The Iron Blood's Last Pride
The Iron Blood Unit—soldiers still had their pride.
The day after Jinhyuk and the Survival Demons had gathered far to the southeast of the Outpost, with the faint smell of soap and roasting meat lingering in the air, an early morning dawned at the "Old Fortress of the Yan Empire," over a dozen li to the northwest.
This place had once been a fortress where walls were built atop earthen ramparts to monitor and repel invasions by northern nomads, before the Great Wall was constructed.
Now, those walls had been dismantled for materials to build the Great Wall itself. The highest sections stood less than five meters tall, and only a few ruined buildings—mere skeletons overgrown with snow and weeds—offered any shelter from the biting wind.
"...This damned wind. Cough! It's like some flesh-eating ghost is gnawing at my skin."
Wiji Gang, leader of the Iron Blood Unit, crouched by the brazier, rubbing his chapped hands.
Inside the brazier, scarce fuel—dried beast dung and rotten twigs—burned with acrid smoke.
His eyes stung, but he didn't turn away.
Wiji Gang spat curses in his raspy voice, thrusting his hands closer to the flames.
His fingertips had already turned purple from frostbite, and the pus-soaked spots were crudely bandaged, crusted over.
Once hailed as the rising star of the Wiji family—a new noble house in the Yan Empire's military, spoken of as the next Grand General—Wiji Gang's glory was gone.
His silver-frosted armor, laced with blood-red leather straps as he commanded 25,000 troops, was a distant memory.
Now, a shabby slave soldier's leather jerkin weighed on his shoulders—rotted hide, rusted iron plates.
The red leather, symbol of the Yan Empire, was stained with sweat and grime, blackened and frayed like rotting flesh.
Scrape, scrape.
The sound of boots scraping frozen earth approached, a heavy shadow falling beside Wiji Gang.
It was his adjutant, Jo Pil.
Son of the nursemaid who raised Wiji Gang in the Wiji household, Jo Pil was like a milk brother, sharing the same rice pot.
From family retainer to entering military service together, he was more than an adjutant to Wiji Gang—practically half his own body, a brother.
Jo Pil approached silently and draped a tattered overcoat over Wiji Gang's shoulders.
"Commander, at least drink some broth. An empty stomach chills you faster."
In the battered wooden bowl Jo Pil offered floated unidentified roots and chunks of hard, moldy dried rations.
Slurp, smack.
Wiji Gang gulped down the fishy broth in one go.
The hot liquid brought brief warmth down his throat, but soon a nauseating bitterness twisted his gut.
He slammed the bowl to the ground, grinding his teeth.
"Jo Pil. What good is being a branch of the noble So family? Pushed to the frontier in a power struggle, and even as slave soldiers, that greedy pig—my in-law and uncle's age—couldn't help his own kin. Instead, he shoved me into the jaws of death for his merits and selfish gains... Thinking of So Jinpyeong makes my teeth grind even in sleep."
Wiji Gang's eyes burned with murderous hatred for So Jinpyeong.
Though his own Wiji family had fallen, So Jinpyeong—the uncle he trusted like blood—had betrayed him, allying with the wildcard Jinhyuk for beast hide deals.
His chance to rise as leader of the slave soldiers, earn merits, revive his house, and return to the military—all crushed under that pig's hooves.
Crack!
Wiji Gang clenched his fist, and the crusted wound split under the bandages, blood seeping out.
Jo Pil, watching that fierce hatred, slowly turned his gaze to the supply sacks and medicine crates piled in the shadows beyond the brazier.
He stared expressionlessly, then straightened and spoke firmly.
"That pig bastard threw us into this ruin to die, and that's not changing. But Commander, we're still clinging to life with this meager broth because it's not what he wanted."
Jo Pil nudged one of the sacks.
"So Jinpyeong abandoned us, but the barbarian Jinhyuk we scorned is keeping us alive. Without the weekly rations, supplies, and medicine he sends, we'd have been corpses long ago on just what we brought here. Our blood kin starves us to death, while our enemy feeds and heals us. Ironic, isn't it?"
Wiji Gang fell silent for a long moment.
The brazier's flames illuminated his twisted face.
Blood kin who betrayed him. An enemy who sustained him.
The stark contrast tore at his pride.
"...What a joke. The one who discarded me is kin from the So family, and the one holding me up is some northern barbarian whose origins I don't even know. I get it, Jo Pil. This guilt and gratitude toward Kang Jinhyuk weighs heavy in my chest. Without his lifeline—without treating us as full enemies—we wouldn't have made it to this morning, let alone devoted ourselves fully."
Jo Pil nodded gravely, his own face heavy.
The upright soldier and family loyalist felt complex emotions from Jinhyuk's actions too.
Wiji Gang shifted his gaze from the brazier to the unit members scattered around the camp.
The Iron Blood Unit, once 1,000 strong, was down to 200.
700 foreigners had joined Jinhyuk's Heavenly Wolf Unit without hesitation.
Of the remaining 300, 100 had deserted at night, blended into civilian slaves, or been hunted by beasts from the plains and woods while repairing the walls—no bodies recovered.
Rumble—!
A massive vibration shook the earth from beyond the northern horizon. No mere wind.
A lookout, shivering atop what barely passed for a rampart, shouted in alarm.
"North! Beyond the northern horizon! Something's coming! Nomads—thousands, no... at least ten thousand!"
That scream-like cry sliced through the fortress.
Tension crackled instantly through the ruined camp.
Wiji Gang and Jo Pil sprang up like coiled springs, racing to the highest wall.
Troops resting in tents or polishing weapons moved as one.
Clang! Clank!
Spears and shields clashed as they were grabbed, filling the fortress.
Worn gear or not, they were Yan Empire elites.
In moments, 200 men swarmed the walls, weapons ready.
Tightening leather straps, donning helmets—their eyes blazed with desperate survival fury.
This was a fortress, ruin though it was.
The highest wall under five meters—a low parapet—but better sightlines than open ground.
From the wall, a massive dust cloud rolled over the barren plain beyond the horizon.
Not an army heading for the Great Wall.
A horde of refugees—mixed clans of minor nomad tribes.
Nearly 10,000, fleeing hunger and cold southward toward the Central Plains' Great Wall.
Among them, skeletal sheep and goats staggered in their wake.
Clop, clop!
Ahead of the main group, 100 nomad cavalry charged to the fortress gate.
Not elites—defeated stragglers from war.
Tattered leather clothes, horses rib-thin.
But their strong bows and curved swords gleamed sharp.
"Central Plains... people! Open... the gate! Give proper... grain food! Medicine... lacking! Take us in!"
The lead nomad bellowed in broken Central Plains tongue.
His voice was plea, not threat—near scream.
Wiji Gang, ragged but noble military-born, stood tall on the wall with piercing dignity, glaring down.
He thrust out his chest and demanded sternly.
"Halt! Why do northern barbarians swarm like dogs to pound at the Central Plains' gates? What disaster struck the steppes to drive these hordes from their lands?"
The cavalry stirred at his shout.
The leader wheeled his horse, urgently conferring in tribal tongue with the others.
Their grim faces and desperate gestures screamed the crisis.
Soon, he advanced again, voice heavier.
"Steppes... unified! Strong one... crushed all tribes! Hundreds... fallen... nowhere to go! We die... open gate!"
"Steppe unification."
Wiji Gang's eyes widened in shock.
The northern power balance had flipped.
These 10,000 were mere fragments of a colossal upheaval.
Disaster upon disaster.
They'd just scraped by with 200 men on Jinhyuk's supplies.
Weekly rations their sole lifeline—now this starving horde was catastrophe itself.
These walls under five meters looked powerless against 10,000.
One misstep, swept by their desperation—the Iron Blood would be looted or trampled to dust.
Wiji Gang bit his lip, watching refugees near.
"...Jo Pil."
He called low; Jo Pil responded at once.
"Yes, Commander."
"Pick the two fastest runners from the men now. Take them yourself and slip out the southeast postern."
Jo Pil's eyes flew wide.
Murmurs rippled among the wall's troops.
"Commander! Sending Adjutant Jo Pil too—who guards here?!"
"Ten thousand! How block the wave without him?!"
Fear-laced protests erupted. Wiji Gang swept them with overwhelming presence.
"Silence! Have you forgotten who we are? We are the Yan Empire's elite—the Iron Blood Unit!"
But for Jo Pil, milk brother, leaving his lord to death was harshest.
"Commander—no, brother! What order is this? Leave you in crisis?!"
Wiji Gang gripped Jo Pil's shoulder hard, trembling fingers firming.
"Listen. We must warn Kang Jinhyuk at the Outpost. Steppe unification—10,000 refugees hitting without warning. If they don't know, it'll turn to hell there too. We've owed him much. That pig So Jinpyeong aside, Jinhyuk fed and healed us. Least we repay."
"But brother, here..."
"This is a wall, low as it is. I'll buy time with the brothers—no, these men. You reach the Outpost, give Jinhyuk prep time or fetch aid—that's pretext for all to retreat and survive. Understood?!"
Jo Pil stared into his lord-brother's eyes, biting his lip bloody.
Wiji Gang's gaze held resolve and tangled gratitude for Jinhyuk.
Avoiding Jo Pil's eyes, Wiji Gang pierced each man's gaze, roaring.
"Steppe unification! These refugees hit without warning—if the Outpost mistakes for raid, no more food or herbs, and this ground vanishes! So Jinpyeong drove us to death, but Jinhyuk fed and healed us. As soldiers—as men—don't we repay one who aided, even enemy?! This is my final order to you who followed me to the end!"
The wall fell silent as poured water.
Troops quelled fear, pride rising.
"Go, Jo Pil. My sole repayment to Jinhyuk—our Iron Blood's last pride. Your going saves us all."
Jo Pil bit his lip, eyes locked.
"...I'll deliver and return. Stay safe, brother."
Jo Pil saluted, led two swift subordinates into shadows.
Now, 197 Iron Blood remnants remained on the wall, Wiji Gang included.
He gripped his rusted sword hilt, glaring at the oncoming 10,000.
Atop the crumbling fortress, scarcely a wall...