Entering the Great Wall
Rattle.
The moment the carriage's vibrations stopped, the first thing I felt was an overwhelming silence.
That brief hush wasn't peaceful at all.
It was the crushing pressure of standing before something so immense—a primal instinct that stole your breath, like gravity from a colossal being.
"Everyone out! Keep your heads down, you filthy worms!"
The soldiers' harsh shouts accompanied the opening of the carriage's rear door.
What poured in wasn't just the north's biting cold wind.
It was the chilling aura radiating from architecture and armies that defied human imagination.
I stumbled out, thrown to the ground. Instinctively dropping to my knees and lifting my head, I beheld monsters that mocked the history I knew.
It wasn't just The Great Wall that plunged me into terror the moment I stepped off the carriage.
As supply trains passed by us slaves, I finally noticed the grotesque size of their "horses."
"My god... are those really horses?"
Korean slipped out unbidden.
But the soldiers nearby just glanced at me with eyes that said, Barbarian's babbling in fear, and moved on.
Whether due to this world's influence, I understood their language perfectly. But my Korean was nothing but alien noise to them.
As a history buff, I'd studied ancient artifacts, records, and even visited Jeju Island sites—I knew Earth's horses well.
Normal ones stood about 1.5 meters at the shoulder. These common draft horses pulling loads were 1.5 times larger.
Monsters over 2.2 meters at the shoulder, rippling with massive muscles, dragged carts stuffed with supplies or food into The Great Wall.
But the real horror came from the warhorses of the cavalry behind them.
Armored in helmets and barding, lined up in formation, they were more than twice the size of Earth's horses.
Over 3 meters at the shoulder, they looked less like horses and more like elephants or tanks.
One snort kicked up a blizzard. Each stomp made the ground quake like an earthquake.
Even the fiercest Mongol cavalry or medieval heavy knights from Earth history would seem like cute ponies next to these.
The riders atop those behemoths felt like giants from myth. We slave soldiers at their feet? Bugs that wouldn't even leave a stain if trampled.
Turning my head from the warhorses' pressure, overwhelming presence, the pinnacle of all this grotesquery finally revealed itself: the Yan Empire's Northern Great Wall.
I vividly recalled touring Beijing's Badaling Great Wall for a college field trip.
Amazed by its winding path along rugged ridges, I'd called its average 7-8 meter height a "miracle of man."
But this wall shoved that quaint memory straight into the trash.
It exploited the terrain's steep snowy mountains too, but on a different principle.
Even stacked atop sheer natural cliffs, this mad empire kept the walls' pure height at a minimum of 50 meters, no matter the ground.
Atop cliffs already hundreds of meters high, black walls soared vertically like 17-story apartments.
The mountains themselves formed the foundation, yet the man-made barrier pierced the clouds.
The material gleamed like smooth obsidian fused with steel—some unknown black stone.
If Badaling's a tourist spot, this is a slaughterhouse built by gods to cage men.
My ex-history student's mind spun rapidly.
How much blood to maintain this scale? If millions built the Great Wall, tens of millions of slaves and human lives fertilized this one.
How did they haul and stack those massive black stones? Even those monstrous warhorses looked like toys below.
This world's bizarre "mysteries" had to be involved—nothing else explained it.
"What're you gawking at? Move!"
A regular soldier's kick slammed into my solar plexus.
I rolled on the ground, unable to even groan, but my gaze stayed fixed on the wall.
The carriage line now headed for one of the massive gates: the Iron Blood Gate.
Screeeeech~
Rumble-rumble-rumble~
Inside the tunnel-like gate piercing dozens of meters of wall, gears meshed with thunderous clanks, and heavy chains wound up, shaking the earth as portcullises rose.
Nearby Danger Detected
The warning blared in my head the instant we entered the gate mouth. Killing intent prickled my skin.
From narrow arrow slits high above, crossbowmen glared down, bows drawn on us.
A silent threat: stray from line, become a pincushion.
Inside the gate was hellish.
Coal smoke choked the air from all sides. Warhorse heat mixed with the north's frigid wind, stabbing my lungs with bizarre chill.
"Slave soldiers 178402 through 178550! Proceed to Sector 4, lower barracks!"
A crude brand seared my left wrist.
The character for "Yan" and a number.
Now I was a consumable called by digits, not a name.
No regular Yan troops greeted us at the barracks.
Existing slave soldiers already entrenched here did.
The empire's forces split two ways.
Conscripts trained properly, garrisoned inside The Great Wall, farming outer fields for supplies—they got human treatment, forced or not.
But we "slave soldiers"? Minimal training—or beatings—and tasks like wall maintenance, patrols atop the barrier, odd jobs. In battle? Arrow fodder or meat shields.
"Hey, these newbies look scrawny."
A scarred man called Doksa approached, scanning us.
"Rules here are simple. Three months. First three, clean shit inside The Great Wall, climb and repair the walls. Next three, out to the frozen outer outposts, watchtowers, signal fires—crawling with nomads and beasts. Survive and come back inside. If you survive, that is."
Rookies murmured at Doksa's words.
Outer wall rotation. A death sentence.
Endure beast raids from watchtowers beyond the 50-meter barrier...
"Hand over your stuff."
A hulking brute—Doksa's lackey—grabbed my collar. I reflexively answered in Korean.
"Nothing on me. Let go."
Eyes locked on me instantly.
The man scowled, as if he hadn't understood.
"What? Weird speech. Kinda like Goguryeo or Baekje accents, but way stranger."
Jackpot info for a history nerd like me.
Goguryeo and Baekje existed here too? My Korean sounded like their dialects or ancient tongue to them.
"This guy's a freak. Can't even talk right."
Doksa approached, peering into my eyes before spitting it out.
"Looks Goguryeo-ish, talks total gibberish."
"Some uncivilized barbarian from beyond the north. Let him go—won't matter tomorrow when he's out on the wall."
That night, I lay on the cold barracks corner floor, staring at the ceiling.
My wrist brand throbbed.
Yan Empire 178502. My Korean life was erased.
All I had left: this lonely tongue I understood but couldn't speak, and faint engravings from barely surviving.
I'd walked the history scholar's path briefly. I knew: in camps like this, loud justice warriors died first.
Survivors were the silent ones biding time.
If Goguryeo or Baekje folk half-understand me, maybe contact them later.
Scholar's knowledge sparked slim hope, but reality was brutal.
Wind howling from the 50-meter parapet sounded like a monster's snore.
Tomorrow, I might dangle from a rope in dizzying heights, risking death to repair the wall.
Three months on: hurled beyond to hellish outposts.
I fingered the wolf fang hidden in my bosom.
I have to survive. Somehow...
I pressed my ear to the cold floor. Distant warhorse patrols atop The Great Wall thudded through the earth. Thump, thump, thump. The empire's heartbeat—or dirge for tomorrow's dead.
I sank into bone-deep fatigue with a silent vow.