- Forced Labor and Battle — On the Eve of the Great Engagement
If ambush duty was exhausting because there was nothing to do, being absorbed into the main force meant the opposite: endless labor.
The two great armies facing one another did not approach recklessly.
They stood at a distance close enough to clash at any moment, yet far enough to prevent unintended disaster.
Each built its encampment and held position, watching.
Jin Muguang deliberately left part of the enemy’s retreat route open.
Along that corridor, he installed a great number of natural horse-stakes—masak (馬矟).
Two sharpened logs were carved and fixed so that a charging horse would impale or trip upon them.
By day they were crafted; by night they were planted.
The plain seeded with masak was left deceptively empty.
A few scarecrows, spaced apart like sentries, stood there to make the ground appear weakly guarded.
It looked like a vulnerable passage—an opening back to the steppe.
It was a temptation.
Hidden along the true passage lay shield infantry.
Behind the thick ridges of the plain, trenches were dug and shieldmen concealed so they could not be seen from afar.
The central basin of the great gorge of Halan was left vacant, yet filled with countless masak.
Beyond them, shields and archers waited.
Gateglib’s forces could not move easily.
One by one, those returning from deeper in the continent gathered in a corner of the plain, crouched and waiting, unable to advance.
Some were sent to scout alternative paths.
Countless vanguards rode out to probe the Han army’s movements.
Few returned alive.
The ambushed White Dragon units killed scouts as soon as they appeared.
An army descending in winter cannot be stopped.
But an army attempting to return can be destroyed.
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The Han strategy was simple: annihilate the retreating enemy to prevent next year’s invasion—and the year after that.
Inside his tent, Gateglib’s eyes burned.
“Where do they all go? Why do none return?”
A man crouched before him offered a strained reply.
“The Han army blocks the way. Ambushes are everywhere. Scouts fall again and again. They have resolved to seal the road. This place is a killing ground.”
“We must cross the river before it thaws. If we wander within the continent, we will be hunted down. Have you forgotten?”
“How could we forget? We sent them out and none returned. Now we know—Jin Muguang’s advance riders lie in wait.”
“Find a path. Even if you must carve a road in blood.”
His command fell like autumn frost.
Mongrae, the young and fierce chieftain of Omiya, stepped forward.
“If we send only a few men, they will vanish. We must send more. The enemy waits in narrow passes. We must force a way open.”
“How many?”
“At least twenty. Enough not to lose in a skirmish.”
“They will be noticed.”
“Better that than silence. Even a report of defeat is better than nothing.”
“Very well. Organize search parties of twenty. Find another route. If ambushed, report the location and numbers.”
The chieftains bowed and withdrew.
Wind stirred the shabby tent; the candle flickered.
Five signal arrows rose into the sky.
Gyeongpil looked at Yi Hui.
They were looking at the same point.
“Five.”
“Move. That means at least fifty. The ambush units can’t handle it. No prolonged engagement.”
Gyeongpil shot two arrows high.
Blue smoke trailed behind the flaming shafts—orders issued.
Yi Hui divided First and Second Companies into two groups, spaced about fifty paces apart, and advanced toward the signal.
No one rode at reckless speed.
A horse could not sustain full gallop for even a single sijin.
Soun felt it in his chest.
Battle was coming.
“Enemies?”
“Likely many.”
“Five arrows mean the scout emptied his signal quiver. More than fifty.”
Faces hardened.
Without orders, straps were loosened.
Metal shifted.
Weapons readied.
Over the ridge, they saw them.
The enemy had spread wide across the plain, advancing in a line, sweeping the ground like hunters flushing game.
One horse-length apart, searching for ambush.
A unit of Third Company had fallen.
Bodies lay scattered.
Riderless horses wandered aimlessly.
Han soldiers were dead.
Soun felt something surge inside him.
Two riders fled desperately, helmets lost, whipping their mounts.
Three or four enemy cavalry pursued.
The White Dragon main force crested the ridge.
The enemy saw them too and began to gather.
Another line waited behind.
Farther still, more.
Yi Hui dispatched a courier at once.
“Enemy force. Fifty to a hundred per detachment. Three or four tribes present. Over five hundred total. Report to the General. Engagement imminent.”
The courier wheeled his horse and vanished at full speed.
“What is your command?”
“We sweep them.”
“No strategy?”
“Not yet.”
Gyeongpil smiled faintly.
The main force needed none.
Shock and break—such was cavalry’s nature.
Sosam called without looking back.
“Soun. Close combat. First time?”
“Yes.”
“Five arrows before the clash. Then steel. No hesitation. Hesitation is death.”
“Yes.”
Even as he spoke, Sosam trembled.
Yi Hui formed the line.
Spearmen in the front ranks.
Sword-and-shield behind.
Five arrows before impact—no one needed reminding.
Soun felt his pulse thunder.
His thoughts emptied.
Perhaps that was fear.
The enemy tightened formation.
No retreat in them.
No shield wall to support.
No traps.
“When the signal sounds, strike. When it sounds again, withdraw to the main force. No delay.”
Yi Hui did not wait.
He seized the initiative.
His horse reared and launched forward.
First and Second Companies followed in tight formation, charging into the coming storm.