199 A Banquet for Gi Cheol
The sky over Hwaju was overcast.
The plain, soaked with blood from the fighting the day before, was still damp.
A cold wind blew.
The camp of the Grand Princess Noguk lay quiet.
There was no drumbeat, no soldiers' shouts.
From each tent hung purple silk.
Wine and fruit were laid out with careful order.
To any eye, it was unmistakably the form of a banquet.
"Make sure Gecheol inside the fortress can see it," the princess said briefly.
"If he sees it, will he believe?"
Park Seong-jin asked in a low voice.
"Belief is something one must create for oneself."
Her gaze rested on the distant walls.
It was calm, yet within it lay a hardened resolve.
"We cannot seize him through war.
To answer blood with blood only summons more blood."
She continued evenly.
"This is a lure.
He must step forward of his own accord.
If not, he will flee again.
Once he reaches Dadu, we will be powerless."
After noon, movement stirred atop the walls of Hwaju.
Moments later, a single hawk rose into the sky.
A strip of red cloth was tied to its ankle.
Gecheol's signal.
Lee In-jung narrowed his eyes.
"He won't come immediately."
"No," Park Seong-jin agreed.
"He'll test us first.
Whether this truly is a banquet—or a trap."
They already knew.
Gecheol was cunning.
He would send scouts first.
Only after they returned would he move.
As the sun slanted westward, fires of the feast were lit across the center of the plain.
Wine jars were opened.
Soldiers plucked the geomungo.
Laughter and song drifted outward.
Yet beneath it all, tension remained taut.
This banquet was bait.
The goal was to seize Gecheol and send him back.
The Grand Princess sat beneath red lanterns.
Her purple garments gleamed like fresh blood in the firelight.
Park Seong-jin stood at her side, one hand resting lightly on his sword.
"Will he come?"
Lee In-jung answered quietly.
"He will.
How could he not be curious?
He charged with three hundred cavalry, thought us weak, and was broken.
Now, before the very walls of his fortress, we sit calmly holding a banquet.
It will gnaw at him."
The princess slowly raised her cup.
"Gecheol knows me.
He still believes the authority of the Empire stands behind me."
She looked into the wine as she spoke.
"The fact that I am alive—
that alone will not let him remain still."
As night deepened, small lights flickered at the edge of the plain.
Torches.
Park Seong-jin straightened at once.
"Scouts."
"Yes," the princess nodded.
"They will observe the wine, the meat, the soldiers' spirit—
and return to report exactly what they see."
Lee In-jung murmured,
"By tomorrow, some portion of his force will move.
That will be the true test."
The princess smiled faintly.
"The moment they take a single step forward,
we already hold half the game."
The moon drifted between clouds.
Music from the banquet carried softly on the wind.
Park Seong-jin stared into the darkness beyond the firelight.
Somewhere within it, Gecheol's gaze would be fixed upon them.
He whispered,
"Come, Gecheol.
This banquet is prepared for you."
The lights swayed.
The lure had begun.
The trap was already set.
As the sun sank westward, a formation rose at the center of the plain.
From afar, it resembled a colossal beast crouched upon the earth.
Up close, blades, shields, stakes, and pits intertwined, breathing like a living creature.
At the outermost edge stood a circular wall of shields.
Hundreds of shields, dark red leather painted with demonic visages, formed a broad arc.
As torches flickered in the wind, firelight slid across their surfaces.
From a distance, it looked as if the figures upon them were subtly moving.
By night, the lights gleamed like the eyes of spirits.
This was the first wall—
a wall to blind the eye and unsettle the heart.
Before it lay shallow, elongated pits—the hamma-gaeng, hidden beneath the soil.
They appeared level, but on closer look the earth sagged ever so slightly.
The instant a foot touched down, balance failed.
Horses lost their footing with ease.
Beyond that lay dense rows of sharpened wooden stakes, aimed at the hooves—
an unseen thorn field.
The second set of teeth.
The third was a forest of long spears.
Thick shafts were driven into the ground, spearpoints angled outward at uniform pitch.
In sunlight they shimmered silver,
like an iron tide swaying in the wind.
Soldiers moved between them, adjusting angles by minute degrees.
The spacing between shield and spear was exact.
At the center rose the banners.
The standard of the Signal Guard and the banner of the Grand Princess flew side by side.
Beneath them stood the princess's tent, draped in purple silk, gold thread glinting faintly.
Before it, signal flags stirred low in the breeze.
At the innermost point stood a small wooden watchtower.
From there, all surrounding terrain lay in clear view.
Drums and beacon baskets rested atop it.
Beside them hung a small map Park Seong-jin had sketched himself—
wind paths, ridges, elevations marked with care.
Six possible approaches were traced in red ink,
interwoven like veins of blood.
When night fell, the lights of the banquet burned within the camp.
Wine and meat were laid out.
The fires burned warm.
Yet shields and spears remained dark and sharp.
Inside was calm.
Outside, silence pressed down.
From afar, this place seemed the held breath of a battlefield's heart.
And before dawn, dust and shouts rose from the battlements of the Ssangseong Command.
Gecheol's great host was moving.
They looked upon the endless formation spread before them.
Demonic eyes gleamed in the firelight.
Spearpoints scattered starlight.
As the wind brushed past, the surface of the camp rippled faintly—
like a giant beast lifting its head.
Before that sight, the soldiers of Ssangseong halted for a moment.
Instinct had spoken first.