Great Yuan Mongol Empire - 1
Lately, it felt like I was spending more time in the Hanlim Academy warehouse than at the Dochalwon offices.
"The Hangga Sword Method is a martial art built on the belief that anyone can become a powerhouse! The path ahead is arduous and long, but if you endure the process, you can make your name known across the world! It's an art that values persistence over luck, effort over talent!"
A Hanlim Academy scholar, who had no work of his own apparently, immediately became my dedicated guide the moment I arrived, explaining each artifact in exhaustive detail. Not just a quick rundown, but a thorough breakdown of every single item. I appreciated it, but it was also burdensome and exhausting.
Seeing ancient relics and hearing expert commentary is undeniably appealing. No wonder renowned museums dominate as national symbols and tourist hotspots. But that's for brief tourist visits—listening for days on end was another matter altogether...
"What a magnificent art. It's not that the West Chu Overlord was born strong, making the Hangga Sword Method powerful by extension. Rather, it shone because he mastered it to perfection, right? A martial art open to everyone—truly beautiful."
Still, considering my connections with the Hanlim scholars, I couldn't show any annoyance. I'd already invested days; quitting now would be a waste. Besides, fatigue aside, the explanations were genuinely useful.
The Hangga Sword Method itself isn't anything special; it just looks strong because the West Chu Overlord was a madman.
Thankfully, I'd avoided that worst-case scenario. The Hangga Sword Method turned out to be a solid super peak-level technique.
"In truth, the West Chu Overlord was a heaven-sent martial prodigy, so yes, it shone through him! No other warrior, even mastering it fully, could match his prowess!"
"That's actually a relief. Mass-producing West Chu Overlords would be a nightmare."
"Haha! Well said!"
I chuckled at the scholar's laughter, then gazed at the original scrolls of the Hangga Sword Method and Hangga Heart Method, protected by spells.
Well, sure—even a super peak technique's results depend on whether the practitioner is a genius, a talent, or average. That's unavoidable. At least it's not limited to geniuses alone.
"Now, let me explain this saddle! It's presumed to be from Ochu, the West Chu Overlord's beloved steed. Given the size, Ochu must have been a massive beast compared to ordinary horses!"
The scholar, without pause, moved to the next artifact, eyes gleaming as he lifted the saddle. It was indeed larger than standard ones—the straps to wrap around the horse's barrel were twice as long, evidence that Ochu was far bulkier than most steeds.
But the seat itself isn't much different.
That was unexpected. I'd imagined the West Chu Overlord as a 2-meter musclebound giant, yet the rider's seat wasn't overwhelmingly larger.
Come to think of it, despite his disastrous talent as a ruler, he was said to possess considerable personal charisma. Born to nobility, he received elite education. So he probably looked more like a refined young noble than a brutish warrior. Han Gaozu, the local thug-turned-emperor, might have been the more muscular one.
A noble who beat down every warrior in his path.
Thinking of it that way was amusing. The protagonist of that reverse-scale, world-shaking legend—a dainty noble. How must his contemporaries have felt, getting pummeled by such a figure?
"One peculiar thing: compared to the other artifacts, this saddle is remarkably clean! As if someone had been cleaning it periodically."
"Cleaning... it?"
"Yes! The dust buildup and stickiness are far less than on the others. I thought maybe it was because it was buried under them, less exposed, but the report says it was isolated, apart from the rest! Most unusual."
Intrigued, I cautiously touched the saddle. Cleaner than the others, and found separately. Could Ochu's spirit have lingered in it?
"Of course, it could be sorcery! The overlord's tomb was sealed with massive spells that suddenly failed after centuries, right? A beloved steed's saddle having enchantments isn't surprising!"
A compelling theory; I nodded. No sorcery lingered now—after 1,600 years, it had probably faded.
"Ochu's size suggests a custom saddle—a precious item, worth enchanting to prevent damage."
"Precisely, Right Deputy Censor! Custom pieces like this deserve special care, unlike mass-produced gear!"
The vigorously nodding scholar returned the saddle to its shelf and picked up a small canteen beside it.
"This is the water flask the West Chu Overlord used!"
The word "canteen" made me flinch. A military horror—one object holding the water tastes of multiple regions, spanning decades of history.
Can it really capture the flavors of Jiangnan and Guanzhong at once?
I've heard of canteens blending Normandy, Korean Peninsula, and Annam waters. This one probably wasn't much different.
The Shanhaiguan and Guyongguan Commandants submitted unusual reports.
"Beasts are rampaging?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
I closed my eyes briefly, never expecting such a report. Beast disturbances were serious—ferocious animals descending on settlements, eyes mad with hunger, could harm innocents.
But this was Habuk. A strategic chokepoint checking Mongols and Goryeo, borderlands with the empire's strongest military concentration. Historically prosperous with economy and population.
For core strongholds like Shanhaiguan and Guyongguan—not some rural county—to report beast issues all the way to Jung San Wang's residence?
This is no ordinary matter.
Both commandants were veterans of the founding wars, choosing to stay at the borders despite promotion prospects.
They wouldn't mishandle this or escalate unnecessarily. Something extraordinary accompanied the beasts.
"I'll see to it myself."
I extended my hand; my adjutant handed over two letters. One from the Shanhaiguan Commandant, one from Guyongguan. Simultaneous reports from distant posts.
Four days ago, beasts appeared around Shanhaiguan and vicinity. Our troops routinely hunt them for training, completing a major sweep just ten days prior—no reason for this. Hundreds emerging at once is truly bizarre.
Over fifty hawks have appeared, attacking people and livestock. Their speed delays sweeps, causing significant damage. Never seen or heard of so many hawks striking humans simultaneously.
"Heavens."
Both reports were bizarre beyond belief, drawing a sigh. Beast hunts are key military duties—selling pelts supplements budgets, meat boosts morale, training sharpens skills, and fewer beasts mean safer civilians.
Habuk garrisons purge them routinely, yet post-sweep, hundreds reappeared?
These aren't local beasts.
Habuk's tradition spans decades. Unlikely in borderlands, especially not here.
Goryeo's doing?
First suspicion: Goryeo intrigue. As Jung San Wang, nine in ten headaches involved them. Mad Eastern barbarians.
Beasts, of all things.
But mobilizing hundreds? Unlikely for Goryeo—their mountainous peninsula demands constant hunts; they'd focus on killing, not shipping to Habuk.
...Mongols.
If not Goryeo, only Mongols. Beast-related? Northern nomads' handiwork probable. Sending hundreds to borders, fifty-plus hawks overhead—unnatural chaos.
Did the Hengshan sorcery come full circle?
I rubbed my forehead unconsciously. Back when I was Right Deputy Censor—before Left Vice Inspector—Jwa Do-eosa and Gu Gangwang uncovered Mongol sorcery traces at Hengshan.
It was vile: human sacrifice to forge spirit beasts artificially. The birth was accidental—energy infusing deer—but controlled, it could mass-produce experts, spirit beasts, or empower hordes of animals into near-spirits.
How long have they prepared?
I bit my lip. Just hundreds of beasts and fifty hawks so far. But no end there.
Mongols, dormant, now stirred. We'd anticipated it—even debated striking first. Exiled beyond the walls, but no weak foes.
Moving first meant readiness.
"Adjutant. Prepare to depart for Kaepyeong."
I rose, announcing my outing. If Mongols were ready, this wasn't mine alone to handle.