Civil War — Ki Cheol's Call to Rebellion
〈Back to the Battlefield〉
News of war came.
The speed at which the word spread was faster than wind.
No one knew who had spoken first.
Only that the whole capital seemed to hold its breath for a single instant, and then the drum atop the bell tower sounded.
A heavy thud struck the sky three times.
A summons.
Park Seongjin did not hesitate.
By the time the morning sunlight began to reach the western wall, he had already armed himself.
The long scabbard brushed his thigh with a low sound.
When he turned, his mother stood on the wooden floor of the porch.
"You're going again."
It was not a question.
He answered, "It won't take long this time," yet he knew—as she did—that neither of them believed it.
He had been gone often, and for long stretches.
There is a fate that settles over the one who becomes the head of the household while still young.
His mother said nothing.
With her fingertips she straightened the collar of his dallyeong.
The way her hand returned to the same place again and again carried a prayer clearer than words—
a gesture too exact to be anything else:
Let my son, at least, come back alive.
He led out his horse, set the saddle, and rode for the Signal Guard.
Unmelted snow still clung to the roadside; with each hoofbeat, dirt and ice flew up together.
He heard the sound of soldiers gathering, one by one, layering into a single mass.
"Signal Guard, assemble!"
At the cry, Seongjin turned his horse.
Outside Kaesŏng's North Gate, at the Signal Guard's main camp, dozens of warriors had already gathered.
Dust lay thick on their armor, and their eyes were hard.
Some still carried the marks of the last war openly on their bodies.
In those faces there was neither expectation nor fear.
Only a familiar tension, and the smell of blood and iron filling the camp.
When Park Seongjin arrived, a shout rose from the center.
"The Grand Commander is coming!"
It was Lee In-jung.
His face looked firmer than before.
Even in winter's cold air, his gaze was clear and chill.
"You've all gathered."
He swept his eyes around, then found Seongjin.
"You're here, Seongjin."
"Yes."
"Have you finished your study now?"
"Not even close."
Lee In-jung let out a short laugh.
"War again. This time, civil war."
When he finished, the soldiers struck their armor.
The dull clatter of metal overlapped—dozens, hundreds of sounds—cutting through the wind.
Lee In-jung gave his orders at once.
"Ki Cheol has raised a rebellion. His Majesty has commanded it directly. Suppress his faction, and recover the armory of the Ssangseong Regional Headquarters."
Park Seongjin lifted his eyes to the sky.
A wind slipped through the pale, clouded light, and something ill-scented rode within it.
The words civil war never grew familiar, no matter how many times he heard them.
Ki Cheol's Name
During a meal, Park Seongjin asked Oh Jin-cheol,
"By the way—who is this man Ki Cheol?"
He knew the rough outline, but asked to confirm it.
Oh Jin-cheol set his spoon down with a dull clack and shook his head.
"So there really is a Park Seongjin like you. You don't know?
He's Goryeo's greatest traitor."
"A traitor—like Hong Bok-won*?"
*Hong Bok-won: a notorious court villain, rebel minister, and national traitor of Goryeo.
When the Mongols invaded Gangdong Fortress during King Gojong's reign, his father Hong Dae-sun surrendered of his own accord and brought enemy troops inside.
Hong Bok-won, then a nangjang of Seogyeong, surrendered as well when Salitai (撒禮塔) attacked.
After the Mongols withdrew, he raised a rebellion, was captured, escaped to Mongolia, and became Commander of the Eastern Capital.
He later rebelled again at Seogyeong, and each time the Mongols attacked Goryeo, he served as their frontman—so people called him "a dog that bites its master."
"Similar," Oh Jin-cheol said with a bitter smile.
"They were a matched pair.
One sold the country off toward Liaodong, and the other gnawed it hollow by borrowing the Empress's name."
"Was he really that powerful?"
Oh Jin-cheol nodded.
"He's Empress Ki's elder brother.
Because of that, he was appointed Chamji Jeongsa of the province and granted the title of Duke of Deokseong, and he even cast his eyes over His Majesty as if daring him."
He went on, voice low.
"He believed himself above the king.
With the Empress's authority behind him, he threatened the ministers of court and moved Yuan troops and treasure into his own warehouses.
Greedy—disgustingly greedy."
Park Seongjin let out a sound that was neither admiration nor quite a sigh.
Men like that are usually greedy.
They grab at everything, swallowing without knowing filth from food.
"And the court just let him be?"
"The Empress's name was his shield.
He ruled with his sister's name."
A brief silence passed.
Then Oh Jin-cheol added, lower still,
"And now it burst.
They say he was gathering men and weapons at the Ssangseong Regional Headquarters."
"And now he's using that to raise a rebellion."
Park Seongjin thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"Then… we should tell him not to."
Oh Jin-cheol stared at him for a long while, unable to continue, and then burst into laughter.
"Truly. Ignorance is a blessing."
Seongjin laughed too, but something strangely bitter remained behind the laugh.
He still did not understand, in his bones, what the word current affairs really meant.
That night, the drum atop the capital's bell tower sounded again.
This time it was unmistakable.
The drum of war.
---*
The Blood Battle at the North Gate — Blood Fell Upon the Royal City
The war drums sounded on both sides of the North Gate.
Not once.
Dull reverberations overlapped and overlapped, pressing down on the air of the capital.
The sound rode the walls, wheeled, and struck the ear again.
The heavens hung low, and the wind already carried the smell of iron and blood.
No blood had yet been spilled, yet the battlefield was already throbbing with scent.
An army was on the move.
The summoned cavalry of the Signal Guard rode in haste toward the North Gate.
Hooves shattered frozen earth and threw up grit.
Across the whole line, armor struck armor, and the sound rang at once.
Park Seongjin tightened his reins and took his place in the ranks.
Even as he drew breath, his body was already moving; his thoughts followed a beat behind.
The first report had said the enemy had appeared at the South Gate.
But the order was North.
Open the North Gate, sweep around, and cut the enemy at the waist.
It was Lee In-jung's judgment.
The soldiers did not ask.
There was no time, no room for questions.
Then it happened.
Inside the gate, at the very passage where they were about to break out through the North Gate, another force appeared.
They too carried banners.
A standard like yellow silk washed through with red.
The make of the armor, the horses' trappings, the spears in their hands—everything was familiar.
So familiar that, at first, no one stopped.
Park Seongjin halted first.
Not ours.
He could not explain it.
Not why they were there.
Only that the body that had survived battle reacted before words could form.
Lee In-jung pulled his reins at the same instant.
Both gazes locked onto the same flag.
A corner of the cloth snapped, turned in the wind, and letters showed themselves.
Gibayanbuka.
Ki Cheol's Mongol name.
A short silence fell.
In those few breaths, spearpoints on both sides lifted together.
A horse let out a low sound.
Someone's breathing nearly stopped.
"This is the king's army. Clear the way."
"Do not call him king. He is only the Great Khan's son-in-law."
The moment the words fell, the air before the North Gate split.
Words were no longer needed.
Why that army stood at the North Gate did not matter.
Spears moved first.
A cavalryman at the Signal Guard's front was pierced through the chest and fell.
The rider had no time to scream before he was flattened to the ground.
Another set of hooves thundered over him.
Screams covered screams.
"Enemy! Form up!"
There was shouting, but it was already too late.
They were too close.
No distance for arrows, no space to unfold formations.
Same armor, same banners, same weapons.
Friend and foe would not separate at a glance.
So spears stabbed without hesitation.
Shields turned not forward, but sideways and back.
Park Seongjin twisted his horse by instinct and raised his shield.
At his side, a soldier took a blade to the neck.
Blood burst up like a fountain and splashed across Seongjin's face.
It was hot.
His body shuddered reflexively, but his fingers tightened harder around the hilt.
With every breath he drew, the smell of iron sank deep into his lungs.
"Do not fall back!"
Lee In-jung's shout cut through the mêlée.
At such close quarters, the Signal Guard had been dragged into confusion and churn, but they forced their rhythm into place.
Lee In-jung was already swinging his blade.
His sword flashed like a single line of silver.
The enemy commander, issuing orders from horseback, was cut down.
His head rolled away.
For an instant, the front of Ki Cheol's men wavered.
Men like these crumble easily once the head is broken.
But the force pressing in behind them came like a prepared wave.
Ki Cheol's army had come with resolve.
The Signal Guard met them inside the city walls.
The gap in preparation became blood at once.
They fought tangled together.
There had been no warning, no expected meeting point, and so there was no line.
Everything was entangled, and everything was the front.
Fire arrows flew—why do men always choose fire.
They struck the wooden pillars of the gate tower and flames leapt up.
Smoke poured inward through the North Gate.
Firelight washed faces red.
Dozens of horses fell.
Arrows were loosed at near point-blank range, straight and hard.
A scream beyond counting poured out.
Arrows drove into bodies like iron bars.
Park Seongjin drew his sword.
He gathered his breath, and the inner force he had tempered in the mountains pooled.
The tip of his blade trembled faintly, drinking in light.
He let a spear shaft slip aside.
For a moment, a waistline opened.
He turned his body and flowed in.
The diagonal cut passed—
a red line was drawn.
A soldier split and fell in two.
He turned half a circle and struck again.
A dull man who had come too close had his helmet cleaved;
his neck buckled, and he collapsed.
Crossing his steps, Seongjin burst forward and shaved the throat of a unit leader.
The carotid burst.
Blood surged.
Three bodies fell in a blink, and the men behind recoiled.
There was no time to think.
Strike, cut, smash, pierce—
the motions did not break.
There was no emptiness, not a single false beat.
Each movement ended with one man falling.
As he drove into the densest knot of enemies and cut them down,
a path formed—made of the bodies he had dropped.
Only then did he understand the meaning of the words once said to him:
In Goryeo, few remain who can truly endanger you now.
As Park Seongjin broke through the front, momentum rose in the Signal Guard.
When they charged, they overwhelmed.
"Seal the rear!"
Lee In-jung's command burst out again.
The enemy was turning in along the flank.
Seongjin took three men and ran.
Now he was the youngest among them.
Yet his movement was the fastest.
A burning wagon rolled down.
Horses screamed.
One.
Two.
Three.
With each short breath, a head fell.
His lungs burned, yet his mind grew clearer.
The energy of his inner core revolved within him and guided the sword without tremor.
Even in fire, he moved like wind.
Then, through smoke, a red banner appeared.
Two characters at its center.
Ki Cheol.
Lee In-jung shouted,
"Seongjin—break the banner. Break their will!"
Seongjin leapt through flame.
A single stroke.
A great slanting arc cut through the air—
banner pole and man were split together.
The enemy standard toppled.
With his sword raised, he shouted,
"The Signal Guard does not retreat!"
It was not a cry of mere voice.
He set inner force upon it, and those who heard felt their legs go cold.
Like a living tiger roaring at your side.
For a breath—only a breath—
the enemy's steps faltered.
The Signal Guard charged as one.
Shouts burst forth.
Steel collided.
Blood poured.
Park Seongjin stopped for a moment.
They were soldiers.
Faces in firelight.
All the same eyes.
Faces that would have smiled and greeted him on the road.
But this was civil war.
Friend became enemy.
And no one could know fully who the enemy was.
His sword hand trembled slightly.
As blood cooled, its weight grew heavier.
When the fighting ended,
the ground at the North Gate was slick with blood.
Burned pillars glowed red.
Smoke drifted slowly up into the sky.
The breaths of the survivors scattered into empty air.
Lee In-jung came up and patted his shoulder.
"You fought well."
Park Seongjin did not answer.
That day, at the North Gate of the royal capital,
blood fell in place of rain.
--*
Gi Cheol (奇轍, d. 1356) was the leading figure among the pro-Yuan Gwonmunsejok elites who dominated late Goryeo under the influence of the Yuan dynasty.The elder brother of Empress Gi (奇皇后), consort of Yuan Emperor Toghon Temür, he was a representative Buwonbae figure and held the title Deokseong Buwongun (德城府院君).Wielding power that even threatened royal authority, he exercised near-absolute control by leveraging his sister's influence, and was also known by the Mongol name Bayan Buqa (伯顔不花).In 1356, he was purged during King Gongmin's anti-Yuan reform movement. Centered on the Jeongdong Branch Secretariat (Jeongdong Haengseong), he unified pro-Yuan forces, undermined Goryeo's autonomy, and oppressed the populace.