To the Great Wall - 3
Daesong's army could be broadly divided into five major commands. The Central Army Command overseeing the heartland including Zhili. The Left Army Command, facing the eastern seas and primarily tasked with smashing Japanese pirates. The Right Army Command keeping Vietnam and Tibet in check. The relatively idle Front Army Command. And finally, the Rear Army Command dealing with those pains-in-the-ass neighbors, the Mongols and Goryeo. Of course, they could be subdivided into dozens or hundreds more, but by location, the common classification was these five commands. Perfectly matching the five directions—satisfying even for us East Asians.
And from these five commands, troops were drawn from all except the Right Army Command. To crush Daesong's mortal enemy, the Mongols. To deal with the steppe nomads, the greatest foes in Central Plains history.
Gorgeous lineup.
Perhaps that's why. The roster of commanders summoned to Kaepyeong at the Emperor's call was dazzling beyond words. Founding merit subjects? Absolutely coming to the capital. Their blood kin serving in the military? You too, report in. A super peak master holding a high military post? Get yourself to the capital before I even finish saying it. It felt something like that as Daesong's full might assembled.
If this expeditionary force were facing another sedentary state, it would be poised for total victory.
If only they weren't nomads.
But our opponents were nomads. No clear central hub like a sedentary nation, few strategic points worth capturing, and on-site logistics a nightmare. We had to mobilize 300,000 troops against such a force. Enough to drive anyone mad.
The Mongols did have a capital called Karakorum, but nomads were used to life without one from the start. Even decades ago, when the Yuan capital Dadu—modern Beijing—fell, they carried on just fine. Burn Karakorum to the ground, and if you couldn't eradicate their hordes, they'd just say, "We'll pick a new capital later." High chance they'd meta-game it.
Theoretically, the entire steppe is their capital.
A war that made my head spin just thinking about it. Sure, some peninsula had a king who fled at top speed, but the Mongols would fight on regardless, no retreat in their dictionary.
"An expedition to echo through Central Plains history. Living in such times is truly moving."
Pushing down the bitterness while scanning the flashy roster, I looked up at the Right Censor-in-chief's words.
Whether before the Emperor's declaration of war, during the expeditionary force's preparations, or after its formation was complete, the Right Censor-in-chief remained buried in work as always. He called it moving, but his face was its usual calm yet haggard self. A pitiable sight.
Nothing changed even as war loomed? Simple-minded folk might think he was just slacking off alone, but I knew better. It meant he'd been handling duties at wartime intensity all along.
A madman.
Awe-inspiring yet terrifying, pitiable yet incomprehensible. How does a person work like that? Was he a complainant in his past life who died of frustration from delayed processing?
Still, I didn't voice these dismal thoughts. Thanks to his dedication, the Dochalwon ran smoothly without a hitch, and with the Dochalwon solid, the realm stayed at peace. Frankly, he shouldered all the work so I could coast—how could I call him insane to his face? Sure, I'd thought it plenty inwardly, but as long as he didn't catch on. Lucky for me, he'd mastered cloning but not mind-reading.
"By the way, Deputy Right Censor."
"Yes, sir."
I flinched at his call. Wait, had he secretly picked up mind-reading too?
"Th-that... the expeditionary roster. Must weigh heavy on you too."
"Pardon?"
"Haven't finished looking it over yet?"
He tilted his head, puzzled by my reaction. I quickly scanned the list again, and ah.
There, proudly listed as one of the commanders of the Right Army's Second Division within the expeditionary force of seven Left and seven Right armies: my father.
Father... you'd slipped your name onto the list without Grandfather noticing after all. You'd boasted you could keep it secret until the eve of war thanks to your many allies in officialdom, and it wasn't empty talk.
Of course. Grandfather's presence was overwhelming, but Father was the crown prince, a shoo-in for next Giwang. Plus, he was highly regarded for ability and character. It wouldn't be odd if his close allies formed a full faction.
"His Highness Giwang has joined the expedition's high command too. Who'd have thought even Crown Prince Seong would participate. The loyalty of House Giwang is truly beautiful and sublime."
Saying that, the Right Censor-in-chief scratched his head and continued cautiously.
"Even without father and son serving together, the realm would never doubt House Giwang's devotion."
"Even if the realm knows, they probably just want to serve. How could a mere sparrow like me fully grasp their intentions? That's what I think, anyway."
I gave the most textbook response to his unspoken worry of What if something goes wrong with father and son side by side? And it wasn't wrong. Grandfather had enlisted hoping no blood would stain his descendants' hands; Father stepped up to support his aged sire. Not to prove House Giwang's loyalty, but for their own purposes. So I had no right to comment.
Both acted from a sense of duty, with convictions they couldn't yield. How could I, as grandson and son, stand in their way? Worry, yes—but interfere? Never.
"If that's how you see it, Deputy Right Censor."
Sensing my resolve—or lack of it—he nodded faintly.
"Well. You've returned from Beukhae Binggung with great merit too. Won't this make three generations of House Giwang expeditionary heroes?"
"It's not just House Giwang—everyone will be a hero, no?"
"Heh, true enough."
He deftly shifted topics to lighten the mood. With full-scale war breathing down our necks, no need to dwell on heavy matters with my direct superior, whom I saw daily. Can't pile weight on weight.
It had come, as expected.
"Han Seonggggggg!"
The father who usually called me son, or Seja-ya, or you rascal, or at worst Seong-a—now bellowing my full name in furious rage. Only extreme anger triggered that.
"What in blazes is the meaning of this!"
My ears rang, my body prickling from the roar. Thank heavens my wife was briefly at Akwangjeo. A Hwagyeong master's wrath could have gravely injured her with child in arms.
"If you have a tongue, speak! Why! Why is your name on the enlistment roster!"
Cold sweat trickled under Father's onslaught. If I weren't his son, my collar would've been grabbed dozens of times over.
At least the noise is contained.
My gaze flicked to the Taoists bustling around Giwangjeo. They were swiftly deploying a formation—Father's bellows wouldn't leak outside. Good. No matter how he yelled, our talk stayed private. No risk of the realm gossiping, "Giwang spares his own kids' lives."
Now, just endure Father's fury fully. And soothe him enough to enlist together.
"That is—"
"Don't you dare open that impudent mouth!"
No. You told me to speak, Father. But I held back the complaint. No time anyway, and words wouldn't pierce him now.
"Do you know what I went through deciding to enlist? Do you know the vows we made fighting alongside Great-Grandfather against the Mongols? We fought to pass a better realm to our children, our grandchildren!"
And truthfully, facing Father's raw anger and grief, I wasn't shameless enough to argue first. Proper form was to wait till his rage cooled, till he'd fully vented his hurt over my recklessness.
This was that moment. I'd not just tricked him—I'd defied his beliefs and vows head-on. He'd fought for his child's safety, peace, happiness—yet here the child was, chasing into hell.
What father could stay calm?
But as he'd raged as a father, I'd chosen as a son with no alternative. So endure and wait. Once his anger ebbed, I'd explain my─
"...To His Majesty we go."
"Pardon?"
"Together. We'll petition His Majesty. Cancel the enlistment. You'll stay in Kaepyeong."
The unexpectedly hardline stance threw me. If Father found out, my name would've been struck immediately. That's why I'd timed the reveal for war's eve, when even he couldn't easily remove it.
Yet here he was, ready to amend the roster on departure's doorstep. Willing to bear infamy and dishonor to pull me out.
"You've already been to Beukhae Binggung. Two of three Giwang generations have contributed to war. With Mongol beasts stirring at the border, we can say you're staying in Kaepyeong for contingencies."
Saying so, he turned and strode for the gate. His voice chilled to a shoutless frost. His fury had peaked past reason.
"I won't go."
"What?"
But I couldn't just bow under it.
"If Father enlists, so do I. If you want to cancel mine, stay in Kaepyeong yourself."
What son in this world would send his aged father to war alone? A man must know lines he can't retreat from in life. For me, this was it.
Returning to Akwangjeo from work, Father was there.
"Father? What brings you all the way here..."
"Kicked out of Giwangjeo."
"Ah."
His voice thick with bitterness left me speechless.
"Said he didn't want to see my face and told me to get out. I'll impose on you here for a while."
Ak Wang, passing by, tsked pityingly at Father's words. I could guess the situation—no words came to mind.