Reconnaissance is Part of the War - 6
Merging different lifeforms into a single entity was something utterly beyond common sense. Not just picking them up, piling them on, or sticking them together—this was literally becoming one body, something that wouldn't exist even if you scoured all of human history, let alone the history of the Central Plains. You might not even find it if you dug through Earth's billions of years of history.
But that unprecedented event was unfolding right before our eyes. An impossibility had occurred, something I wouldn't have believed even if I'd heard it secondhand. We'd already had our common sense shattered by the Mongols. And once common sense is broken once, breaking it a second time is all too easy. I'd momentarily forgotten that simple truth.
'If they merged into one, then splitting into many is only natural, right?'
The hybrid that multiplied into two, four, eight beasts every time Jung San Wang swung his sword—without dying. It was a maddening sight, but I soon forced myself to accept it. As the saying goes, the great trends of the world: division leads to union, union leads to division. The world's grand momentum: what has long been divided must unite, and what has long been united must divide. Those beasts had united after being divided, and now they were dividing again—truly fitting words.
Of course, I know that's not what those words are meant for. Still, the Mongols had unleashed their bullshit bioweapon first, so I could at least sling a phrase back at them just as bullshit-style—
'Calm down.'
I barely reined in my mind, which was starting to succumb to madness. If the enemy was crazy, I couldn't let myself go mad too. Even if you have to become a monster to hunt monsters, it was weird for a non-combat bureaucrat like me to lose it before the real war even started. This mental blow was probably exactly what the Mongols wanted.
- Grrrruk, gruk!
- Kyieeng!
- Sniff... Hffp...!
'Ah.'
Anyway, the hybrids—which had been multiplying with every slash from Jung San Wang—split off into nearly a hundred, then fled without looking back. Deep anguish was etched into Jung San Wang's back as he watched the scene. Even a chojeoljeong master couldn't escape a hwagyeong master's grasp. Naturally, mere beasts couldn't flee from Jung San Wang.
If he pursued, they'd just get sliced again and again. But what then? Chasing after things that don't die when cut, only multiplying in number—what could you even do?
"The world's ugliest things really are made by the Mongols."
That's why Jung San Wang returned with a bitter expression, as if he could already sense the title 'Hwa-gyeong Master Who Let the Beast Escape' sticking to him. If word of this reached Grandfather or Gu Gangwang's ears, it'd spread across the Central Plains in three days flat. Truly tragic and heartbreaking.
The meeting room fell silent. First off, we'd chased away the hybrid lurking near Guyongguan, tormenting the soldiers with real-time mental attacks. That was a positive outcome. But even with a hwagyeong master stepping in, we hadn't fully killed it. That was far from good.
An enemy that couldn't be slain even by the most powerful force Daesong could muster. Maybe it'd be better to just take the mental attacks?
"Thanks to Your Highness, we were able to drive off that hideous monster for the time being."
The one who shouldered the burden and broke the suffocating silence was the Guyongguan Commandant. As the man in charge of Guyongguan and the one who'd summoned Jung San Wang, he took responsibility.
"Even when the situation was overwhelmingly against Your Highness, that monster didn't self-destruct. This suggests that when the beasts merge into one, they lose their self-destruct ability—or at least can't detonate while separating."
He even extracted some useful intel from Jung San Wang's bitter battle. What we'd feared most was a massive hybrid detonation. Honestly, the beasts were just moving sandbags for high-level martial artists, but if those sandbags randomly exploded, that changed everything. That's why we'd called in Jung San Wang—to deal with the hulking thing before it could blow.
So when it split instead of dying, sighs and wry chuckles had erupted among the commanders. We'd gone so far as to send an SOS to a king, only for it to look like it'd explode anyway.
'But it didn't.'
So, as the commandant said, there were two possibilities: they lose self-destruct when merged, or they can't trigger it while taking hits. Positive news either way. The former meant they weren't threatening without their scary looks; the latter meant Daesong's overwhelming numbers could beat the mental attacks out of them. Without that pesky self-destruct, there was nothing to fear.
"However, we couldn't kill the monster completely. Beasts that can't self-destruct aren't threatening, but if they can only detonate when not under attack, that's trouble. Any gap, and boom—right?"
"The commandant's right. That thing's pretty tough, too. Let your guard down, and it slips away."
Jung San Wang let out a small sigh at the commandant's words.
"While slicing it, I tested a few things. First, simple cuts don't split it—you need a certain level of power."
"A certain level, you say?"
"At least peak realm end-stage or chojeoljeong entry-level to handle it without issue."
That was surprisingly unexpected; even the commandant's face fell. Peak end or chojeoljeong entry—low compared to hwagyeong, but not common either. Out of Daesong's million troops, only a tiny fraction could respond when one appeared.
"And one more thing." Jung San Wang paused mid-sentence, then said, "No. I'll speak when it's confirmed."
He glossed over it, leaving an ominous hook. Spreading unconfirmed info in wartime was grave, but ending the talk with curiosity piqued was maddening. No way to argue against the king's sensible judgment, though.
'Damn Mongols.'
In the end, it circled back to cursing the Mongols. If they hadn't sent those beasts—or made their insane chimeras—none of this would've happened.
Jung San Wang's silence didn't last long.
- Grraaarrarak!
"They're... merging back and coming again."
"Indeed."
The beasts that had scattered into a hundred reassembled into one after about three hours and approached Guyongguan again. With cries that seemed to taunt, try splitting us again.
"I hoped it was a mistake."
Jung San Wang pressed his forehead and sighed at the insane sight.
"The more I cut them, the more they reverted to ordinary beast forms."
"Ordinary, you say?"
I couldn't help but question it. I'd watched Jung San Wang's poignant swordplay, so I'd seen the splitting process. Their forms changed a bit with each cut, but "ordinary" was a stretch.
"Of course, still far from normal beasts. Just relatively ordinary compared to when merged. Don't misunderstand."
"Ah, yes."
"Anyway, that's not the point." Jung San Wang tapped the battlements with his finger, pointing at the reassembled hybrid. "They're merged into one, but not truly one. It's not multiplying when cut—more like forcibly merged parts peeling off one by one."
'What the hell is that?'
Another common sense-shattering statement; not even a laugh escaped me. Splitting from one into two, four, eight after being cut—versus reverting to pre-fusion individuals. Similar on the surface, but worlds apart.
Splitting an iron bar in half to make two chunks isn't special. But reverting it to pre-smelted ore? Impossible. Same with these beasts. I'd seen plenty of chimeras in my past life's media, but none reverting to pre-fusion states—not in any novel or comic.
'How did they even do it?'
I couldn't fathom the creation method, let alone the reversion. What the hell had these crazy Mongols made?
"Shocks make them gradually revert to pre-merge states. Meaning that thing—over five hundred beasts fused—can't be killed until fully split into five hundred."
"Even if split, they might merge back like now."
"Right, Deputy Censor-in-Chief. I let it go just in case, but it really came back merged."
Jung San Wang drew his sword as he spoke.
"Now that I know the principle, time to kill it. See if it dies only after splitting into five hundred, how long remerging takes—plenty to confirm."
His face a mix of regret and annoyance.
"Tsk."
The shared vision with Unit One cut off. Looked like the link ended here.
"Prime Minister. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Just a bit unfamiliar—don't worry."
I waved off my adjutant reacting to my hiss. Even if Unit One—whose vision I'd shared—died, no damage to me. Just felt odd, like the slashes hitting it were coming at me too. As if attacked while immobilized.
'Held out longer than expected.'
Anyway, Unit One—the first fusion sent to the Central Plains. A grotesque, sturdy beast even by my eyes—fulfilled its duty and fell gloriously.
'Put restrictions on their actions.'
Unit One's appearance imposed a tiny constraint on the Central Plains serfs. They weren't idiots; they'd anticipate Units Two, Three, Four following. Guess that countless fusions would appear at borders or steppes. Ordinary soldiers couldn't even scratch them; killing required splitting into hundreds or thousands; any lapse, and they flee then remerge. Or just blow up. Such monsters would greet the Central Plains scum fiercely.
'Already forced to divert limited forces to mere beasts.'
Even with bug-like numbers, it'd give the Central Plains headaches. Fusions were tough even for steppe warriors to split—and they didn't sprout infinitely from the ground. That was enough. Terrify regular troops with hideous looks, force minimal force allocation from martial artists. Plus, shared vision doubled as recon. How brilliant.
"Prime Minister."
"What?"
"The fusion's effective, but can we keep mass-producing? Steppes are full of beasts, sure, but this..."
I smiled faintly at my adjutant's valid concern. It took dozens of tries per success. But fine. Beasts were expendable. Economic hit? No issue. A fucked economy was steppe tradition anyway.