*Hwaju was under Goryeo administration, having been reclaimed from the Yuan dynasty's Ssangseong Regional Military Commission.
The Interrogation of an Enemy Officer, and the Whereabouts of Gi Cheol
The plain after the battle was soaked in the stench of blood.
Whenever the wind rose, dust and iron-sweet gore swept across the fields, enough to turn the stomach.
They should have withdrawn once defeat became clear.
Instead, they had held on—and suffered greater losses for it.
There were few cases where troops charged in without even testing the field with missile fire.
Fallen horses gasped for breath.
The eyes of the dead lay open, staring into the sky.
Several prisoners were dragged forward.
Their gray armor, darkened by blood, had turned nearly black.
One helmet was crushed halfway in.
The face beneath it was young—no more than the mid-twenties.
In his eyes lingered both the arrogance of birth and the cold discipline of training.
Park Seong-jin stepped before him.
"What is your name?"
The prisoner spat.
"There is no name for you to hear."
"I'll ask again."
Park Seong-jin's voice dropped.
"Do you want to live?"
The pressure bore down at once—
an invisible weight, a force pressed outward through intent rather than flesh.
A kind of inner power that crushed the boundary between life and death.
At that question, the prisoner's gaze wavered.
"Where is Gi Cheol?"
At the name, his shoulders flinched—just barely.
Park Seong-jin did not miss it.
"He's already fled."
Silence followed.
"If he's not in Ssangseong, who hid him?"
The prisoner clenched his teeth.
"Lord Gi Cheol belongs to the Great Khan.
To seize him is to raise a blade against the Khan himself."
Park Seong-jin tilted his head.
"He tried to kill the King of Goryeo.
Would you bury that crime as well?
Was that, too, the Khan's command?"
"That is not for you to know!" the prisoner shouted.
In that instant, Park Seong-jin's hand moved.
Steel cut the air.
The blade skimmed the prisoner's cheek, and a thin line of blood spilled down.
"Now you will speak."
Grinding his teeth, the prisoner wiped the blood from his face.
"We lost today.
But since you've come this far, you will all die."
At that moment, someone emerged from behind the tent—without a sound.
The wind passed.
The canvas stirred faintly.
Even amid the noise of the battlefield, that presence alone stood clear.
Over a robe of deep violet silk lay a thin white outer garment.
At the waist hung jade knots and a small bronze bell.
When the wind brushed past, the bell rang—clear, restrained,
a sound far too refined for the heart of a battlefield.
Her hair was wrapped in black silk, crowned with a gold ornament.
It caught the sunlight and flashed.
The prisoner squinted.
For an instant, the imperial palace overlapped his sight—
imperial princesses, palace women of the Khan,
the same patterns, the same light.
His mouth fell open.
She was the Queen of Goryeo.
And at the same time, one of Yuan blood.
Bearing the symbols of the empire upon her body,
she stood beneath the tent of the Goryeo army.
The princess halted.
At her feet pooled blood that had not yet dried.
The hem of her skirt brushed through it.
There was no disorder in her bearing.
In that moment, the prisoner felt a reverence he could not explain.
Her voice rang out.
"The grace of the Khan you speak of—
is it a grace of blood?"
The words stole the prisoner's breath.
"If the Khan were to learn that the force you attacked
was the procession of a Grand Princess,
what would he say then?"
Her pronunciation was flawless Goryeo.
Yet the cadence of Yuan lingered unmistakably at the ends of her words.
Two empires' tongues overlapped in a single mouth.
Only then did the prisoner understand.
This woman stood between the two realms.
The queen of another bloodline whom his lords feared.
His face drained of color.
His hands trembled.
When the princess met his eyes, he bowed at once—
an instinctive submission, both surrender and reverence.
Lee In-jung spoke quietly.
"We have come to seek reconciliation.
This is Her Highness, the Grand Princess of Noguk."
At the sound of Grand Princess, the prisoner's knees struck the ground.
"Your Highness."
She spoke again.
"We did not come to fight."
Her voice was low, composed.
"Gi Cheol is the elder brother of Empress Gi.
I am a Grand Princess—the Khan's aunt.
There is no reason for blades to cross between those of the same blood."
The prisoner could not raise his head.
These were not the words of a queen.
They were the language of the empire.
"We came to hold a feast and restore harmony.
Yet you raised your spears first.
I have not come merely to weigh that fault."
Her gaze passed over him.
"Is the blood spilled on this land truly the will of the Khan?"
The prisoner drew a deep breath.
"My apologies, Your Highness."
She nodded.
"We do not speak of peace because we are weak.
Nor do we retreat to beg for it.
This path is chosen for the peace of the empire itself."
She turned to Park Seong-jin.
"Release the prisoner."
"By your command."
Park Seong-jin answered at once.
The princess addressed the prisoner one final time.
"Go and deliver this message.
Tell them that I, the Grand Princess of Noguk,
seek to meet Gi Cheol, elder brother of Empress Gi,
to restore harmony with the King of Goryeo."
"By your command!"
The prisoner bowed deeply.
His bonds were cut away.
Bleeding, he rose.
Before mounting his horse, he turned once more.
She stood there in the wind—
less a woman of flesh than a symbol wrapped in light.
As he rode off, the sound of hooves rang long over the blood-soaked ground.
When his figure vanished, the princess spoke softly.
"Now he will truly see us."
Park Seong-jin bowed his head.
"All that remains is to wait."
The wind rose again.
The battlefield fell briefly silent.
The next struggle had already begun to move.