86
Those Who Remained
Horse carcasses lay frozen in scattered places.Burned wagons remained, twisted where they had collapsed.From a half-buried body, a hand protruded from the snow.With every step, Park Seong-jin felt his breath tighten.
The smell of blood still lingered in the cold air.These were traces of a battle not long past—a place where something had been alive until very recently.
"Is this… the enemy's… camp?" someone asked.
"It was,"Huang Hyun-pil answered in the past tense."A Northern Yuan supply line. After their defeat, they held out here for a while. After that, no one came."
Then he added,"But recently, someone's been using it again."
"Who?""White Lotus?"
Huang Hyun-pil tilted his head slightly."We're tracking remnants of the White Lotus and the Red Turbans."
It was not certainty—only an assumption.It could not be another enemy.
His gaze shifted into the distance.Above the northern ridge beyond the fortress, faint black smoke rose.
"Do you see it?"
"Smoke."
"Someone's there."
Oh Jin-cheol raised his bow."Remnants?"
Huang Hyun-pil paused, then shook his head."At this point, it's hard to tell who's the enemy—and who's us."
They set camp on a hill outside the fortress.Snow was cleared, tents raised, and horses and wagons arranged into a perimeter.The soldiers gathered silently around worn braziers and ate.
When night fell, faint lights flickered beyond Simju Fortress.They blinked on and off, brief as signals.
Watching them, Park Seong-jin murmured,"Who… is over there?"
Oh Jin-cheol replied,"Those who survived. Or those who couldn't die."
The wind rose.The lights vanished, and snow began to fall again.
The night was strangely quiet.But it was not the quiet of peace—it pressed down like the eve of a storm.
The night near Simju was unusually bright.Snow swallowed sound but sharpened shape.
The reconnaissance began without noise.
Park Seong-jin left the cavalry behind and took a few infantrymen and archers north along the ridge.To leave no tracks, they tested each step, pressing the snow carefully.Even their breathing was stilled.
Then—
Below the ridge, the darkness shifted slightly.The movement was slow, but its direction was clear.
Park Seong-jin raised his hand.
Stop.
Everyone froze in place.No bowstrings were drawn. No blades unsheathed.Only eyes moved forward.
Beyond the snow stood people.Not many—five, perhaps six.
They did not move either.
The distance—just beyond effective bow range.Close enough that a charge would mean staking one's life.
Faces were indistinct.But their posture was clear.
Tense shoulders.Feet set with weight.A stance that held ground.
Park Seong-jin slowly bent his knees.He lowered himself, neither hiding nor advancing.
The others responded in the same way.
No one stepped forward.No one retreated.The distance held.
"Remnants?"Someone whispered behind him.
Park Seong-jin did not answer.
He lowered his hand to the side—a signal not to draw.
It seemed the others reached the same decision.No tension traveled through the dark from drawn bowstrings.
After a moment, one of them placed something on the snow.A small bundle—grain, perhaps, or cloth.
Then he took a step back.
It carried neither threat nor signal.Only proof that they had been there.
Park Seong-jin responded in kind.He took a waterskin from his belt and set it on the snow.
Then he stepped back.
In that moment, they coexisted within mutual caution—people crossing the same winter.
Snow began to fall again.The ridge blurred, shapes dissolving into white.
No one pursued.No one asked names.
On the way back, Oh Jin-cheol said,"They won't fight."
"How can you tell?"
"Those who still have the strength to fight don't stand like that."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
His heart felt heavy.
Choosing not to fight was also a way of surviving.
Defeated men were scattered everywhere across this land.And already, many here could no longer stand for battle.
The wind passed over Simju—belonging to neither side as it went.