Off to the Great Wall - 2
The Mongols' prestige had fallen far from its former heights, but they remained the single dominant nomadic force controlling the northern steppes. Every time a power unified the steppes, the Central Plains erupted in chaos—that alone made this Mongol expedition not just a mopping-up of defeated foes, but a grand strategic decision for the peace of the realm.
And though their population paled in comparison to the Central Plains, every adult male among nomads was essentially a war machine. That was the steppe dwellers' strength: fielding cavalry with ease that sedentary states could only produce after pouring in massive budgets, time, and effort.
Thus, historically, when the Central Plains launched northern expeditions, they mobilized armies of staggering scale. Emperor Wu of Han deployed some 200,000 against the Xiongnu; Emperor Taizong of Tang raised no small force to crush the Göktürks; and in the original history, the Ming crushed the Mongols with 250,000. The audacity to send hundreds of thousands beyond the borders—a feat possible only thanks to the overwhelming population and resources of the Central Plains.
"Thirty hundred thousand, they say."
"That's a lot, Your Majesty."
The expedition army the Emperor had assembled hit the insane figure of 300,000. A number that seemed modest only because some madman in the 7th century had fielded a million, and every major dynasty since scraped together 200,000 or 300,000 for foreign campaigns. But hundreds of thousands was no light matter.
The lunatic who mobilized a million lost his empire for it, etched into history as madness. Central Plains dynasties' massive expeditions were rare events, not routine—the reason they stuck in memory was their intensity and rarity.
And now such a rare, intense event was happening in their lifetime? Even for Central Plains folk, it was astonishing. They'd lament why this had to happen while they were still alive.
"Aye, it's a lot. Even during the founding wars, we only mustered this scale for the Poyang Lake battle, the Kaifeng siege, or the Dadu assault—and those were internal fights. I've never seen hundreds of thousands mobilized beyond the Great Wall."
Grandfather let out a wry chuckle at the sheer wonder of it, lifting his cup to his lips.
Not fighting in the well-supplied heartlands, but charging past the Great Wall and desert into the steppes—an abysmal environment even a battle-hardened veteran like Grandfather had never faced. Still, to break the Mongols, it had to be endured. Mere defense wouldn't sever their lifeline; if Daesong sat idle, they'd suffer endless Mongol incursions from the south.
No matter the hardship, they had to rise, march to the enemy's heart, seize their throat directly. Only then would the war end.
"Yun-ah."
"Yes, Grandfather."
"I wonder if this old man will be remembered as a Guo Ziyi or Li Jing... or just some nobody from Baideng Mountain."
I refilled his cup at those words. Guo Ziyi and Li Jing, top heroes of the Xiongnu and Göktürk campaigns. Versus the miserable Baideng encirclement, a humiliating defeat to the Xiongnu. With a whopping 300,000 mobilized, Grandfather would be etched as one or the other—no middling outcome possible.
"You'll surely triumph. The realm will hail you as the top hero of the Mongol subjugation; the steppe nomads will tremble at your name alone."
Why this surge of confidence, when Grandfather's honor and the nation's fate hung in the balance? Probably because in the original history, Jung San Wang had smashed the Mongols. And Daesong's position was stronger than the Ming's in that timeline—warlords who should've died were now pillars of the state, alive and well.
"But what this unworthy grandson truly hopes is that Grandfather—and all Daesong's troops—return safe. If we're to claim victory, better a triumph of pure cheers than one stained with bloody tears, no?"
"You rascal. Speaking the hardest wish so casually."
Grandfather chuckled again, downing the wine I'd poured in one gulp.
"Eh, sipping from cups lacks punch."
He then snatched the entire jar in front of me. Inevitably, it ended with him chugging straight from the bottle, drawing a bitter smile from me. Grandfather would drink every drop in sight anyway, but guzzling from the jar versus sipping from cups was worlds apart. We'd even promised he'd stick to cups as much as possible—
"Once war starts, I won't touch a drop. So let this old man indulge just this once—understand?"
As I stared, he offered an embarrassed excuse. Astonishingly, Grandfather enforced total abstinence during campaigns. Given his personality and Hwagyeong mastery granting alcohol resistance, I'd assumed he'd overindulge in war too. Unexpected.
"When you return victorious, you'll drink from cups only?"
Who was I to deny the man about to go dry? I set my own cup aside and took up the jar. To see Grandfather off on his long journey. For his uncertain return. And to console the future Grandfather who'd clutch his neck and howl upon learning Father was joining too.
'What if he drinks during the campaign anyway?'
A sudden unease hit. Upon hearing of Father's unauthorized enlistment, might Grandfather lose composure and drown his sorrows? No, better that than smashing Father's head with a bottle to bench him as "wounded"—no dragging an invalid to the distant steppes.
'Please, both of you, come back unscathed.'
I don't care for tragic endings like the Three Battles of something-or-other...
Before the Emperor's official departure decree. I chugged as much as possible, front-loading the wine I couldn't have on campaign. Truth be told, I could drink if I wanted—I'm a founding hero and Hwagyeong master; who could stop me smuggling booze? But a comfortable old man on campaign couldn't enjoy luxuries denied to frontline troops.
By law, from commanders to rank-and-file, all shared the same hardships in war. If soldiers couldn't drink, neither could this old man.
"What does that have to do with guzzling here?"
"Don't be sore. My friend's off to the distant steppes—can't we have a few rounds for a safe trip?"
Aghyeon clicked his tongue softly, tilting his cup. Not kicking me out meant he secretly fretted over my enlistment too. As expected—gruff words, but a warm heart.
"More than that, Aghyeon. You'll be bored stiff. Both you and I head north; you're the only one stuck in Kaepyeong."
His eyebrow twitched faintly. I couldn't help chuckling at the sight. Among living founding heroes, only him and Okjin weren't enlisting. Okjin stayed for western and Annam watch, leaving Aghyeon solo. The Baekryeon Cult Leader in Shiwandaishan made two? But he'd cut secular ties, so debatable.
"...For the Emperor and Kaepyeong's safety, no choice. If I go north too, who guards His Majesty—"
"Aren't the Geum-ui-wi Commandant and Left Do-eosa decorations?"
"Get out."
"So petty."
No retort, so banishing the guest. The loser left behind acting petty, as expected.
Of course, Aghyeon belonged in Kaepyeong. Even with the Geum-ui-wi Commandant and Left Do-eosa holding fort, they weren't war veterans. With Mongol beasts already breaching borders and chaos everywhere, optimistic instant responses weren't guaranteed. Competence as warrior or bureaucrat differed from generalship.
Thus, Aghyeon must prepare for worst-case. If I'm the sword, he's the shield. If I'm the hound, he's the watchdog.
"We'll win."
Before Aghyeon could hurl his cup, I cut in preemptively.
"Dal-i may lag in martial prowess, but his military genius outshines us combined. Folks even called him reincarnated Han Xin."
"Why compare to Han Xin of all people? Bad end vibes."
"Han Xin died for his own folly. Does Dal-i strike you as that reckless?"
The peerless Han Xin—military genius beyond his era, but political savvy in the gutter. Dal-i dwarfed him there. And nothing beat a capable commander with the Emperor's trust and loyalty holding reins.
Dal-i as supreme commander? I'd follow gladly.
"Anyway, with Dal-i leading and us backing, even that bitch of a steppe will burn. Key is time and resources spent."
I gazed at the rear garden pond, then back to Aghyeon.
"If in that process, something happens to me—"
"Enough."
He cut off my momentous words.
"Nothing'll happen to you. Even a peak Hwagyeong couldn't guarantee one-on-one victory; you're not the only Hwagyeong in the army."
"Wars don't always follow logic, though."
"This transcends logic—it's truth. Even if war goes mad, the sun won't rise in the west."
So firm, I sheepishly stroked my beard.
"So when you're on the steppe, snag some fine steeds. Gifts for the great-grandkids."
"Khuh, right. Gotta."
Rare soft words from the grump. Time to play understanding, awkward as it was.