127.doing our best is better than doing nothing.
"Still… doing our best is better than doing nothing."
From the next day on, Jin Musik and Lee Sogun began coming and going from the training ground that had now been turned into a full military yard.
With Jin Musik joining in, the work visibly accelerated.
He did not believe everything would necessarily succeed.
He simply believed that whatever could be done now ought to be done.
Leaf-shaped arrowheads were immediately ordered in bulk through the family's suppliers.
Anything that could be solved with money required no hesitation.
They inquired about forests with suitable wood for arrow shafts and sent men to cut down everything usable.
Every feather from every bird around the estate was gathered.
Men chased chickens across courtyards and turned the place upside down.
Someone fell into the pond trying to grab a duck.
Not a single feather was wasted.
Arrows began to pile up.
Whatever was lacking was purchased.
Lee Sogun entered the yard and encountered Jin Musik.
"Brother-in-law, what brings you here?"
"The young men are doing something. It seemed right that I lend a hand."
Lee Sogun glanced around.
She searched for Sowoon, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Had he already told him?
When she saw Jin Musik moving of his own accord—something she herself had failed to persuade him to do—she suspected Sowoon must be behind it.
Yet she had given no information at all.
An inexplicable guilt touched her.
'When I tried to convince him the other day, he refused so firmly…'
"With your help, things will move faster."
"I worry, sister-in-law. It is farming season… I truly worry."
――――――――――
Gyeongpil arrived several days later.
He had once commanded roughly one hundred fifty riders as a White Dragon battalion leader.
The absence of a commander was filled.
He began working at once, as if he had never left active command.
His curses were harsher than before.
He handed out punishments openly, even in front of the household members.
He drove the battle preparations forward and pushed training hard in the late afternoons.
With the several dozen men who came with him, the organization quickly regained strength.
He never completely memorized the Compendium.
But he memorized almost all of it.
If he stumbled over a passage, he smacked his own forehead and cursed.
If his men stumbled, he cursed louder.
"Are your heads just decorations?" he would shout—
only to forget the next line himself and stand there in awkward silence.
As if to compensate for lost time, he worked without rest.
He trained.
He drilled the White Dragon unit again.
What changed was that the martial system from the Compendium was added.
Breathing and calisthenics were followed by the practice of forms and sequences.
But the old drills remained: walking on all fours, the mounted stance called the "invisible chair," running while gripping a shared pole.
When someone collapsed out of the horse stance, others would shout, "Did your horse die?"
If two tripped and tumbled while running together, they would curse each other, dust themselves off, then grab the pole again and continue.
Labor was only the beginning.
Training was added.
Units rotated into patrol and ambush.
By nightfall, sweat, dirt, and profanity were mingled into one.
The Old White Dragon unit was composed mostly of returning veterans—something like a reserve force.
So they resisted well.
They would resist even if it meant being beaten half to death.
They had once been seen struggling to memorize the Compendium—who could revere them for that?
Resistance brought punishment.
The yard was loud, chaotic, restless.
There was not a single quiet day.
Lee Hee's absence was one reason.
A spiritual pillar is someone whose mere presence is enough.
Someone who creates structure without speaking.
Without him, the structure loosened, and they filled the looseness with noise and roughness.
Inside the yard, they were unruly and loud.
But they all knew this was the ancestral home of Grand General Jin Mugwang.
The moment they stepped outside the training ground, they put their weapons in order.
They straightened their posture.
They walked in measured steps.
They might shove each other and laugh one moment—
but the instant they crossed the threshold, they stood upright together, as if by instinct.
Outside the estate gates they might return to chaos.
Inside, they were careful.
There was a line in each man's heart that marked where courtesy must begin.
Within that line, they were quiet and composed.
If a child passed by, they stepped aside or waited.
They might joke—"Are you the General's son?"—
but when the child smiled, they bowed more gently.
Because every person there bore some connection to the Grand General.