Preparations for Battle (2)
One cannot begin action on mere conjecture.
No matter how clear a conclusion may seem, conjecture alone cannot move men.
Yet to sit idle before a future that can already be seen is nothing but a refusal of responsibility.
So So-un moved.
As he walked toward the quarters of the Baekryongdae, his steps felt strangely heavy.
He had come to speak of battle.
But before that, he would have to pass through their rough affection.
They liked him.
They called him "Scholar" to tease him, but the reason was simple.
They admired his purity and his fervor.
His resolve to defend his homeland, his will to drive out the barbarians, his learning, his courtesy—
all of it stood in contrast to their own hardened lives.
And so they teased him all the more.
The moment So-un stepped over the threshold of the barracks set beside the training yard, someone shouted,
"Hey—look here! Lord Yu So-un graces us with his presence!"
This time it was not "Scholar" but "Young Master."
The title had grown grander.
"His Lordship has arrived!"
"The Scholar-Young-Master has come!"
"Make way! His Lordship passes through!"
So-un's face flushed at once.
Seeing him blush only encouraged them.
"Early signs of qi deviation! His face is red!"
"Lay him down! Fetch a physician!"
"Not just any physician—call a pediatrician!"
"Careful, Young Master, a fever is dangerous!"
Before he had taken more than a few steps, they had surrounded him.
One thumped his shoulder, another tugged at his sleeve, another ruffled his hair.
Someone leaned over him and squinted. "Did he grow taller?"
Their welcome came in the language of touch.
In just a few days, their numbers had grown to more than thirty.
Faces that had survived Haran.
Men who had all thought at least half of them would die.
That they now laughed together like this was itself a miracle.
So-un looked at them one by one.
Alive.
That alone was enough.
He did not push them away.
He let the rough play wash over him for a moment.
Then he walked quietly to the large table by the weapon rack.
"Gather."
His tone was calm, but firm.
The hands that had been tugging and shoving gradually stilled.
The older veterans noticed first—the change in his face.
Thirty men formed a loose circle.
"This is the Supreme General's household," So-un said.
"You have gathered to defend it."
"You know better than I whom we may have to fight."
He paused.
"It may be assassins."
"It may be an army."
The air grew heavier.
"I receive special treatment here," he added dryly.
"They call me 'Young Master.'"
Laughter burst out again.
It was laughter laid over tension.
He waited until it subsided.
"So I know a little."
"This place must be defended."
"The reason I remained here was for that."
"General Lee Hee gave me specific instructions."
Now there was no laughter.
"If he summoned you, we must understand it as an order to defend this place."
"The enemy will likely be numerous."
"We are few."
"Even if all of us gather, we cannot face them head-on."
"So we must prepare."
The squad leaders exchanged glances.
"There is no commander yet."
"But the squad leaders are here."
"Divide these thirty men and begin preparations."
Silence hung for a breath.
"Well, that's obvious."
"Listen to the Scholar talking sense."
A stray joke surfaced, but it lacked its former edge.
So-un looked around at them.
"The household knows nothing of this."
"They must not know."
"So we prepare without drawing attention."
"All right then—what do we do?"
The question came out a little too sharply.
Nervousness hid beneath it.
So-un smiled faintly.
His gaze did not waver.
"We do what we're best at."
"Ambush?"
He shook his head.
"Reconnaissance?"
Another shake.
Thirty pairs of eyes fixed on him.
If not ambush, not scouting—
That left one thing.
The thing they hated most.
"Don't tell me…"
"You mean damn labor duty, don't you, Young Master?"
So-un nodded.
"Yes."
"Labor."
Groans erupted.
"Are we digging again?"
"Was Haran not enough dirt for one lifetime?"
"Young Master, we're soldiers, not construction workers!"
Curses flew, half in jest, half in resignation.
But So-un did not waver.
"If a large army comes, a frontal clash is meaningless."
"We narrow their paths."
"We break their advance."
"We dig, fortify, lay traps, and control the ground."
"We strengthen night watches and move as if nothing has changed during the day."
His words were steady.
No longer a teasing boy, but a soldier who had seen war.
"Labor is battle."
"We are not digging earth."
"We are preparing to kill."
One squad leader gave a short laugh.
"See that? Not a Scholar—a commander."
Another muttered, "Fine. We'll do it."
The curses continued, but hands were already readying themselves for work.
They teased him, but they did not disobey him.
So-un gave one final instruction.
"Silently."
"And perfectly."
The laughter faded from the faces of the Baekryongdae.
The look of the battlefield slowly returned.
122.
Preparation for Battle
"Still, it's better than training, isn't it?"
When Sowoon looked around and asked, heads nodded here and there.
"Yeah. Better than training."
Agreement came quickly.
Anything was better than drills that broke your legs and crushed your lungs.
With labor, you could grumble, swing a shovel, even slip in a joke or two.
Training drove you until your breath tore apart; labor let you sweat and still laugh.
"No one's ordering you. No one's punishing you if you don't do it. You'll have to do this willingly. At least until someone arrives."
Sowoon's face darkened slightly as he said it.
"Who? General Lee?"
"General Lee probably won't come. If he does, that may mean the worst has already happened. I'm hoping one of the Daeju commanders arrives to take command. Until then, the squad leaders will have to manage."
"Right. That's right."
Everyone nodded.
There were only two squad leaders left.
In battle, those who stood at the front were always the first to fall.
Sowoon pulled out a sheet of paper.
He believed words alone were not enough.
With his small hand pressing the page flat, he began to write.
His handwriting was precise.
His brush moved swiftly—almost as fast as he spoke.
Reinforce the final defensive wooden barricade. Dig additional trenches. Install traps.
Set obstacles across the plain to disperse and slow enemy infantry.
Construct medium crossbows and mount them on the outer walls.
Mass-produce arrows. Secure timber, feathers, and willow-leaf message tokens.
Refit personal equipment: armor, spears, shields, bows.
Inspect and condition all horses. Establish a rotation system for care.
"These are our tasks. The enemy will likely be infantry or local levies, not heavy cavalry. Bows, arrows, and crossbows will be decisive."
He lifted his head.
"The trench in front of the estate is the last defensive line. The enemy must never reach that point. There are elders and women inside. That line must be held with our lives. So we stop them before they get there."
The squad leaders added remarks as he spoke.
"Dig the trench to waist depth at least."
"Deep enough for a horse to fall and struggle."
"Double the wooden barricade."
Sowoon nodded.
"Ambush and reconnaissance must continue. This terrain is open—very different from Haran. The wide view means we can see far, but it also means we can be seen."
Then he added quietly:
"This is the ancestral home of General Jin Mugwang. Please be mindful of your conduct."
Yang Johwi nodded deeply.
A moment later, Yang stepped forward.
He clenched his fist and raised his arm high.
"I may be a fool, but from now on I command. Until a Daeju arrives, I take responsibility. Anyone object?"
"No!"
The energy gathered.
Yang Johwi had recovered much of his strength.
Good food and sleep had brought color back to his face.
The foolish look in his eyes was gone; resolve had replaced it.
He immediately reorganized the structure.
The original thirty men and the additional thirty who had arrived—
a total of sixty, reorganized into six squads.
Temporary squad leaders were appointed.
The moment the formation was set, the mood changed.
Laughter faded.
Bodies moved automatically.
Sleeping quarters were reassigned by squad.
Gear was relocated. Weapons were aligned. Rotations were scheduled.
Work began that very evening.
Two squads took shovels and pickaxes to the plain before the estate.
Under moonlight, they began to dig.
At first, jokes floated in the night.
"Are we farming or fighting?"
"War farming."
But as the trench deepened, the talking stopped.
It was no simple ditch.
The bottom was angled so a fallen horse could not easily climb out.
Sharpened stakes were embedded along the inner slope.
The surface was dusted lightly with soil to disguise its depth.
Two other squads reinforced the wooden barricade.
Thick logs were hauled in and erected.
Crossbeams were lashed tight.
Between them, earth and gravel were packed to absorb impact.
The thud of hammers rang through the night.
The dull strike of iron nails.
The creak of timber locking into place.
Another squad prepared mounting frames for crossbows atop the outer wall.
Heavy wooden braces were constructed and fixed.
They measured angles carefully.
"From here, it reaches halfway across the plain."
"Lower it. Too steep."
Veins bulged in forearms as they lifted the frames into place.
Arrow production took place separately.
Wood shafts were shaved smooth.
Arrowheads sharpened and fitted.
Feathers aligned and bound tight.
Willow-leaf tokens were kept aside for message use.
The horse squad inspected hooves, adjusted saddles, combed tangled manes.
They fed the exhausted animals thick porridge.
Horses were combat strength.
After several days, the land around the estate had changed.
Outwardly, it remained peaceful.
But beneath the plain lay hidden traps.
Behind the barricades were stacked bundles of arrows.
On the walls, crossbows waited silently.
The men of Baekryongdae were covered in dirt and sweat.
Yet dissatisfaction was gone.
In its place stood a familiar tension.
Sowoon watched them.
Only now was the shape of an army returning.
This was not a duel.
It was war.
And in war, half the outcome is decided in preparation.