The Ruined Economy is the Steppe's Tradition - 2
I'm not sure if it's a tradition of all nomads or just a peculiar Mongol custom, but the Mongols have a somewhat unique one. When killing someone of noble status, they ensure no blood flows, taking measures so that human blood doesn't dare stain the earth beneath the heavens. I don't know the reason, but they follow it quite rigorously—even a settled folk like me knows about it.
For example, Genghis Khan, founder of the Mongol Empire, took care to kill his blood-sworn brother and rival Jamukha without spilling blood. During the invasion of Rus', they cleanly executed Slavic nobles out of respect for their rank. For Mongols, who are merciless to enemies, it's a rare sweet gesture.
'The mindset that "as long as there's no blood visible" is the problem, though.'
No matter the method, as long as no blood shows, it's fine. Basics include stuffing the victim in a sack and trampling them with horses; in extreme cases, they pitch a tent over it and hold an all-night feast. Even if the bones crunch and organs burst inside the sack, no blood appears under the sky. It's a bizarre way, but if the goal is "respecting the criminal's status," I can sort of understand it.
In Confucian society, damaging a criminal's body is horrific, so they prescribe poison or honorable suicide to preserve dignity. Only the truly heinous get beheading or dismemberment. Thus, this blood tradition was one even the brutal, cruel Mongols observed.
Or rather, their very brutality made them subtly fear death—hoping their own corpses remain intact—and so they adhered to it even more strictly.
'So why are those bastards...'
Yet these Mongols were doing something utterly unexpected. From the northern steppes all the way south of the Great Wall. Regardless of location, they were splattering beast blood everywhere.
'Are beasts exempt from the tradition?'
Their brazen, unhidden actions even made me think that. That beast blood didn't matter if it stained the earth under heaven.
Sure, that makes sense enough. It's hard to put noble foes and mere beasts on the same level. You can politely kill highborn bloodlines with some hassle, but dealing with beasts respectfully per procedure is a pain. It's not like halal slaughter.
But after reading Grandfather's letter seething with rage, I was certain. These mad nomadic bastards were truly going off the rails.
Otherwise, Grandfather—who fought in the founding wars—wouldn't react like this. To him, too, it was a bizarre, nonsensical situation.
'What do they gain from it?'
I sighed after rereading Grandfather's letter several times. I don't know much about Mongols, but let's assume spilling beast blood violates their own traditions and beliefs. Even Daesong, their enemy state, thinks "Of course they'd do that"—that's how solidly established their history is.
Yet these lunatics tossed centuries—maybe more—of accumulated history into the trash in an instant. Doing something insane they didn't even use in the founding wars, as if it were nothing...
'They've already done it, those bastards.'
Suddenly, I recalled the traces of human sacrifice at Hengshan. I'd glossed over it amid the chaos then, but with that many bones piled up, a lot of blood must have flowed. So had the Mongols started losing it from back then?
Discarding traditions, becoming monsters that only chase efficiency?
That hypothesis only deepened the mystery. If efficiency monsters abandoned their traditions, there had to be a damn good reason. A purpose for doggedly expending beasts, creating hybrid monstrosities, and finally soiling the land with their blood.
'It's still just dispersing their forces.'
No matter how I pondered, I couldn't figure it out. Getting tripped up by mere beasts—not even Mongol troops—small, nimble creatures breaching borders and causing havoc, fusing into grotesque masses to shatter soldier morale. Sure, the Mongols' schemes were a headache.
That's why the Four Auspicious Beasts and Four Evils lounging in the rear palace garden headed north, right?
But the frustration and irritation Daesong felt now could be inflicted by Mongol prowess alone. Hell, just repeating nomadic hit-and-run tactics would force inevitable attrition on our slower expeditionary forces.
Of course, deploying beasts would reduce Mongol casualties. But discarding tradition for minor savings? The losses outweigh the gains massively.
'What the hell are they doing?'
Anger gave way to bafflement and faint dread. Nothing's scarier than an incomprehensible foe, an unpredictable one. Nothing more infuriating than inexplicable madness. Strategies and tactics assume rational opponents; what do you do when they defy common sense and rampage?
I seriously wondered if Jung San Wang's blood pressure was holding up.
"My lord."
"Hm? Yeah."
I'd been staring at Grandfather's letter for ages when I turned to Jo Wi-cheo.
"As you instructed, I've brought the Daoist. Shall we proceed with the exorcism rite?"
"Yeah. We need at least the pretense to reassure the people."
I tucked the letter away with a small sigh. That chimera—still a mystery how it was made—made even me, a Peak realm master, flinch.
Yet the monster breached the border, reached civilians, then melted into ominous dark-red liquid. How shocked would the people be seeing—or hearing of—that?
So we needed the exorcism before cleanup. No idea if it'd work on a man-made thing outside nature's cycle, but it was essential theater to soothe hearts.
"Damn bastards."
Imagining Mongols cackling in Karakorum, curses spilled out. These accursed pricks. If you're gonna go nuts, do it in your own steppe backyard—why wreck the Central Plains?
And wartime budgets exploding with unplanned expenses? Infuriating.
'Exorcism's just digging a hole.'
Ideally, splash some water, bow a few times at a temple, done. But a shoddy rite's worse than none. Even minor issues would spark "The government's botched exorcism angered heaven!"
So it had to be grand and splendid—but that meant hefty costs, imperial authority or not. Offerings, ritual tools, robes—anything premium skyrockets prices.
Thus, for sincerity, we summoned a genuine hermit Daoist from the mountains, not some sect hack.
"Hoo."
"What's wrong?"
"My apologies, but the rite will take considerable time. It might even fail."
An ominous response.
"At first, I thought it was blood laced with curses."
My eye twitched; the Daoist continued bitterly.
"It wasn't blood. Something so vile even blood would be preferable—how could one not lament?"
"Vile thing?"
"Hard to even speak of. Curse and resentment incarnate, hatred given form. Roughly that."
Big trouble. Even his layman-friendly explanation was baffling. Our token exorcism had backfired.
"My powers can only weaken it. Shamefully, a greater Daoist is needed for full purification."
Our performative rite to calm the masses flopped.
'What now?'
Cold sweat beaded. I'd figured the melting liquid wasn't normal blood, but even our vaunted Dochalwon Daoist saying "Beyond me"?
What the hell did they spray, you damned bastards? Don't dump ominous unknowns in foreign lands.
"Wi-cheo."
"Yes, my lord."
"How many beasts are on the steppes?"
He fell silent. I get it—my question was like asking how many bamboo stalks in Sichuan. Only "tons" fits.
Hence the dread. As many beasts as litter the steppes means that many grotesque chimeras. Some infiltrating Daesong, splattering dark-red liquid.
We don't know its effects yet, but they're not stirring this chaos just to sign a guestbook.
'No backing down...'
I pinched my brow. Beasts are the steppe's foundation, nomads' economy. Wrecking their own lifeline to screw Daesong? Terrifying.
"...Wi-cheo. If I'm not back in an hour, assume I fainted."
"Pardon?"
"I know a top Daoist."
But even my position can't casually summon her. She might snap, "Brat summoning elders?"
Still, no choice. Do what I can.
It's been no short time since I became Left Censor-in-chief of the Dochalwon. Duties once heavy are now routine. I've seen and heard plenty in those years.
As one of the Hwa-gyeong masters and a Dochalwon censor, my experiences rival the gongsin if you tally mine alone.
Yet even I had no precedent for this.
"I'd like to see Elder Baek-on."
"...Why my father?"
"We need him for an exorcism."
Baek-on. My father's courtesy name. Proud founding gongsin of Daesong, High Ancestor's strategist Yoo Gi's style name.
First time I've seen a subordinate seek a superior's father over the superior.