27. Prologue — Receiving the Martial Arts Manual
- Prologue — Receiving the Martial Arts Manual
The Han army remained unmoving, and Gateulrip also refrained from moving his main force recklessly.
Only small engagements continued without end.
Because of that, the White Dragon Unit received no real rest, and its soldiers grew steadily more exhausted.
The same was true of Gateulrip’s scouts.
When Soun returned to the main force, he was scolded severely.
One mistake after another was listed until he could not count them.
While everyone else switched to spear and blade for close combat, he alone kept his bow in hand.
He failed to keep pace with the unit that split the enemy’s core, causing the rear behind him to lag and stretch.
He broke the cohesion required in group combat.
Instead of striking the enemy already being cut down by the rider ahead, he latched onto a single opponent as if facing a personal nemesis.
He lost equipment.
He dropped his bow in the fight, and even snapped the central shaft of his crescent blade.
His errors seemed endless.
Some criticism came from riders who had been right beside him.
Some came from his squad leader.
Some came from Gyeongpil, the company commander.
Soun could not lift his head.
He chewed over each failure.
None of it was wrong.
The hardest words to endure were the ones that said his mistakes could have gotten comrades killed.
“Enough.”
Yi Hui, who had been watching from a distance, stepped in and took Soun’s side.
He openly defended him.
“Still, this boy’s arrow helped bring down the enemy commander.
I cut him down in two exchanges, but the arrow was lodged in his shoulder.
That was you, wasn’t it—Yusaengwon?”
Soun kept his head bowed.
He was not in a state to accept praise.
Humiliation burned too hot.
He wanted to crawl into a hole and vanish.
“He did well in his own way.
Don’t just berate him—explain why it happened.
His faults come from youth and lack of experience.
And the merit of helping drop the enemy commander is significant.
Isn’t it?”
Yi Hui’s voice was low and stern, carrying weight.
The chatter died.
He looked from one man to the next—Gyeongpil, Sosam, Jeongjin.
“Reissue his weapons.
And… a crescent blade doesn’t suit you.
A slender ji might be better.”
“Like the Fangtian Huaji that Lü Bu used?”
Soun’s eyes widened, the mood shifting instantly.
The name was ridiculous, but his question was earnest, brimming with longing.
The White Dragon riders snickered.
Of course that was what the boy would think of.
“No, not that.
A slender shaft, with a spearhead and a hook-blade beneath it.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Some call it a ‘Azure Dragon ji.’”
Explaining weapons to someone who didn’t truly know them was not simple.
Yi Hui paused and looked to Gyeongpil.
“Get him one.
A slim shaft, but sound and strong.”
“Yes, General.”
“And Yusaengwon—come to my tent tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Soun’s face fell.
He heard it as another private scolding.
No one argued.
They simply helped him gather his gear.
He was issued a new bow.
It felt less familiar, and the limbs were slightly weaker.
But Soun welcomed that.
In close fighting, speed and accuracy mattered more than long range.
A bow with gentler pull meant faster, cleaner shots.
The ji Yi Hui mentioned was taken from captured enemy weapons.
It looked like something the raiders had looted while plundering the Central Plains.
The shaft was slender.
The sickle-hook was sharp.
It could be separated into three sections for easy carry.
It seemed more like a martial artist’s weapon than a soldier’s.
His quiver was empty.
Others usually had arrows left.
Soun had none.
It meant he had fired earlier, faster, and far more.
Sosam tapped the quiver.
“What’s this—empty?”
Soun nodded.
“You fired all of it?
You didn’t just dump them on the ground?”
“No. I fired them.”
Only then did Sosam properly grasp Soun’s strength.
He had burned through even the reserve quiver—before the melee was fully joined.
Thinking it through, Sosam couldn’t simply blame him.
“So that’s it.
You kept shooting and couldn’t grab the spear, and then you got pushed in the clash…
Damn it, Yusaengwon.”
Soun had fired more than twice what others did.
Sosam lowered his head, thinking, then straightened with a grin.
“Fine.
You get three quivers now.”
“…What?
How am I supposed to carry that?”
“We’ll lash them to the saddle.
Reserve quivers.”
“Understood.”
A marksman with rapid fire and accuracy was a massive asset.
Sosam knew how to use a squad’s strengths to raise survival odds.
He had simply underestimated Soun before.
The boy’s archery in battle had surpassed anything he’d shown in training.
How many had he dropped?
Even if half his shots hit, it would still be dozens.
“It’s all for your own good.”
An awkward apology, arriving after the anger cooled.
A moment ago, he’d been yelling because he was furious.
Now the heat had settled, and his thinking softened.
Sosam’s smile turned sheepish.
“No.
I fixated too much.
I should’ve struck and passed through faster…”
“Right.
A few more fights and you’ll get it.
Group combat, you see—group combat.
Moving together matters most.
Together, you can break an army of a million.
Split apart, and even killing one man can turn into a fight to the death.
You have to catch up to the front.
And once you’re at the front, you don’t stop.
We aren’t turtles.”
“I will remember.”
Faces loosened.
Smiles surfaced.
Sosam drifted off toward the back to gather equipment.
“I am Soun, First Company, First Squad.”
He called out from outside, pushed aside the animal-hide flap, and repeated the report inside.
The hide was not properly tanned—ragged, limp like worn cloth.
“Come in, Yusaengwon.”
Even Yi Hui now called him that.
Everyone in the unit did.
It fit, and it stuck.
Soun walked forward with deliberate steps and halted a few paces away.
“You did well today.”
“No, sir.
I caused trouble.”
“No.
Your arrow pierced that man’s throat.
It made it easy to crush their vanguard.
In battle, taking an enemy commander’s head is half the victory.
He was charging straight at me—then an arrow flew from the wing, struck his throat.
He had no time to block.
Our blades were already about to meet…
Well done.”
“Thank you.
It was only luck attached to a small skill.”
“Hah—what a boy.
So modest.
Is that the scholar in you?”
Yi Hui studied him again.
Soun’s face was plainly a child’s, but when he spoke it sounded as though a classic had taken residence in his belly.
Humility was a virtue, but to have it embodied like this was not common.
He had been raised well.
That made him easy to like.
If Soun’s humility had looked like affectation, it would have been unpleasant.
But it rang as genuine.
Who could dislike him?
There was a reason the others called him Yusaengwon.
It was teasing, respect, and affection at once.
“I called you because I have something to give you.”
From beneath a clutter of half-written dispatches, brush, and inkstone, Yi Hui carefully took out a single sheet—no bigger than a small shield.
He laid it on the table and pinned it with two paperweights.
Soun leaned forward, thirsty for characters, reading as though he might drink the ink through his eyes.
“This is extracted from the Martial Compendium.
Don’t only do ch’amj?ng—practice this as well.
You read well, so interpretation won’t be hard.
The problem is the terms.
If you understand this one, and this one, and this one, you’ll manage.”
Yi Hui marked several words with the tip of a brush.
“You are giving this to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why show me such favor?
You must be busy with official duties…”
“This may become a great engagement.
They are waiting, and so are we.
A large battle is coming.
After it, we will clear fields and train again.
But many will die before then.
You.
Me.
Your comrades.
War is like that.
Death arrives like an accident.
This comes from the Imperial Arsenal library.
It will suit you.
Others will receive arts suited to them as well.
This one is the same as what I learned.
I’m giving it to you.
Learn it quickly.
You’ve practiced ch’amj?ng for a long time, and your sense of qi has begun.
You can learn fast.
I’m giving it to you first because I want you to live through the chaos.
There are only days left.
Stay up.
Use every spare moment.
Learn it with everything you have.”
Soun dropped to one knee and offered a formal salute.
Gratitude rose on its own, like a tide.
“Thank you, General.
I should perform the ninefold prostration, but we are under military discipline, and I cannot—this pains me.
I will learn it diligently and repay your grace, and the realm’s long hope.”
He stayed kneeling as if he had forgotten how to stand.
Imperial martial arts…
They said the origins went back to techniques brought by Shaolin warrior-monks who aided Tang Taizong, later mixed with the accumulated arts of the jianghu and the army, and refined into something unique.
Army arts were built for mass battle.
Jianghu arts often carried too much flourish to fit the field.
What survived in the end were forms that worked.
And behind them stood the enormous archive called the Imperial Arsenal library.
“Enough useless ceremony.
That is excessive.
I am not your master.
Stand.
A military salute is enough.
This is an order and an assignment.
You carry it out.”
Even so, Soun bowed deeply several times before rising.
Yi Hui rolled the page, wrapped it in a cover sheet like the kind used for dispatches, and handed it over.
Soun received it with both hands, head lowered.
When extreme courtesy doesn’t feel awkward, it’s because it fits the one who carries it.