The Boomer and the Monster
"Push! The wheel's come off!"
The Yiho Army lads grunted as they struggled to free Hyeonmu No. 2 from the mud pit.
The road from Ichi Pass to Geumsan was treacherous. Mountains to climb, rivers to ford—a grueling forced march. Fresh from battle, everyone was dead on their feet, but there was no time to rest.
Na Dae-yong, sweating bullets, inspected the axle.
"Commander, it's too much. The Hyeonmus are at their limit. The spokes are warping, the axles are bending—if we keep this pace, it'll take a full day to reach Geumsan."
"A day's too late. With that old man's temper, he might've already charged in."
I glanced anxiously at the sky. The sun was dipping low.
Jo Heon. Courtesy name Joengbong. A symbol of the righteous armies in the Imjin War, but also infamous as Joseon's ultimate boomer.
He was the fierce sort who'd prostrate himself before the palace gates with an axe in hand, submitting a petition. No compromise, all fire and fury. And now, that man had led 700 righteous soldiers to assault the Japanese holed up in Geumsan Castle.
If history played out, he'd be annihilated come morning. Along with Monk Commander Yeong-gyu and countless nameless volunteers—all wiped out.
I couldn't let those precious lives end up as a single line in a history book.
"Choi Ga."
"Yes, Commander! Huff... huff..."
Choi Ga came running, tongue lolling.
"Tell the Hyeonmu to take it slow. Leave it to Na Dae-yong, and we'll pick the elite squad and run ahead."
"Run? All the way from here to Geumsan?"
"Yeah. You've got sturdy legs, right? Trust those PT-trained thighs."
I secured Misuki tightly at my waist.
"If we're late, they're all dead. Want to save 'em? Run."
We bolted down the mountain paths. My past life's self would've been winded in five minutes, but this body was an endless energy machine. We scaled peaks and leaped valleys.
It was midnight by the time we reached a ridge overlooking Yeon Gon-pyeong plain near Geumsan Castle.
"Huff... huff... Commander... we're here..."
Choi Ga and the soldiers collapsed in exhaustion. But I didn't even catch my breath—my eyes were fixed below.
Geumsan Castle. Japanese flags fluttered atop the walls, torches blazing everywhere. Guards were thick; the defeated dogs from Ichi had hunkered down, defenses tight.
And in front of the castle, off in one corner of the plain: faint campfires dotted a encampment.
The Joseon army's camp. But it felt less like troops and more like a massive funeral home.
"That it?"
"Yeah. Down there."
I hauled the soldiers to their feet.
"Let's go. Time to pay our respects."
We slipped through the darkness toward the righteous army camp. Up close, the eerie scene sharpened.
Most were peasants. Sickles and bamboo spears outnumbered proper weapons; armored men were rare. But the standout was their attire.
White clothes. Mourning garb. Like pallbearers at a funeral, white bands around their heads.
"Commander, those guys... they here to fight a war? Looks like they're off to a sacrifice."
Choi Ga shuddered.
"Suicide squad. They've resolved not to come back alive."
Cool if you want to call it cool, stupid if you want to call it stupid. Fighting with death in mind is one thing; charging to die is idiotic.
"Who goes there!"
A sentry spotted us, spear leveled.
"Kim Deok-ryeong of the Damyang Righteous Army. Here to see Master Jo Heon."
"Kim Deok-ryeong? The big guy who bagged that tiger?"
The sentries' eyes bulged. My rep had spread this far.
"Wait here."
Soon, a messenger led us in.
At the camp's heart stood a large tent. Inside, thick incense hit like a wall.
On the seat of honor sat a white-haired elder. Scrawny, but his eyes burned fierce. Beside him loomed a burly monk leaning on a heavy iron staff—Monk Commander Yeong-gyu.
Jo Heon wore not armor but a white robe, a scholar's headwrap instead of a helmet. Less warrior, more stubborn schoolmaster.
"Kim Deok-ryeong of Damyang..."
Jo Heon eyed me, not appraising but nitpicking, like he was hunting for faults.
"You're that rumor mill star? Rounding up thugs to hunt tigers, bullying officials for gunpowder?"
First words were pure provocation. True to form.
I bowed deeply, channeling my 45-year-old salaryman's social skills.
"Forgive my late greeting. Kim Deok-ryeong here. Heard you'd come to crush the Japanese wretches—raced over to lend what aid I could."
"Lend aid?"
Jo Heon snorted.
"No place for rootless riffraff. Heard you held Ichi Pass against the Japanese. But your methods? Bizarre as hell."
He tsked.
"Rolling iron carts, cowering to lob rocks, scavenging enemy junk? That's man's work?"
Ah, blood pressure rising. Win the war, still bitching.
Victory's what matters—methods? Who cares. This guy treated war like an etiquette duel.
"Sir, war ain't child's play. Win, you're loyal; lose, traitor. Slaughter the enemy by any means—that's a soldier's duty, no?"
"Watch your tongue!"
Jo Heon bellowed.
"A soldier's valor and cause matter most! Better die honorably and etch your name than stoop to barbarian tricks!"
Classic boomer logic. Die for fame—what good's that when my family, my people are dying?
"So you're dragging all those folks to die for it?"
I pointed outside.
"Those 700 out there—sons, husbands. Sacrifice 'em for your honor?"
"You ignorant fool! Not dying—for righteousness!"
Jo Heon slammed his staff.
"Our blood here wakes sleeping scholars! Shakes the court awake! We're kindling!"
No reasoning. Victory wasn't the goal; it was a grand martyrdom show, a political statement.
Noble? Sure. But I couldn't stomach torching 700 fighters as tinder. Not right in front of me.
"Sir."
I lowered my voice.
"I'm a merchant. No bad deals. Can't watch good manpower go to ash."
"Your watch? Piss off! Dawn, we advance!"
Jo Heon was immovable. Brick wall. Yeong-gyu murmured softly.
"Lad, good intentions, but our commander's stubborn as an ox. Head back."
Ox? Oxen.
I handle those best.
I sighed, standing.
"Words won't cut it, then."
"What? And if not?"
Jo Heon glared.
I strode toward him. Yeong-gyu moved to block; I waved him off.
"Monk, step aside. Respect for elders."
"Insolent!"
Yeong-gyu swung the iron staff. Heavy. I caught it left-handed.
Thud.
"......!"
Yeong-gyu's eyes widened. It didn't budge.
"Hold this a sec."
Right hand tapped his neck—pressure point. The big monk crumpled without a sound.
"You—you bastard! What?!"
Jo Heon shot up, aghast.
"Sir."
I drew Misuki from my waist.
"I ripen the green with a beating, but you're too old—might shatter."
I loomed over him, my massive shadow engulfing the elder.
"So, another way."
"A-another?"
"Kidnapping."
I grabbed his waist like a rice sack.
"Put me down! You brute! Hands off!"
Jo Heon flailed, but against my 190cm frame, he was a cicada.
"Quiet. Won't let go even if you bite your tongue."
I slung him over my shoulder, tucking the fainted Yeong-gyu under one arm.
"Choi Ga!"
"Yes, Commander!"
Choi Ga burst in from outside.
"Fall back. Pack the baggage."
"Baggage? What?"
"Old man complete, two. And those 700 dummies outside."
I stepped out. Righteous soldiers gaped at their kidnapped leader.
"C-Commander!" "That guy's got the chief!"
They swarmed, spears threatening—but no thrusts. Hostage held.
"Clear the path."
I roared, Jo Heon on my shoulder.
"Your chief's mine now. Live? Follow. Die? Into that castle."
"You! Drop me! I'll walk!"
Jo Heon pounded my back—massage level.
"Stay still. Motion sickness."
I patted his butt once and marched on.
"Where to, thief?!"
"Where else."
I pointed to rugged peaks opposite Geumsan Castle.
"Taking you to victory."
Forcing life on the suicide-bound. My one persuasion.
Boomer meets monster. Result: forced kidnapping.
"Follow! Food's on me!"
Choi Ga yelled behind. The 700 shuffled, eyed each other, then packed and trailed. Leader nabbed—what choice?
Thus, the 1592 Battle of Geumsan twisted wildly off history's page.