April 13th, The Gates of Hell Open
The terrain was treacherous. Sheer cliffs towered overhead, dense forests choked the slopes, and the path twisted like a serpent—less a road for humans than a trail for beasts.
Ichi Pass. Baetti Pass. The vital gateway linking Jinsan in Jeolla Province to Geumsan Castle, a natural fortress guarding the Honam region.
According to history, this was the legendary battlefield where Generals Gwon Yul and Hwang Jin would one day hold off 10,000 Japanese invaders with just 1,500 men. But right now, it had no master. The royal army was still scrambling to grasp the situation.
"Halt! We're fortifying here!"
At my bellow, the 300 Yiho Army soldiers marching in formation snapped into action with perfect discipline.
"Hyunmu No. 1 on the left ridge! No. 2 on the right! No. 3 smack in the middle of the road!"
Rumble—thud!
The massive iron behemoths settled into position. With three Hyunmu tanks sealing the narrow mountain path, it was an iron wall in every sense.
"Choi Ga."
"Yes, Commander!"
Choi Ga came running. His face was caked in sweat, but his eyes burned with life.
"Build a stockade at that forward choke point. Dig traps in the woods on both flanks—the kind we used for wild boars. Sharpen bamboo spikes and plant 'em deep."
"Got it! We'll punch holes in their feet!"
The soldiers scattered with saws and shovels in hand.
I perched on a boulder and took a swig of water. A cool breeze swept through. Down the mountain, azaleas bloomed in a crimson sea.
It was breathtaking. But to my eyes, those red blossoms looked like spilled blood.
What day is it today?
Lunar calendar, 4th month, 14th day. Yesterday was the 13th. If history held true, yesterday afternoon, Busanjin Magistrate General Jeong Bal had fallen, and Busanpo had been overrun. Today, Dongnae Magistrate Song Sang-hyeon would have made his last stand and perished.
The gates of hell had opened. The brutal war of 1592 had finally begun.
"Commander, look down there."
Chun-sik, on watch, pointed to the base of the mountain.
A dust cloud rose in the distance. My gut tightened—troops? But no, it wasn't a military column.
Refugees. Women with bundles on their heads, elders bent under loads on their backs, children stumbling along in tears. Hundreds strong, they clogged the mountain path, pushing upward desperately.
"Help 'em out! Clear the way and share some water!"
At my order, Yiho Army men rushed forward to assist the refugees.
Up close, their state was heartbreaking. Clothes torn, shoes gone, eyes wild with terror and lost focus.
"Aigoo, General! Save us!"
An old man clutched my pant leg and collapsed.
"Elder, calm down. What happened? Where are you from?"
"From Hamyang in Gyeongsang Province. The Japanese devils... they're swarming like black ants!"
The old man trembled like a leaf as he continued.
"Busan, Dongnae—they're all in flames! Wherever they go, they wipe out whole families! Cutting off noses, slicing ears..."
The nearby soldiers murmured uneasily. The rumors of Japanese atrocities had become grim reality.
"What about the royal army? No soldiers?"
"Royal army? Hah! They run at the sight of Japanese flags! It's us common folk who die!"
The old man beat the ground, wailing.
My chest tightened. I'd expected this, but the reality was worse. An unprepared nation's tragedy fell squarely on its people.
"Don't worry. This place is safe."
I helped the old man to his feet.
"We'll hold this pass. Head back to the safe zone and rest. There's food and water."
"R-really? You'll stop the Japanese?"
"Yes. I promise. They won't cross this pass."
At my firm tone, the old man finally relaxed, wiping his tears. The refugees moved to the relief tents we'd set up behind our lines.
But the soldiers' unrest lingered.
"Heard Busan fell in a day." "Even General Jeong Bal's dead—how're we supposed to hold?" "Should we run too?"
Fear spreads like plague. Morale had plummeted. Some were already edging backward, glancing around.
Leave it like this, and we'd crumble before the fight.
"All hands, assemble!"
My roar echoed off the mountains.
The 300 flustered soldiers gathered before the Hyunmu tanks. Their faces were etched with fear and doubt. They'd trained, sure, but this was their first real battle—against the infamous Japanese pirates, no less.
I leaped onto the roof of Hyunmu No. 1. From atop the armored beast, I looked down at them.
"Scared?"
No one answered.
"Busan fell? Of course. They weren't ready. Charging bare-handed at guys with swords? You'd die too."
I stomped, ringing the Hyunmu's armor.
Thud!
"But we're different. See this? These iron beasts?"
I drew "Mi-suk-i," my six-tailed club, from my belt.
"We hauled shit to make gunpowder. We robbed bandits to forge these monsters. All that sweat you shed, that tiger meat you ate—was it for nothing?"
Their eyes wavered.
"150,000 troops? Bullshit. This narrow pass? They can't even fit 100 at a time. 100 against 300—who's got the edge?"
I pointed my club at the Hyunmu's barrel.
"Plus, we've got these monsters. Matchlocks? Let 'em try. Won't even dent us."
I caught my breath, dropping my voice to the most earnest tone.
"Wanna run? Go ahead. I won't stop you."
"......"
"But if you run, who's guarding those folks back there? Your families? You gonna go home and face your wives and kids saying, 'I was too scared'?"
Choi Ga clenched his fists. Chun-sik lifted his head.
"I'm not running. Die here if I must, but I won't turn tail and live in shame."
I grinned.
"And above all... I've got your back."
I ripped off my shirt like it was paper. Beneath the red padded armor Seo Baek-seol had made, rock-hard muscles gleamed.
"Your Geumgang Bulgoe commander—who blades can't touch—fights at the front. What's to fear? You just earn your keep behind me. Got it?!"
Silence. Then explosion.
"Woooah!" "Let's do this!" "Kill every last Japanese bastard!"
Morale reignited. Fear turned to fighting spirit in an instant. Not mere rhetoric—the certainty of a reliable anchor (their commander, their weapons) moved them.
"Good. To your positions!"
Soldiers rushed to spots. Hiding behind Hyunmu with matchlocks and bows at the ready, ambush teams melted into the woods.
—
Sunset. Crimson dusk hung over the ridge.
Dust rose from the road below—not the ragged refugee march, but orderly, swift, laced with killing intent.
Flags appeared. Back-mounted banners (sashimono) fluttered in the wind. Not Joseon flags.
Three circles emblazoned on them. Grotesque helmets on the vanguard warriors.
They were here. The Japanese vanguard.
"All units, battle ready."
Weapons clattered; tension peaked.
I'd laid out a mat in the road's center, before Hyunmu No. 1, and sat. Beside me: a sake bottle and Mi-suk-i.
Insane? No. Psychological dominance.
They'd be arrogant after steamrolling up. No sign of Joseon troops? Then bam—a hulking figure picnicking in their path?
They'd falter. Hesitate. That's our moment.
Thud, thud.
Footsteps neared. The lead Japanese officer spotted me, raised a hand to halt his unit.
"Nani?"
He growled in Japanese. Behind him, at least 100 matchlock men and spearmen in formation.
I tossed back a cup of sake. Clink. Set it down, eyed them coolly.
Memories of my past life flashed. My daughter loved Japanese anime. To bond with her, I'd dragged myself to language school after overtime hell, even got certified—dozing through lessons.
Who'd have thought that "useless" Japanese would pay off here.
I smirked, replying in deliberate Japanese.
"Tsukodo meda, kisama-ra."
"......!!"
The officer's eyes bulged. Japanese—fluent curses, no less—from a backwater Joseon gorge? Unthinkable.
"The toll is your lives."
I hefted Mi-suk-i with a grin.
Welcome. First time in hell?
The officer scowled, drew his sword. "Korose!"
Matchlock men leveled at me in unison.
Bang! Bang! Rat-tat-tat!
Gun smoke bloomed; lead balls hailed.
I didn't dodge. Arms crossed, seated, I took the barrage full-on.
Clang! Clink! Thud!
Bullets ricocheted off me. My clothes shredded, but my skin? Not a bruise.
"......!!"
Japanese eyes widened in horror. A man tanking bullets? Beyond their comprehension—pure terror.
"Tickles."
I stood, grabbed Mi-suk-i.
"My turn?"
Without looking back, I roared.
"Fire!!"
With my shout, the three Hyunmu's muzzles roared open.
KABOOOM!
Na Dae-yong's sage cannons spat fire. No iron balls—these were scatter shots, hundreds of steel pellets and shards packed in, dubbed "joran-tan."
Narrow pass. No escape. A steel storm rained on the Japanese.
"Gaaah!"
The gates of hell had opened. And the gatekeeper was me, Kim Deok-ryeong.