Chapter 63
Chapter 63
The Iron Emperor — Chapter 63
Giyul dropped to one knee and paid his respects to Buru. Buru gave a slight nod in return, then turned back toward Gerard and asked again.
"So. Gerard, speak up."
"It is Gerard!"
"Nobody's callin' you anything else, Gerard."
"......."
Buru, who levitated his own severed limbs in midair, could hardly be described as pretty, and neither could the way he addressed Gerard's name however he pleased. Naturally, the words coming out of Gerard's mouth were curt.
"Well, as I was explaining about weapons here, yes, all martial paths ultimately end as one, but even so......"
"The hell's all that blather?"
"Blather? It's speech."
When Buru cut him off again and frowned, Gerard wasn't about to give a docile reply either. Even so, Buru clicked his tongue rather than reproach him for it.
"Tsk, tsk. There's always one bastard tryin' to twist words wherever you go, I swear."
"What do you mean?"
"That thing you're talkin' about—the Manryugwijong. All it means is that in the end everything becomes one. Now tell me, ain't that twistin' the words itself?"
At Buru's words Gerard wore a look that said he couldn't follow the meaning, and Giyul nodded as if in agreement.
Still, whatever the case, Buru was unmistakably a warrior of a higher order than himself. Gerard's curt attitude had no choice but to fade, and his eyes began to shine like those of a child hearing old tales.
"Look here. Weapons are made for offing people in the first place. Axe Technique, Sword Technique, Spear Technique—they're made to off 'em better. So! What's all this business about endings? Save the yapping. The beginning was the same from the start. If the beginning's the same, don't go runnin' your mouth about the end."
"No, but still, the mind's cultivation......"
When Buru dismissed his discipline as nothing more than a slaughterhouse butcher, Gerard's voice grew flustered. But Buru's face only hardened further.
"You thick-headed bastard, shut up and listen. When you learn war skills, all you gotta do is teach 'em how to kill good. And now you're blabberin' about the mind? If you wanna cultivate the Way, since you're so fond of your Manryugwijong, put the weapon down and do something else! Who the hell cultivates the Way by learning how to kill people?"
"......!"
"Got it? You can cultivate the Way without picking up a sword. But once you pick up a weapon, your duty as a weapon-bearer is to be faithful to killing well. So quit stickin' all this extra crap onto it."
"Haah......"
Gerard was stunned.
No one had ever spoken to him like this. He had always believed that a knight's sword and a commoner's sword were different, and he had devoted himself to honoring the sword and training his spirit.
But after Buru's words, Gerard had no choice but to change his thinking. If the thing was literally made for slaughter from the start, then attaching meaning to it became a pointless exercise. If you raised a weapon, you only needed to use it well—and that simply meant killing well. Gerard could dimly grasp the source of these people's strength.
"Um...... I have a question!"
"Go on."
Nel, who had been listening to the cryptic exchange off to the side, hesitantly picked up a shield from the ground.
"Er...... what's this shield, then? It's a weapon too."
"......."
Buru sighed at Nel's absurd question. He was probably questioning the statement that all weapons were made for killing......
"Gimme that."
"Yes."
Taking the shield from Nel, Buru smacked his lips and turned his gaze toward the soldiers.
"Watch close."
"Yes!"
KABOOM!
"......."
"......."
Silence.
The shield in Buru's hand had smashed straight through the boulder beside him. Buru spoke curtly.
"A shield'll crush you dead too if it hits you."
"......."
Giyul watched his helpless superior and sighed.
A moment later Buru took Gerard away, and Giyul, gauging the distance, waited until they were far enough before opening his mouth.
"Forget what you just saw."
"......Yes."
Every soldier knew perfectly well that shields were meant for blocking, so they nodded. Nel fiddled with the shield, caught Giyul's glare, and had to retreat to a corner.
In the end, Buru snapped at Gerard—the cause of the day's commotion—telling him he'd asked an obvious question. And Gerard, shedding bloody tears, could not escape receiving mental conditioning combined with swordsmanship lessons right up until the day before departure.
That was Gerard's lot.
After that, Gerard was able to gain an accurate grasp of the existing Gauri soldiers.
First, the Black Armored Ghost Cavalry were elite troops comparable to knights of the Haien Continent. Originally, these were roles mainly filled by people from decent families—the nobility. The reason was the immense cost of operating them. Therefore, their social standing was often higher than that of ordinary troops. Their martial prowess could be considered Owner-level, the stage just before what was commonly called Master.
As for the swordsmen, they were a force deployed to protect the archers—a distinctive branch within the army. Most of them were of Baekje refugee descent. Among them was the unique Buyeo Gi-yul, who wielded Axe Technique, but ordinarily they used swords like Gye Ung-sam. Their skill ranged from Runner-level to Owner-level.
But the rest of the soldiers were enough to make Gerard marvel.
The reason was that the soldiers who used axes never swung more than twice. They were trained to kill in a single blow. The problem was that that first blow was beyond the ability of ordinary soldiers to block, and the ones tasked with protecting those Axemen were the Shieldbearers.
Then there were the spearmen. Their sole role was containment. When melee erupted with enemy cavalry, their only support role was to use the hooks fitted behind the spearheads to pull riders down. At first Gerard had only found their skills impressive, but in truth they were so mutually complementary that without any one element the whole became useless.
In the end, the Axemen mastered only axe swings, the Shieldbearers only blocking, and the spearmen only containment—each displaying the highest ability in their assigned field. One more interesting point: all of them could shoot a bow as a baseline, and there was not a single man who could not ride a horse.
This was also why Buru was drilling Gerard to death. Only by understanding these varied force compositions could one qualify as a commander capable of employing them. If Gerard had understood the organic strengths of these troop types from the beginning, he would not have given up on escaping so easily.
Gerard's individual skill was unquestionably outstanding among them. The problem was that there were many places requiring correction—and, now, Gerard's position was no longer that of an individual but one who had to move an army.
That...... was precisely why screams were now issuing from Gerard's mouth.
Two days before departure.
Only a single thought rose in Gerard's mind.
'If I want to live, I have to leave fast.'
Gerard had come a long way from the man who'd hated the idea of going.
The day before departure......
Behind the footsteps of the sailors loading the final supplies, there were beings tenaciously clinging to them.
"You bastaaaaards! Not this one! Anything but this!"
"Ugh, let go of this, will you?"
"Nooo! Do you have any idea what we went through to make this?!"
"Good grief, you're persistent......"
Behind the soldiers hauling the enormous beer barrels onto the ship, three dwarves were being dragged along, wailing. No—calling it clinging was more accurate than being dragged.
"Just step on me and walk over me instead!"
"Oh, for the......"
In the end, Galling Stone went so far as to throw himself down in front of the sailors.
The reason they were raising such a ruckus was simple. Because all of the beer they had made—after causing trouble(?) to produce it—was being loaded wholesale onto the ship.
The root cause lay with Gerard.
On a long ocean voyage, the biggest problems were vegetables and drinking water. Moreover, the nature of their route made it impossible to put in at port cities, so ample supplies were needed. And Gerard had informed Fleet Commander Jang Bogo—who had been agonizing over drinking water—about beer as an excellent substitute.
If you loaded beer onto a ship, even if it went flat later, it would keep for a long time without spoiling, making it essential for long voyages. As it happened, the dwarves had beer ready in advance, and so every last drop was being hauled away. In the end, the three dwarves—who'd been beaten nearly senseless the one time they'd brewed beer and had thrown themselves into barley farming—now had to watch their blood-and-sweat beer be carried off without a single drop left behind.
STOMP!
"Kkwe-eek!"
Trudge. Trudge. Trudge.
"......."
Just as Galling Stone had demanded, a sailor trod mercilessly over him and disappeared into the ship. In the end, having failed to protect even the last barrel, the dwarves were unable to pull themselves out of despondency.
"Cough."
"Ga...... Galling Stone, you all right?"
Looking at the footprint stamped across Galling Stone's stomach, Hwain Stone asked in a pitying voice, but no reply came—only the sight of him lying there as if dead met his eyes again.
"Loading complete!"
"Right, everyone to the square! There's drink and meat waiting there!"
"Let's go-o-o!"
At the voice announcing the completion of loading, Fleet Commander Jang Bogo shouted to the sailors and soldiers, and all of them raised their voices and broke into a run. Naturally, the three dwarves—who just moments ago had worn expressions as if they'd lived out their whole lives—were mixed in among them. They had moved for no other reason than that one word: drink.
A liquid that flaunts a shimmering, clear hue and whose very aroma can sway a man's heart! That was alcohol. On the eve of a campaign, the two things that absolutely had to be present for these men were drink and song-and-dance.
Fires blazed across the broad plain, and as meat was skewered and grilled, drool pooled unbidden at the corners of the soldiers' mouths. The hands of the armed men passing around bottles were ceaselessly searching for an empty cup. And among them, Go Jin-cheon himself was circling with a bottle in hand—producing flustered expressions on his Royal Guard officers and dissatisfaction across Dae Mu-deok's face.
But what could anyone do? If Jin-cheon was doing it himself, who could stop him?
"Raise your cups!"
"Uwaaahhh!"
Unlike other times, Jin-cheon wore a joyful expression. Though he now sat upon the throne as Yeolje, until not so long ago he had been a general who had ranged across the battlefields alongside them. He was a man who had grown drunk on a cup of liquor and a verse of song and caroused with his soldiers.
No matter that he had ascended to the seat of the Yeolje, the nature of the man who had roamed the continent with his soldiers was not going anywhere. No—he was probably a man who would not change until the very moment of his death.
The soldiers raised their cups high toward the sky and fixed their bright, clear eyes upon Jin-cheon.
"Tomorrow!"
"Uwaaaaaah!"
He must be speaking of their departure.
Amid the thunderous cheering, Jin-cheon raised his own cup high into the sky so that every soldier's eyes could see it. The soldiers watched their lord's raised cup against the heavens and waited expectantly for the words Jin-cheon would offer them.
"Heh heh heh."
"......."
The moment Jin-cheon let out a bizarre laugh, Mu-deok could not shake an ominous feeling. But unlike Mu-deok, those who had always been at his side—Yeon Hwi-garam, Eulji Buru, and Uru—were grinning as if thoroughly enjoying themselves.
"Drink!"
"Drink!"
At Jin-cheon's opening cry, the soldiers shouted back as if joining the chorus. When the liquor had vanished down Jin-cheon's throat without a trace, he wiped the stray drops at the corner of his mouth with his sleeve and hurled his cup into the air.
"Hut!"
At Jin-cheon's sudden action, a startled sound escaped Mu-deok's lips like air rushing from a bellows. Having flung his cup, Jin-cheon straightaway stripped off his upper garment.
"Dance!"
"Da-ance!"
Mu-deok was not the only one startled. The ones who naturally followed along were those who had shared life and death with Jin-cheon. The replacements and other new recruits who'd been added to the fleet were no different from Mu-deok's eyes.
But.......
Good heavens!
What kind of monarch! Drains his cup in one go before his soldiers, rips off his tunic, and dances!
Good heavens!
What kind of soldiers! Grin and follow along just because their sovereign does it!
Good heavens!
Yet even so...... how was it that every movement of Jin-cheon's body looked so noble......?
"A song!"
"Sing the song!"
As Go Jin-cheon danced and shouted, a bold, stirring melody began to spread from the soldiers' mouths.
"The hooves touch the earth~."
"Eoi-ya!"
"We charge toward the enemy ranks~."
"Eo-heoi-ya!"
Jin-cheon's voice rang out with hearty vigor, and a mighty power could be felt in the sweeping movements of his dance. Before they knew it, every soldier had risen to his feet and taken up Jin-cheon's song.
"The Samjoko Flag streaming high~."
"Eoi-ya!"
"Let us command all under heaven~!"
"Eo-heoi-ya!"
When the short four-stanza song ended, the sailors rose and began to sway in turn.
The waves lap the ship's rail,
We charge toward the distant sea.
The Samjoko Flag streaming high,
Let us embrace the whole ocean!