crack. The thick log gate shattered against my shoulder. Bar snapped, splinters flying everywhere.
This was human siege engine.
I burst through the dust cloud into the stronghold.
Chaos inside. Guys leaping from beds, spilling from booze, yanking up pants.
"Enemy attack! Enemy!" "Who the hell are these bastards?!"
Bandits scrambled for swords and spears, milling about. But terror glazed their eyes. The giant monster who'd smashed the gate (me), followed by fifty charging men.
"Wipe 'em out!" "Beat 'em down!" "Slice 'em(?!)!"
The Ikho Army lunged.
Clang! Thwack! Ugh!
Melee erupted. At first, we pressed hard—ambush advantage. Clubs cracked skulls, pitchforks stabbed legs.
But these bandits lived for brawls and booze. They shook it off and counterattacked.
"Kill! Kill 'em all!"
One swung a gleaming blade. Our frontman took a gash to the arm, screaming.
"Aaaagh!"
Blood spooked our guys. Clubs versus swords—primal fear kicked in.
"Hahaha! These rabble! You dare invade our turf?!"
Bandits surged with confidence, blades flashing expertly, tightening the noose.
Crisis. They'd trained, sure, but zero combat experience. Fold here, and we're slaughtered.
My turn.
"Make way."
I shoved through our retreating men.
A bandit blocked me—ugly mug, sword aimed.
"What're you? Think size makes you hot shit?"
He slashed for my throat. Sharp strike.
I didn't dodge. Extended my left hand instead.
Thwap.
Blade caught in my palm.
"......?"
His eyes bulged. Bare-handed catch. Should be gushing blood, but my hand rang like metal. Geumgang Bulgoe.
"This is for peeling fruit."
I met his gaze and squeezed.
Snap!
The steel blade crumbled like a cookie.
"Eek!"
Before he could scream, my right fist plunged into his solar plexus.
Thud!
His body folded like a '', hurled ten meters back. Smacked the dirt, out cold.
Silence. Battlefield noise froze. Bandits and our guys alike, stunned.
I dropped the blade shard.
"Next."
My low growl echoed through the stronghold.
Bandit eyes wavered. That ain't human. Monster snaps swords barehanded.
"B-boss forever!"
Choi Ga snapped to and yelled.
"See that?! Our boss don't even need a blade! Kill 'em all!"
"Waaaaah!"
Morale flipped. Nothing bolsters like an invincible leader. The Ikho Army went berserk.
"Aaaagh! Mercy!" "Run! Flee the monster!"
Bandits lost the will to fight. How do you battle what swords can't touch? They ditched weapons, fleeing.
But it wasn't over.
"Who dares rampage in my domain?!"
The inner sanctum door—the boss's quarters—swung open. Out stepped a hulking brute in bear pelt, twin blades in hand.
Black Mountain boss. Shorter than me, but built solid. Scar slashed his face; eyes gleamed murderously. The real deal.
"You the head honcho?"
He glared, clashing blades. Cling-clang—chilling.
"You dare hit Black Mountain? I'll skin you for booze snacks!"
He charged. Fast. Lithe for his size. Twin blades danced at my vitals.
I gripped my club—no, the pitchfork I'd just grabbed.
"Guess I'll have the snacks."
I swung.
Clang!
His blades met my pitchfork. Sparks flew. His strength was no joke—held firm against mine.
"Hoh, got some power, eh?"
He sneered.
"But brute force don't win fights!"
He dropped low, aiming my legs. Dirty but effective street swordplay.
But I'd read his pattern. Annals of the Joseon Dynasty—Kim Deok-ryeong's tale. Tossed a bull in wrestling.
I didn't evade. Drove deeper, into his guard.
"Gotcha."
Snagged his belt.
"Wh-what?!"
Too late for his swing. My stance low, his center atop my shoulder.
"Fly, Black Mountain!"
I roared, hoisting him up.
Grand hip toss? Nah, just fireman's carry.
Whoom—
The brute spun like a windmill in midair.
KRA-BAM!
His body cratered the central platform. Thick planks splintered, burying him.
"Guhk!"
He spat blood, knocked out. Twin blades sailed away.
Game over.
I dusted my hands, strode to the fallen boss. Nearby bandits knelt, quaking.
"B-b-boss!" "M-mercy, please!"
I grabbed his collar, shook him.
"Wake up. Bill ain't settled."
He cracked his eyes, terror in his gaze.
"Wh-where's the warehouse key."
"Un-der... the platform..."
"Good. Real cooperative."
I tossed him down, turned to the Ikho Army. They whooped in victory. Wounded, but no dead. Perfect win.
"Boys! Raid the warehouse!"
"Waaaaah!"
They stampeded in. Cheers erupted soon after.
"Boss! Iron piles to the sky!" "Booze vats! Meat stacked in pairs!"
I peeked inside. No rusty farm tools. Gleaming wrought iron ingots. Japanese swords—smuggled loot, tied to corrupt officials.
Plenty here. Enough for cannons, turtle ship armor.
"Take every scrap. Leave a nail behind, and you're done."
I grinned.
"Black Mountain's closed for business."
The full moon gleamed in the night sky. Moonlight of triumph.
I stood amid the reek of iron, blood, and booze, envisioning the future.
Gunpowder ready. Iron secured. Army battle-tested.
Puzzle pieces falling into place. Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Wait. Your 150,000 invasion force? Preparations marching on.