War Declared, Family Divided
Though the war resolution passed in the imperial court, my own situation didn't change drastically. The Dochalwon had already scouted the Central Plains' unstable elements while I traveled around, and we'd even re-investigated the murim forces amid the court debates. With this new war declaration, there was no additional work for the Dochalwon to take on.
The agency itself had stepped back from the front lines long ago, so as a vice-ministerial-level official in the Dochalwon, I wasn't much different. The Ministry of the Household and the Ministry of War might be dropping like flies, but honestly, that wasn't my concern.
What the hell is an inspector supposed to do in wartime anyway?
I'm not some martial officer swinging a sword on the battlefield, nor even a civil official handling logistics or strategy. If I had to force a connection, it would be rooting out negligence or corruption among high commanders—that's the wartime role for inspectors like me. But that's not wartime duty; it's just our everyday job. Inspections don't discriminate between peacetime or war, civil or military officials.
All I can do is pray.
A sigh escaped me unbidden. Had I ever felt this powerless and incompetent? No. Never once since reincarnating into this world. Thanks to the overwhelming backing of the Giwang household and the talents inherited from Gichungmuwang Han Se-chung, I'd never felt lacking in my life.
But now, I did. As an official, with national disaster breathing down our necks, and nothing I could do about it.
"Un-a. Do you remember what I said? This is grave, but not for you to bear."
"Keep it etched in your heart. This war with the Mongols is the fate of us old-timers, starting with me—not for young ones like you."
"We stained our hands with blood for our children and grandchildren. How could we demand your sacrifice now? It's right for us, who already bear that stain and failed to finish off the Mongols completely, to step up."
As his grandson, it stung that I couldn't stand with my grandfather on the battlefield.
Of course, setting family aside and looking objectively, Grandfather's decision was correct. A peak-realm nobody with zero combat experience versus a Hwa-gyeong master who'd piled up merits for decades—which one aids the war, and which survives it? Obvious.
If Grandfather and I were on the same field, I'd just be his shackle. He wouldn't focus on the enemy ahead, too busy watching his back for his grandson, fretting over stray arrows. He'd never perform at full strength. A predictable outcome.
Is this really right?
But reason and emotion rarely align. They clash more often. Even knowing Grandfather was a Hwa-gyeong master, near the world's strongest—even knowing it'd take Chakan Temur and Toktoa rising from the dead decades ago for him to fall—the bitterness as family lingered.
If I'd known, maybe I should've trained harder in martial arts?
No.
Even if I'd been a mature peak or super peak, the odds of letting me join were slim. He'd worry about me just as I worried about him. What grandfather urges his grandson to war? History might have examples, but not ours. He wouldn't say, "Fight for honor." He'd command, "Preserve yourself for the future." And he had.
"...It'll end safely, right?"
- Ppiae?
Absently stroking Ppiae's shell in my conflicted mood, its head poked out from a nap inside. Sorry for waking you, little guy. Still, with war looming, my eyes drifted to this Millennium Turtle. A symbol of longevity. Among turtles, one said to live ten thousand years. A sturdy, golden shell gleaming brilliantly. A resilient spirit beast, minion of the Dragon King (presumably). Stacked with traits screaming "survives anything, war or no."
I half-wanted to loan it to Grandfather as a talisman.
Should I really send Ppiae on temporary loan?
I pondered seriously, watching its blinking eyes. Ppiae was small enough to tuck in a bosom, and its natural defenses and acid spit weren't half-bad. No way it'd come to harm. If it did in Grandfather's care? Then it was fated for battlefield mishaps anyway.
Nah.
The thought stayed just that. Grandfather would wave it off as a hassle. And what sin had Ppiae committed to become a war turtle out of nowhere? Its subtle bellicosity might welcome the fight, but comparing pirates or bandits to Mongols was unfair.
"Un-a."
"Father?"
As I shifted to pet its head instead, Father's voice turned my head.
"Care for a drink with your old man?"
There he stood, bottle in hand, a faint smile on his lips.
"Yes, of course."
Father's heart must be as tangled as mine. I nodded readily. As his son, he'd worry more than I, the grandson, ever could.
We shared drinks in the rear garden pavilion, Grandfather's favorite haunt—though he was out at Akwangjeo now. No owner meant we could borrow it.
"The northern barbarians' raids are inseparable from Central Plains history. From the Spring and Autumn Warring States, every dynasty suffered them."
As Father cut to the chase over small talk, I straightened and listened.
He was right. Regrettably, northern nomad disruptions were a staple of our history. Warring States records tell of a northern state wiped out by nomad raids; Qin Shi Huang built the Great Wall against them. Then Han vs. Xiongnu, the Five Barbarians in Wei-Jin-Nanbei-Chao, Xianbei tied to Sui and Tang, and the relentless Khitan-Jurchen-Mongol trio. Without nomads, explaining Central Plains history gets tough.
"So this Mongol uproar is just routine noise. Genghis Khan was the outlier; clashes with Mongols predated him aplenty."
"You're right, Father. War's regrettable, but hardly unusual."
I nodded agreement on reflex. With war imminent, downplay it. Not a sudden calamity, just the regular event. That way, Father and I could breathe easier. Convinced Grandfather wouldn't fall to this periodic fuss.
"Un-a."
"Yes, Father."
"Your old man plans to join the fight."
My hands trembled on my knees.
"I'm a warrior too. Old enough, crown prince to lead Giwangga someday. If I stay in Kaepyeong, what will people say?"
His calm tone nearly opened my mouth in protest, but he raised a hand.
"I know your heart. Grandfather and father marching together? Worrying, naturally. Anyone would feel as you do."
"You know that and still—"
"No choice. Even a titan like your grandfather has age on him. Sending an elder alone to war? His only son would catch hell for it."
Who'd dare such nonsense? I nearly spat. Who sees a Hwa-gyeong master as frail? But I couldn't. Father—Grandfather's closest kin—saw him that way. To Father, he was a father to tend, Hwa-gyeong or third-rate.
"Then I'll join too."
Just as Father cherished Grandfather, I couldn't ignore family. If they both went, duty called me too.
"The king and crown prince raise swords for the realm. As crown prince's heir—"
"Stay in Kaepyeong."
His firm words choked me.
"You know I have no siblings. If I fall, you're the only successor."
"Father."
"Can't send the aged alone. But for the house, leave bloodline safe. Young you stays; old me goes. That's proper."
He sipped, as if discussion closed. Unshakable.
"...Does Grandfather know?"
Last desperate shot.
Grandfather said his generation bore blood for children and grandchildren—including Father. He wouldn't welcome it.
"Un-a. Don't underrate your grandfather's dignity. I'm crown prince of Ilja Wangga too. Sneaking onto the rolls? Trivial."
"No eternal secrets in this world. How'll you dodge his eyes?"
"Plenty of friendly officials. They'll hold till war starts—no cause to boot a general then."
He chuckled, refilling his cup.
Complicated. Betray Father's ambition to Grandfather? Stay silent so he can serve? Either way, pros and cons clear. Filial grandson makes unfilial son; filial son makes unfilial grandson. Gratitude from one, resentment from the other.
Tough.
Damn Mongols—what a mess.