Chapter 347. The Victory Banquet
Commanders such as Samyoari and Dolhapsok each led their own Mouke.
A single Mouke governed roughly three hundred households, and several Mouke together formed a Meng'an.
In military terms, a Mouke commander was roughly equivalent to a centurion commanding around one hundred cavalrymen, while a Meng'an commander stood closer to the level of a commander of a thousand.
On the battlefield, a Mouke commander was the military leader of his own men, while a Meng'an commander directed several Mouke together.
Wanyan Zonghan and Wanyan Zongwang stood at the level of Meng'an commanders.
Among them, Youngwoo had become a curious center of gravity.
He had been with them through the transformation of the Jurchens, the founding of the state, and the victories that followed.
And those young commanders had been the first to accept his troublesome proposals—put armor on the soldiers, equip them properly, count the horses, keep ledgers, and turn captured goods into military supplies.
In the stubborn world of the Jurchens, they were the men who had stepped forward to test new methods first.
So it felt natural for Youngwoo to sit among them.
They passed cups around and congratulated one another on their achievements.
Samyoari spoke of how the right wing had engaged first and drawn out the Liao front line.
Dolhapsok reenacted with his hands the moment the Iron Pagoda Cavalry smashed into the enemy formation.
Aribo repeated several times the sight of the emperor's banner being driven backward.
Zongwang burst out laughing whenever he described Youngwoo driving straight into the Liao center.
There were few things that stirred the hearts of men more than sharing memories of moments when they had been brave together.
That corner of the banquet was the loudest and most unruly of all.
Above all, they were young.
In most kingdoms, the highest ranks of generals were filled with seasoned veterans of advanced age.
The Jurchen leadership was different.
It overflowed with youth.
Wanyan Zonghan, one of the oldest among them, had been born in 1080 and was thirty-six at the time.
Wanyan Zongwang was roughly ten years younger, around twenty-six.
Meng'an and Mouke commanders such as Samyoari, Dolhapsok, and Aribo were generally of similar age.
They were young and strong.
Their blood ran hot.
And they remembered victory through their bodies.
That was why their laughter was so loud.
When cups struck together, the sound rang across the tent.
When one man slapped another on the shoulder, iron armor plates rattled.
One man threw out a joke and the next immediately answered.
They praised each other's battlefield courage as though teasing one another.
They were young commanders who had just driven away the emperor of a great empire and still wanted to feel the truth of it through their whole bodies.
Youngwoo sat in the middle of them.
He was a commander of Goryeo.
Here, however, he was simply a comrade who had been drenched in the same blood.
Zongwang filled his cup.
Dolhapsok slapped his shoulder with a bloodstained glove.
Samyoari looked at Youngwoo and laughed loudly.
"Commander Yi is frightening during battle and frightening after it too.
"He was chasing the emperor a moment ago, and the instant he came back he started counting horses and armor."
Zongwang raised his cup.
"And thanks to that, we'll be able to fight the next battle too."
Youngwoo made an aggrieved face, but in the end he laughed.
The stench of blood from Hubodagang still clung to his armor, yet amid the heat of those young men, victory finally became human words and laughter.
It sounded like criticism.
In truth, it was acknowledgment.
Youngwoo still wore an aggrieved expression, but a bright smile spread across his face.
The smell of blood from Hubodagang had yet to leave his armor, but among their youthful energy, victory finally became something that could be spoken and laughed about.
After sharing a few cups with them, Youngwoo excused himself and went to where his masters were seated.
These were men who ordinarily avoided gatherings like this.
He wondered what had brought them all the way to a victory banquet, but joy at seeing them came first.
Youngwoo bowed deeply to Baek Ingyeom, Han Jiun, and the other immortals.
"You have come a very difficult distance. On behalf of many people, I offer my thanks."
Han Jiun smiled broadly and raised a cup.
"Have a drink."
"Thank you."
Youngwoo accepted the wine Han Jiun poured and drank it in one swallow.
Then he held the cup respectfully in both hands and poured wine back for him.
Han Jiun seemed pleased by the gesture and laughed heartily.
"The immortal of Oryang Mountain said he wanted to see you."
Youngwoo's face brightened.
"I want to see him too."
"Why? What are the two of you to each other?"
"He looks adorable, doesn't he? Hahaha."
Han Jiun's eyes widened before he burst into laughter.
"Adorable? I'm already worried what expression he'll make if he hears that."
Youngwoo laughed as well.
Oryang's body was that of a child.
But within it lay centuries of cultivation, experience, and wisdom.
It was a strange bond.
They had not spent many years together.
They had not shared some long and profound history of affection.
And yet Youngwoo found himself wanting to see him from time to time.
Most human bonds grew through the collision of desires.
People helped one another.
Created debts.
Placed expectations upon one another.
Experienced disappointment.
And through all of it, relationships continued.
But whenever Youngwoo thought of Oryang, what came first was not that weight.
It was his clear smile.
Youngwoo did not miss him merely because he wanted answers about an unknown future.
Perhaps he missed him because of that guileless smile.
He found it amusing that he was trying to attach reasons to the simple feeling of wanting to see someone.
Even so, that smile always came to mind first.
The immortals took turns offering Youngwoo wine.
One poured him a cup.
Youngwoo received it with both hands.
Then he poured a cup in return.
At first it was formal courtesy.
Then a warm greeting.
Before long, it became the congratulations of mountain men welcoming a junior who had survived a battlefield.
More than twenty immortals took turns drinking with him.
Youngwoo's face quickly turned red.
His body began to sway slightly.
He put down his cup and muttered,
"Ah… I think I'm drinking too much."
Han Jiun tilted his chin toward the rest of the banquet.
"I think you'll have to drink quite a bit today. Look how many people are waiting to offer you a cup."
Youngwoo smiled awkwardly.
"Ah, there is still so much work to do."
Baek Ingyeom burst into hearty laughter.
His laughter was so clear and full that the other immortals joined him.
"I think you can drink a little and rest today."
Youngwoo looked up.
"But the battle still…"
Baek Ingyeom answered quietly.
"The war will continue.
"But today's battle is over.
"The Liao army will find it difficult to rise again for some time. An army of seven hundred thousand scattered across this field.
"There may be more fighting around the Supreme Capital, Western Capital, and Southern Capital. But those are matters for later.
"Today, you may rest."
The word rest sank deeply into Youngwoo.
Only then did the tension begin to leave him.
Strength drained from his fingertips.
Some of the invisible weight hanging across his shoulders finally slipped away.
Even after the battle ended, he had kept running.
He pursued defeated soldiers.
Sorted prisoners.
Counted spoils.
Checked the wounded.
Made ledgers.
His body had long since reached its limit, yet his mind had continued issuing commands.
One sentence from Baek Ingyeom finally stopped those commands.
Today, you may rest.
Youngwoo closed his eyes for a moment.
He wanted to lie flat on the ground.
Even a place that smelled of earth would have been enough.
This was a gathering of warm welcome and praise for all they had endured.
Baek Ingyeom smiled gently.
There were countless questions Youngwoo wanted to ask.
For now, however, courtesy to those sharing the moment mattered more.
If he simply closed his eyes as he was, he felt that for a little while he might escape all the blood, dust, and responsibility.
The laughter inside the command tent and the clinking of cups seemed to drift farther away.
Only his master's voice remained quietly with him.