A Capable Man's Bureaucratic Grace - 4
Hang Mountain Sect's sect leader and elders assembled at my summons, and the moment they laid eyes on me, they prostrated themselves on the ground in respect.
"We pay our respects to Your Highness Jung San Wang!"
"""We pay our respects to Your Highness Jung San Wang!"""
Their voices boomed with passion, and I couldn't help but nod in approval. As expected from the heroic warriors who fought to the bitter end against those savage Mongols.
They're young.
The sect leader and elders looked more filled with youthful vigor than the wisdom of age. Of course, in absolute terms, Hang Mountain Sect's leadership had still accumulated plenty of years. Decades had passed since Hang Mountain burned, so even those who were young men back then would now be in their middle years or teetering on the edge of old age. Yet compared to other sects, they were relatively young. Just looking at the Shaolin or Wudang monks currently serving in the field made it clear—Hang Mountain's leaders were decidedly younger.
All the elders died, so it's only natural.
My satisfaction soured into pity. The Mongol raid on Hang Mountain had wiped out the sect leader and elders of that era, with the younger disciples suffering near-total annihilation. With all the seniors gone, only the young—bordering on inexperienced—warriors remained, leaving Hang Mountain's current leadership inevitably youthful compared to other sects.
"Rise. You are comrades who roamed the Central Plains with us, and even after decades, knights who wish to stand as comrades once more. How can men of such caliber humble themselves like this?"
That's why I personally helped the Hang Mountain Sect leader and elders to their feet, patting their shoulders. Every founding merit sect bore its scars, but none ran deeper than Hang Mountain's. This wasn't just my personal view—it was the court's consensus, shared by the other merit sects.
"Comrades? Such gracious words, Your Highness. Our merits were trifling at best. Had Your Highness not taken Taizu the Great's command and reclaimed the Northern Capital, how could we be enjoying our current glory?"
"The sect leader speaks truly. We are mere commoners who survived thanks to Your Highness's achievements. Think of us not as comrades, but as tools."
"Hah."
A sigh of admiration escaped me. What unbreakable spirit, what noble bearing. What heartbreaking, pitiable resolve. If only every warrior in the land emulated even a fraction of Hang Mountain Sect.
"I understand your resolve well enough."
I suppressed my pity and continued. Hang Mountain's past was stained with tragedy, but openly pitying them would be like killing them twice over. These were warriors who stepped onto the battlefield of their own will—treating them as objects of sympathy would be the gravest insult.
"Hang Mountain Sect was the shield guarding the north even before Great Song embraced the Central Plains. This held true even in the days when northern barbarians crushed the realm by force. With your strength added, there's no surer bulwark."
With that, I drew a seal from my bosom.
"Warriors who rise selflessly for the world deserve due honor. I grant you offices in the Jung San Wang household—forget not righteousness, and practice chivalry."
"We shall obey Your Highness's command!"
"""We shall obey Your Highness's command!"""
Though not official Great Song offices, in the north, Jung San Wang household posts carried great weight. Given Hang Mountain Sect's influence over Hebei and Shanxi, these positions would link seamlessly with me—far more beneficial, in fact.
May this humble name prove a great boon to you.
In this time of war, Great Song needed your strength. But once peace returns, may the court shelter you in happiness.
Damn.
The thought brought a wry smile. I'd tried to suppress my pity for Hang Mountain, yet emotions kept welling up unbidden. Perhaps because it reminded me of that friend who passed before me.
Witnessing lives caught in war's inferno always left a bitter taste.
Yuan Zhang. It would've been good if you were here.
Though Taizu the Great bestowed undue trust, calling me Great Song's foremost general, had Yuan Zhang lived, that title might have been his. He lacked in nothing—not in martial prowess, strategy, tactics, or administration.
No wonder even Taizu granted him a king's title posthumously after setting the world aright.
Che would've shone as a general too.
Suddenly, Che in the imperial palace came to mind. Not the eldest son, so he didn't inherit Yuan Zhang's title, but he'd risen to Hwagyeong on his own merit and become Geum-ui-wi Commandant—a commendable fellow.
He might not fight border barbarians, but as the final shield guarding the Emperor in the palace...
Hmm.
A twinge of regret. If Che had joined the campaign, it might've felt like the old days roaming battlefields with Yuan Zhang.
But everyone has their role. If I am the sword slaying the Emperor's foes, Che is the shield protecting His Majesty.
"...Well then, to commemorate your resolve and chivalrous deeds, shall we share a drink? No grand feast amid war, but one cup I can grant."
"An honor, Your Highness!"
Shaking off the poignant thoughts, I patted the sect leader and elders' shoulders again. Yes, everyone has their role. What I must prioritize now is turning the Mongols' words to whispers from the grave—ending their heart, the Black Fortress, with the phrase "A city that once stood."
That would honor the fallen comrades, the bonds that remain, the realm and its people, and the Emperor.
When a general takes the field, even the king yields authority. A campaigning general heeds no royal command. Such sayings existed since antiquity, underscoring the immense power vested in a field commander.
Not that the general holding military authority could disdain the sovereign—but in wartime, the on-site general's judgment took precedence. In an era of poor transport and communication, who better to decide than the man on the ground, not the distant ruler?
Thus, after the expeditionary force marched north, even I—tasked with oversight—received updates sporadically.
Distance aside, my Dochalwon inspectors didn't operate north of the passes.
What the hell is this?
The latest expeditionary force report was... peculiar.
They were making incremental gains, at least—battering endless beast hordes and torching endless steppes. No direct blows to the Mongols, but thankfully, no news of them being bogged down either. Just endless plains, dogged logistics, and Mongol mobility that had us clutching our necks.
Hearing this, I worried they'd die of frustration.
Hang Mountain Sect joined up, huh.
Separate from the force's tear-jerking advance, they were pulling off this bizarre performance: bolstering strength en route.
Hang Mountain Sect—waking in cold sweats at "Mongol," grinding their teeth in undying grudge—rushed to the force, declared enlistment, and Jung San Wang promptly granted their leader and elders household offices on the spot.
Given their history, it was only natural.
But it didn't stop there. Other factions lent aid too. That Yeonga from hazy memory, who'd received my various advice and favors—they donated grain and formally enlisted some warriors. A beautiful sight.
Talent recruitment is all the rage these days.
I chuckled despite myself. The Emperor had just tasked Dochalwon with scouting talent nationwide, and now Jung San Wang was enlisting warriors locally. What a coincidence.
Yet there was a subtle difference in their approaches.
And in the midst of it, only Jung San Wang household offices?
The Emperor baited with Great Song offices; Jung San Wang stopped at his own household's.
One might ask what's wrong with that—but at Jung San Wang's stature, he could grant Great Song offices instantly. Unless an exceedingly high post, the Emperor would defer to a king's decision.
Yet Jung San Wang strictly limited it to household offices.
Optimistically, for "smooth coordination with northern frontier warriors." But really, "No authority beyond this."
For Hang Mountain—a merit sect, pitied even by founding heroes—it was purely coordination. No need to check them.
Other clans and sects? Different story. Wartime necessity meant taking them in, but non-merit sects got no special treatment—or strong authority.
Hence the household offices. And those receiving them? All post-founding factions, or ones granted grace by the court as needed.
Not tolerating the old murim even in wartime.
In the end, a wry smile escaped. The Emperor symbolized the post-founding generation; Jung San Wang, the founding one. Same actions, different paths—bitterly poignant.
...Things will explode after the war.
A chill ran through me. The Emperor was slyly recruiting—including old murim—amid wartime chaos. Merit holders couldn't object or check him now.
But post-victory, after crushing the Mongol arch-foe? Seeing court-clad old murim factions they never knew existed... I didn't want to imagine their reaction.
One thing was certain: all hell would break loose.