War Means Pissing Off the Enemy - 1
The tense wartime atmosphere, once felt only by us bureaucrats, had by now spread so widely that even ordinary folk were starting to notice. The Iseongwangs—those kings who normally stayed put in their own estates unless something urgent came up—had suddenly begun showing up in Kaepyeong every single day, instead of rushing back home after handling their business.
Yangyang Wang, who controlled the vital crossroads of Hubei and the battleground of murim factions; Gu Gangwang, responsible for the safety of the Yangtze River and the Grand Canal; Dong-gu Wang, who needed to demonstrate the security of Hangju, the hub of international trade, by wiping out the Japanese pirates. With these three kings stationed in Kaepyeong, ready to march north at any moment...
"You lot. Don't you have homes in Kaepyeong?"
"Who could feel attached to a manor they only visit once in a blue moon? Better to share a drink with old comrades than waste time in a place with nothing to do."
As Grandfather put it, these three Iseongwangs were acting like they had no homes of their own in Kaepyeong, barging into Giwangjeo and lounging around. It was bizarre. These weren't men without houses in the capital—men who could buy a manor on the spot if they wanted, or rent out an entire top-tier inn. Why crash at someone else's place like this?
Suddenly, Giwangjeo was hosting four kings. At least Nang-jung Wang and Jung San Wang were still at their own estates—a small mercy. Nang-jung Wang had to hold position to keep Vietnam and Tibet in check, while Jung San Wang was personally inspecting troops in Habuk. Otherwise, we might've had all six kings crammed in here.
"Han Un! Come join us for a drink!"
Gu Gangwang, who had been chuckling away, beckoned me over and floated an empty cup my way with a casual wave of qi.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
Catching me off guard with the sudden party invite, I stared blankly at the cup before shuffling over with a wry smile. Whatever. What did it matter if the kings hung around Giwangjeo? Serving them was the servants' job, not mine. And with Grandfather there, they wouldn't cause too much chaos anyway.
— Ppiae!
In the midst of it all, Ppiae-i, who had wedged itself into the kings' drinking circle, started squeaking Ppiae! Ppiae! as if welcoming me. Wait, why are you even there? If it could drink booze, any spot was a good one, I guess.
"Heh heh, this little guy's got a better tolerance than most men. Must come from all those years under its belt."
"Don't feed it too much, though. Who knows how to treat a turtle with alcohol poisoning?"
— Ppiae-eek!
Ppiae-i let out a mighty bellow at Gu Gangwang and Dong-gu Wang's banter, as if protesting that it was way too tough for something as weak as alcohol poisoning. Fair point—Ppiae could probably swim in a vat of liquor without batting an eye, let alone get sick from a bottle. Hard to imagine it keeling over from booze.
"By the way, old timer. Heard the news?"
As I joined the drinking circle at Gu Gangwang's call, Yangyang Wang, who had been quietly sipping, turned to Grandfather.
"Hm? What news?"
"Goryeo's moving troops from the peninsula to the Yalu River basin. They claim it's just returning them to their proper posts now that the Japanese pirate mess has settled, but the numbers aren't small."
"They're gearing up already, huh."
Grandfather clicked his tongue softly and went straight for the bottle instead of his cup.
"Tch, knew those bastards would. If they'd at least moved them near the Liao River, we could've lodged a protest."
"They might've slipped some into the Liao area too. Quietly enough that we wouldn't notice."
Gu Gangwang and Dong-gu Wang looked just as sour. The Yalu was midway through Goryeo territory, but it also marked the border between their home peninsula and the recently annexed Liaodong. Stationing troops at the edge of the core lands felt off. It was basically Goryeo flexing: We could strike anytime. But the Yalu was far from any border, making it awkward for Daesong to complain. And who knew if they'd snuck a detachment into the Liao while everyone's eyes were on the Yalu?
Goryeo's moves always demanded suspicion.
"Still, Goryeo wouldn't side with the Mongols, right?"
"Unlikely. Mongols are obsessed with seizing Liaodong, whether we push them north of the Great Wall or not. They don't have the loyalty for an alliance now."
Though if the tide turned our way, who knows. Grandfather echoed what he'd told me days ago. They wouldn't join the Mongols at the war's outset, but if the Northeast Asian balance tipped, they'd crash the party 100%.
Balance of power, huh. It reeked of Europe in Northeast Asia. That charming European tradition of ganging up on any rising power. Always led by a certain island nation. Why the hell was I smelling that across the continent?
Beats me...
"Besides, Goryeo's in no shape for immediate action. They've had major battles on the home front lately, plus expeditions across the sea. Not broken-backed, but a limb or two must be aching."
"Yeah, fair enough."
The kings nodded in agreement that Goryeo would play it safe with side glances rather than dive in headfirst, then raised their cups again. A strange sight. Trusting those guys to stab us in the back for sure. In a way, wasn't that trust in another nation—a national image? Few countries inspired such reliable distrust like Goryeo. In this situation, though, it was welcome.
At least the north and east wouldn't ignite simultaneously when war broke out.
"More importantly, An-i. Those retired old-timers are stirring again, eh?"
"Yes. It's chaos at the Yangyang estate. Folks who were content with farming and fishing are suddenly getting restless—how could we not be flustered?"
Yangyang Wang calling them "folks" was surprising, but Grandfather and he were referring to people worthy of such respect from an Iseongwang. Sure, none held higher titles than Yangyang Wang. But in years served, they outranked him: Daesong's founding merits, veteran warriors.
Some had even been Yangyang Wang's superiors before he racked up his military feats. Grizzled vets who'd retired from office, now just waiting to die peacefully. They spent their twilight years in prosperous Hubei—close to the capital but not too close, a transport hub teeming with goods.
Then war rumors with the Mongols hit their ears? Of course they'd rise, declaring they couldn't face their ancestors in silence.
And now super peak experts who should be off the roster are flooding in like mad. I'd heard from Jwa Bu-do-eosa recently that the Ministry of War was spitting blood reorganizing expeditionary commanders. Made sense now—sudden waves of ancient has-beens declaring for the front. And these weren't just old muscle with age; battle-hardened commanders who'd faced the Mongols conquering the Central Plains. Couldn't sideline them in some desk job.
"Gonna have to meet those guys soon. Saw some at the court debates and Un's wedding, but no time for real talk then."
"Shall I invite them to Giwangjeo, then?"
"Yeah, that'd be convenient. An-i's as diligent as ever—love that about you."
Grandfather burst into laughter, grabbed a fresh bottle, and filled Yangyang Wang's cup to the brim.
Why am I even here? I sipped quietly, watching. Retired founding merits returning, Iseongwang Grandfather reuniting with them. Too heavy for a mere vice-minister like me. Should've stayed glued to the Dochalwon office. Damn early retirement for this.
Those damn northern bastards. I barely swallowed the curses swirling in my mouth and quietly rubbed my forehead.
I knew the Mongols were vicious, petty, and ruthless—but I never dreamed they'd pull something this insane.
"...So, what happened?"
Suppressing my frustration and rage, I forced my mouth open again. A faint hope I'd misheard—no, more like rage had drowned out my adjutant's report. Impressive bastards. Shaking a Hwagyeong master's mind like this.
"The beasts that broke through the Great Wall are scattering everywhere, rampaging through farmlands. Already, quite a few civilians have been hit."
I rubbed my forehead again. Beasts wrecking crops. Mundane on the surface, but orchestrated by those Mongol scum? Disaster.
Worst case. If Mongols raided farms directly, I could dispatch troops for interception. Civilians would fear the invaders, making control easy. But what they saw weren't mounted nomad warriors—just ordinary-looking wild beasts. Predators Hubei's soldiers were known to hunt regularly.
That changes everything. Against nomads, folks might grumble about the breached Wall but obey the authorities. But beasts ruining fields? They'd rage: What were those hunts for? What the hell have the soldiers been doing?
Playing dirty like this. Seemingly trivial, but beast raids weren't lightweight. Small and swift, they slip defenses in seconds, spreading across the Central Plains before you blink. If they smash crops on purpose like now, this year's harvest tanks forcibly. Tougher than normal beasts too—groups can overwhelm even martial artists. Thousands, tens of thousands pouring down? What would civilians think of officials helpless against mere animals?
Damn them. Decades guarding Habuk in Jung San Wang's name, and this was the dirtiest, most infuriating tactic I'd seen.