Before the City Walls
When Ga Gyeong-pil gave the order to withdraw, Sowoon, who had been pressing forward, reined in his horse.
The Baekryongdae fell back beyond the range of the arrows and spread their formation wide, restoring their lines.
The horses, spent from the violent charge, blew harshly through their nostrils.
The sound of their labored breathing rolled across the field.
Ga Gyeong-pil lifted his helmet and looked toward Anyang Fortress.
He did not need to lift it to see clearly.
Yet the gesture carried the unspoken declaration that he was the commander.
It was an old habit.
As the Baekryongdae withdrew, the city gate opened again.
The remnants of the Geumuiwi who had crowded at the entrance rushed inside.
Anyang's wall stood only about two buildings high.
For a fortress, it was low.
Above it rose a five-bay gate tower, and the signboard reading "Anyang Fortress" seemed disproportionately large upon it.
Sowoon pressed his lips together, faintly regretful.
He had led the vanguard, yet his experience was still lacking.
His eye for the whole field and his command over it were not yet complete.
A trace of regret crossed his face—there had been a moment he might have pressed further.
Arrows shot downward at an angle from the wall were difficult to block and deeply threatening.
Had they charged straight on, the losses would not have been light.
He could already see shafts embedded in the armor of several men.
I could have broken it…
The thought flickered through him.
Yet revealing such destructive power was another matter.
To a master of the Flower Realm, a gate would scarcely be an obstacle.
He had never tried—but he knew it might be possible.
Leap over and open it from within.
That, too, was not a simple choice.
There was no need to display such ability before all eyes.
Opening the gate would not solve everything.
The magistrate's office was the heart of the county—its administrative and judicial center.
It was the enemy's stronghold, yet also the place that governed the lives of common people.
The burden of that fact was not light.
Then only those in uniform…
Sowoon simplified the matter in his mind.
To simplify the world is to seize its core.
What is reduced becomes clearer.
Clarity prevents confusion of values.
He turned and surveyed the field.
Several of his men were struck by arrows.
Others bled from close combat.
It had been a fierce fight.
They had won and driven the enemy back, yet no battle ends without wounds.
At least no one had fallen dead.
A few seriously injured had already been sent back to the estate.
"You did well, Yusaengwon."
Yang Johwi, who had been doubtful, spoke first.
"Well done."
"Well done."
Praise followed from the others.
Sowoon lowered his head modestly.
The vanguard's task is not to cut down everything before it, but to split, to break, and to open the way.
Had he tried to kill every enemy before him, the advance would have slowed.
The enemy would have reformed their ranks.
A broken formation is no terror.
An army depends on one another and moves toward a single aim.
When its lines collapse, each man thinks only of himself.
When the center is torn apart, it is even more so.
Men scramble for survival instead of standing firm.
That is why the vanguard matters.
Sowoon had fulfilled that role well.
Still, pressing so close to the walls revealed his inexperience.
Had Ga Gyeong-pil not halted them, they might have been forced into a desperate clash before the gate.
They would have endured a rain of arrows from tower and wall alike.
The losses would have been severe.
That calculation had not yet fully formed in Sowoon's sight.
"It was all thanks to you elder brothers and uncles…"
"Then tell me—who's an elder brother and who's an uncle?"
Yang Johwi demanded.
Sowoon smiled.
There was no strict standard—yet in his heart, the lines were clear.
"Assistant Commander Yang is an uncle."
"What?"
Another asked,
"And me?"
"You're an elder brother."
Yang Johwi grumbled,
"What kind of standard is that?"
As the banter drifted too far from the battle, Ga Gyeong-pil cut in.
"Who's swearing at a child?"
"I may swear, but I don't give a child the most dangerous vanguard post…"
Yang Johwi muttered.
"Are you challenging orders?"
At the word orders, Yang Johwi shrank back.
"I'm only grumbling."
"Your grumbling is loud."
Such words would not have been spoken in the heart of battle.
Sowoon returned to his place with a faint smile and turned his horse once more toward the gate, the wall, the tower.
Ga Gyeong-pil rode slowly before the drawn-up ranks, inspecting the men.
It is a commander's duty to see to the wounded first.
He noticed one soldier with blood soaked across his shoulder.
"Is that your blood?"
"Some of it's mine."
His tone was rough from the fight, his blood still hot.
"Enough of it left to keep fighting?"
"The bastard's head flew off. Heh."
"I see."