A Ruined Economy is the Tradition of the Steppes - 1
As a member of the Left Army, I passed through Guyongguan alongside An-i and Myeong-gyeong.
Truth be told, shouldn't the Left Army be advancing from the direction of Gansu? But the desert between Gansu and the steppes isn't suited for a large force to maneuver. Crossing it would cost us a third of our troops before we even engaged the enemy. So, we had no choice but to take the obvious route up through Hebei and Shanxi. Charging off for a surprise attack that catches the enemy off guard only to suffer unexpected losses ourselves—there's nothing more tragic than that.
Should we have divided into Left, Center, and Right Armies instead of just Left and Right?
Still, if we're taking similar routes anyway, maybe splitting into three armies wouldn't have been a bad idea. That's starting to creep into my thoughts.
The Left Army through Guyongguan and the Right Army through Shanhaiguan—both expeditionary forces, brimming with hatred for the Mongols, surged forward like a force cleaving through bamboo. If we'd invaded Goryeo instead, we probably would have seized Liaodong by now. But this wasn't Liaodong, cluttered with fortresses and villages. This was the vast, empty steppe.
No matter how far we advanced, there were no bases in sight, just maddened beasts greeting us. It was enough to drive anyone insane.
We're burning the steppe as much as we can while pushing forward, at least.
The steppe is the nomads' homeland, their grazing land for livestock—like an inn sustaining their herds. The more we torched it, the more damage we inflicted on the Mongols. But regrettably, in this endless expanse, even our fierce efforts didn't yield dramatic results. No matter how hard we tried, the area we could burn in a day was limited.
Besides, we were the ones fighting while breaking through it, so we couldn't just set everything ablaze recklessly. That left the idea of splitting into Left, Center, and Right Armies dangling tantalizingly before us.
At least that would sow chaos in the Mongols' minds.
If we rampaged from three directions, even the Mongols—with their superior mobility and hordes of beasts—would be hard-pressed to respond.
Apparently, the Right Army had Uryang and Sa-seong-i with them, making their rampage smoother, but it was like dumping dirt into Dongting Lake. No noticeable effect.
"Damn barbarian bastards."
In the end, I cursed the Mongols aloud and instinctively patted my waist. Of course, unlike usual, there was nothing there.
Bitter. When my chest felt this tight, I'd normally knock back some liquor, but I'd vowed not to drink during wartime and left my gourd behind. Now there was no way to soothe this burning frustration. All because of those Mongols.
Ferocious, ruthless, insolent barbarians. Evil, vicious scum who'd ravaged the Central Plains for millennia.
If only we'd torn them to shreds completely.
The Mongols had been driven from the Central Plains, but they still held their homeland—the steppes—as a unified force. No matter how I thought about it, it was a shame.
If the shock of losing the Mandate of Heaven and being expelled had led to fractures even on the steppes, if this ridiculously vast grassland had splintered into countless tribes, nothing could be more gratifying. Hadn't the dynasties of the Central Plains historically induced divisions among the steppe peoples to secure peace?
But these damnable fools. They'd turned the Central Plains into chaos, yet surprisingly governed the steppes with benevolence. How had they maintained unity without fracturing after losing the Mandate?
It's not like there were no opportunities for division.
Back when Koke Temur appeared at Jiayu Pass and tormented our grandson. An-i had led a small strike force, torching the steppes. Yet the Mongols made a huge fuss, marching Koke Temur right up to the border, but oddly held back against An-i.
The forces in the southwestern steppe that An-i swept through were essentially rivals to the current Mongol leader—descendants of defeated claimants from past power struggles.
If we hadn't burned them then, would they have split by now?
A meaningless what-if, but I couldn't help thinking it. If we hadn't fallen for their schemes back then, if we hadn't been duped into clearing their rivals for them—what then? Could the resentful southwestern factions have rebelled against the center, forcing the Mongols into a new front?
"Elder."
Lost in such thoughts, staring blankly at the tent's stains, An-i's voice rang out just then. The timing was uncanny, as if he knew I was thinking of him.
"An-i, what brings you? Has that freakish hybrid shown up again?"
I rose casually at his voice. If An-i was seeking me out, there was only one reason: those horrific hybrids of dubious origin. Not particularly strong, but a headache to kill. Only someone like me, An-i, or Myeong-gyeong could dispatch them cleanly before they self-destructed. That damned thing was wearing me down in my old age.
"Yes. This time, four have been sighted approaching."
"What?"
"Scouts also report at least seven hundred beasts fused into each one."
I fell silent at An-i's words. They'd usually come one by one, but now four at once? And each with at least seven hundred beasts? That meant at least two thousand eight hundred beasts heading our way—probably over three thousand in reality.
These bastards.
It was so absurd I could only chuckle. The steppe teemed with beasts beyond counting, like the Central Plains' population, but casually sacrificing them in hundreds or thousands was incomprehensible. Was there some cave endlessly spawning them? How could they burn through their assets so ruthlessly? What did they gain from winning a war like this?
If this were a Mongol invasion, it might make a sliver of sense—they'd sacrifice beasts as offerings to seize the Central Plains' riches, at least temporarily. But this war, though they struck first, had become our Daesong invasion. Even grinding beasts to block us changed nothing for them.
What the hell are they thinking?
Of course, the gulf between settled farmers and nomads often made their logic alien. We'd suffered from clashing values even during the founding wars. But this was beyond the pale. Wasn't this like Daesong flooding our own fields and slaughtering our cattle to eat them?
"...Let's deal with the beast clumps first."
"Yes. I'll escort you."
An-i's face now mirrored my confusion. Nothing was more frightening or bizarre than an incomprehensible foe. Their tactics were changing.
"An-i."
"Yes, speak."
"What the hell is going on here?"
I vented to An-i about the baffling sight, but as expected, he had no good answer.
They're melting.
The beast clumps melted away—not figuratively, but like liquid, dissolving and scattering. The steppe, our path forward, was drenched in crimson gore. The stench was so foul even my bitter laugh died.
How did they create these monstrosities?
Blood, flesh, fur... even organs, all melted and mixed together.
Up close, it wasn't just blood in color or viscosity. The entire beast clumps had liquefied in an instant.
Damn them.
A sigh escaped me. Our troops had just grown accustomed to the grotesque clumps when they unveiled the next horror, as if on cue. And it wasn't just visually repulsive. Hundreds, thousands of beasts covering the ground. No sane commander would march through that foul, sticky blood.
Every time a clump melted, we'd have to reroute. Restricting our paths like this, making areas hard to access, would expand the Mongols' room to maneuver. They'd scheme in our blind spots.
"An-i, fetch Myeong-gyeong."
"Taegyeok Geomgong, you mean?"
"He's a Taoist of sorts. An exorcism might dispel this filth."
It sounded unconvincing even to me, but for troop morale, we needed the rite. Hundreds of beasts had flowed away like water—bright red like blood, and mostly blood it was. Rite or not, we had to pray for their spirits to reassure the men: no grudges, nothing to fear.
"Damn bastards."
I muttered the curse for the umpteenth time. A pitched battle on open plains would be less stressful.
Grandfather sent a letter.
The northern barbarians' ferocity and evil were known long ago, but lately I wonder if this old man misjudged them. They're more vicious than I imagined.
A beautiful missive filled with 5,700 characters of invective against the Mongols. More precisely, it detailed the daily waves of maddened beasts, the beast clumps that appeared whenever we grew complacent, and now those clumps melting like water into horrific displays. Grandfather's rage, fury, and utter exasperation seeped through every line.
Regrettably, this foolish grandson felt that raw anger but couldn't muster a proper consoling reply.
It's appearing here too...
The melting chimeras Grandfather mentioned. Healthy ground turned into a grotesque mess by this vulgar tactic. This accursed situation was now cropping up south of the passes.
Fuck.
Damn nomad scum. What the hell are they making with those beasts?