Word came that the enemy was pulling back.
A shallow breath of relief passed through the ranks.
Oh Jinchul spoke quietly.
"This is when you need to be careful."
"When they pull back, it means they're about to strike."
Seongjin asked,
"A flanking move?"
"That's right."
A cold smile touched Oh Jinchul's lips.
"Nothing in this world falls at random. Everything connects."
Seongjin hesitated, then said,
"Then… I'll report it."
Oh Jinchul frowned.
"They'll say it's pointless talk."
Senior officers avoid reports like that because accepting them means admitting they might be wrong.Most people know this simple truth—and still avoid it. Out of weariness, or because they believe it won't be me who dies.
Seongjin pressed his heels lightly into his horse.
He plunged into the dust.
Hwang Hyeon-pil had reined in, watching the front.
"Report!"
"What is it?"
"There's word the enemy is retreating."
Seongjin steadied his breath.
"But this is a feint. They used the same tactic before. We need to prepare the left wing."
His gaze went to the left.
It was loose.
The formation had slackened, horses kicking up dirt at will. Even the foot archers' line was uneven.
Fatigue lay heavy on Hwang Hyeon-pil's face.
Relentless marching. Shrinking sleep. Meals broken apart. Everyone was worn down.
A brief silence.
Then an answer he hadn't expected.
"I see."
Hwang Hyeon-pil lifted his eyes to the dust.
The advance had halted; only the dust rose high.
"Prepare fire on the left."
"Control officer, move forward and signal."
"Loyalty!"
Seongjin swallowed.
His heart hammered.
And the prediction was right.
Dust rose on the left.
A slanting surge of earth and wind. As sunlight dimmed, the control officer's flag went up.
"Prepare to fire!"
"Ready!"
"Ready!"
"Ready!"
Twenty heavy crossbows dropped at once. His chest thundered; all other sounds vanished, leaving only his heartbeat.
Steel cords were drawn taut. Soldiers set their feet on the strings, bolts upright on their shoulders, waiting.
Seongjin's lips moved first.
"West–northwest, two hundred paces!"
Almost at the same instant, Hwang Hyeon-pil shouted,
"West–northwest, two hundred paces!"
The echo rippled like a wave. After the call-and-response, the tension in his chest loosened just a little.
Then the ground shook.
Dudung— dudung—.
Enemy drums.
Urgent, hard rhythms—nothing like the cadence of their march.
The signal officer raised the blue banner.
No one knew why it was that moment.
Only Hwang Hyeon-pil's command was clear.
"Fire!"
Pipipipiping—
A rain of bolts tore through the air.
Steel shafts poured down at the same angle, the same direction—
a black rain sinking into the dust.
A moment later, the enemy drums cut off.
Far away, horses screamed.
Only then did the soldiers breathe out.
Seongjin closed his eyes.
For the first time, the fact that people had died seeped beneath his skin. Under the cold truth, bloodless tears ran inside him.
At that instant, another drum sounded.
Closer this time.
"Prepare to fire!"
The signal officer raised the banner again—
this time streaked with blood-red.
"One hundred fifty paces!"
Hwang Hyeon-pil shouted.
"Same direction!"
The echo burst out.
"Fire!"
The second rain of bolts fell.
From beyond the dust came a wet, broken sound—
half prayer, half wail.
White Lotus believers.
Only then did the order come down from the main force.
"Return fire!"
Everyone with a bow shot west.
The sky darkened.
Shield-bearers rushed to the left wing, spearmen following behind. Wagons turned, shields met edge to edge. Palisades and carts blocked the cavalry.
"Crossbowmen—keep firing!"
Hwang Hyeon-pil's voice was already splitting.
Second volley. Third. Fourth.
Only then did Seongjin see the enemy's faces.
Even through the dust, they were clear.
Their eyes were wet.
He murmured,
"Why… are they crying?"
Oh Jinchul answered quietly,
"Everyone who comes to die cries."