56
At first, nothing happened.Seongjin was alive.His breathing was steady, his arms and legs still attached.The bleeding had stopped, and his wounds were wrapped in bandages.
Someone gave him water.Someone else said, "You made it."The words sounded thin.They didn't feel like they were about him.Though spoken right beside him, they felt as if they came from very far away.
Seongjin sat awkwardly beneath the battlements, beside a heap of collapsed stones.Cold winter sunlight touched his shoulders, but the sensation did not reach him.Instead, there was only the feeling that something fine and granular lay thick across his skin.
People passed by.They spoke.He saw faces that were smiling.Everything felt as if it were moving behind a thin pane of glass.Unreal.
He looked down at his hands.They were hands.Lines of dried blood clung to them like palm lines.He rubbed at them.There was no sensation—or rather, the sensation came late.
Someone called his name."Hey. Park Seongjin."Only after being called twice did he slowly turn his head.He could not tell how much time had passed in between.
"Are you okay?"
He thought for a moment before answering."…I don't know. I don't think I am."
When night came, he lay down.His body was exhausted, but sleep would not come.When he closed his eyes, he saw light.When he opened them, there was nothing.When he inhaled, it felt as if the smell of smoke rose up inside him.He coughed, but nothing came out.His heart began to race for no clear reason.
It's coming.
He did not know what was coming.Only a chill remained.
He sat up.His sword lay beside him.When he placed his hand on the scabbard, sensation returned to his fingertips.
I have to repeat those countless, meaningless swings of the blade again.From the darkness in his gut, something screamed that it wasn't over yet.
Cold, solid texture.Laughter sounded outside—short and light.The moment he heard it, his chest tightened.
Seongjin lay back down.Eyes open, he stared at the ceiling.
Daily life in the camp began again.But it was not rest—it was labor.
The sense of doing something filled the camp.A current that would not allow people to remain still.
Only by being put to work could one escape the fear of death and the sense of loss.You had to move.
Soldiers were mobilized to repair the walls and rebuild the collapsed gates.If this was not a place to merely pass through, the gate had to stand.The half-destroyed gatehouse would be dealt with later.First, there had to be a gate capable of stopping the next enemy.Only with a gate standing could a fortress remain a fortress.
Oh Jin-cheol and Oh Sun-gun returned as if by a miracle.They had hidden in civilian houses near the South Gate and were rescued.Both were in terrible shape.Oh Jin-cheol and Dohyeon were taken to the field infirmary,and Seongjin was paired with Oh Sun-gun and sent out for labor.
His body had no strength left—none to spare even a fingertip.But once the work began, his body responded.It moved.Less will than instinct.
The sense that stopping meant the end pushed him forward.Each time he lifted a shovel or moved a stone,the feeling that I am still here returned, faintly.
Pain and exhaustion still lay heavy on his body,but with each stone placed back in position, his mind was pulled into reality.
The heaviest losses had been suffered by the Second Unit of the Sungui Army.General Hwang Hyun-pil checked on the soldiers' condition and sent many to the rear.His own body was covered in wounds, yet he tended to his men to the very end.Following a man like that felt natural.
Seongjin looked down at his dirt-stained hands and asked quietly,"Where were you, sir?"
General Hwang rubbed the back of his neck as he replied,"When the South Gate collapsed, I was buried under the dirt.""Buried alive?""In a manner of speaking. By the time I came to, the battle was already over.I bought time under the earth. That's why I lived."
Seongjin gave a short laugh.
"We slipped into the alleys. Dohyeon and I hid in the basement of an old building.I was barely conscious, but I heard our side cheering."
Hwang Hyun-pil nodded."Well done. Coming back alive is enough."
He picked up his shovel again.
The bitter feeling that we had been used as bait would not fade easily.I wanted to strike the enemy's rear as well.Society assigns roles, but I never want to play bait again—even if it kills me.
The thought that comrades, and a general I respected, had seen us as expendable hurt deeply.If only they had said, Hold out, and we'll swing around to hit them from behind,it would not have felt this miserable.
Ash- and blood-soaked soil was turned over.Collapsed stones found their places again, one by one.The pace was slow, but the flow was steady.
Instead of fighting again, they were rebuilding.Work for survival—the duty of those who had lived.
Above the walls, the new banner still fluttered.The fire-scorched cloth had faded, but the wind had grown warm.A few mounted scouts rode out through the gate, checked the surroundings, and returned.They reported that Nahachu had withdrawn toward Mount Geum.His calculations for an easy gain had gone completely awry.
The remnants of the Red Turban forces who had once besieged the city vanished without a trace.They were skilled at hiding, fleeing, and dispersing.The banner had fallen, but their presence seemed to linger somewhere in the ground.
To the south, new fires were already rising.The battles in Jiangnan had begun not long ago,yet the Northern Yuan was already emptying Beiping.Like summer birds changing their nests, they withdrew with ease.Their faces showed a decision not to cling to this rebellion to the end.
People called the newly risen rebel force "Ming."Some called it Great Han,others Great Zhou.Names like Guo Zixing, Zhang Shicheng, and Chen Youliang were spoken.
They were distant matters, unrelated to him.Even if they belonged to the same White Lotus lineage, such distinctions meant little to soldiers.Who led them, what slogans they raised—in the end, all that remained was fighting and death.
"If the empire had been solid," someone said quietly,"we wouldn't have had to cross blades with Nahachu so often.""Things that could've been settled with words were paid for in blood."
No one replied.
No matter how the world shifted, a soldier's day was fixed.Eat. Stand watch. Sleep. Rise and move again.If the body still functioned, that was enough.One only hoped that there would be no labor detail today.
That was life.A judgment one grew used to.
When labor ended, they lay down wherever they were.On stone or bare earth—it made no difference.Sleeping was what mattered.
Even when the body rested, the mind wandered the battlefield.Sleep was the only time thought emptied itself.While the eyes were closed, war, causes, and death all disappeared.
Only then could the heart catch its breath.
The wind blew.The banner on the wall fluttered—its end burned and torn.Below it, soldiers were once again stacking stones.