Even palanquins and carriages had been prepared.
Dozens of drivers and attendants hurried back and forth, retouching the royal banners and tying red cords before the horse of the Grand Princess of Noguk.
With a single sentence, the princess stopped them all.
"How long are we to save the country while sitting in a palanquin.
A horse is more fitting."
In an instant, the attendants all lifted their heads.
"Your Highness—!"
Alarmed cries followed.
But the princess already had her foot in the stirrup.
The silk of her skirt scattered brilliantly in the wind.
Sunlight spilled over it.
Before splendor, restraint caught the eye.
She looked less like a queen consort and more like a woman general standing on the road.
"Mount your horses."
There was no alternative.
At her resolute voice, officers and attendants hesitated, then one by one mounted.
Park Seong-jin was the first to take the reins.
Beneath his black headgear, his eyes flashed.
At that moment, the air of the camp changed.
No command was given, yet everyone tightened their grip on the reins.
The drummer struck three beats.
The escort warriors, dressed as the Gyeonryong Guard, spurred their horses in unison, black armor gleaming.
Park Seong-jin swept his gaze across them.
He had already seen how they rose, and the sight did not sit easily with him.
Banners snapped.
Dust rose.
At the center of it all, the princess's horse stepped forward to lead.
There was no fear on her face.
"Move out!"
At Park Seong-jin's shout, the soldiers raised a cheer.
The sound carried over the walls and into the sky above Gaegyeong.
The road was long.
It stretched from Gaegyeong to Hwaju.
Though it was spring, the wind grew cold as they traveled north.
Snow still clung to the ridges of the mountains.
The road bore the stench of defeat.
The enemy had fled in disorder, leaving ruin behind.
They had seized what they could in haste, then cast it aside and vanished.
In many places, startled villagers had fled and not yet returned.
An army that should have guarded the land and its people had instead plundered them.
The aftershock of civil war seeped everywhere.
Burned homes and collapsed walls appeared before the column.
Blackened handprints stained the stone fences.
Traces of the dead lay scattered through every village.
Why had people been killed again.
"That place is empty."
At Park Seong-jin's low words, Song I-sul replied,
"A place people leave collapses quickly.
Even earthen walls seem to know human breath."
The princess turned her horse and looked back.
"Will those villages live again?"
Park Seong-jin paused.
Then he answered slowly.
"They will live again."
The brief words echoed strangely.
As the column passed, villagers bowed along the roadside.
From behind a ruined thatched house, a child peered out, only to be pulled back by his mother's hand.
They had once suffered at the hands of the forces of the Twin Fortresses Commandery.
Their eyes feared that this group was no different.
Hooves struck the ground, raising dust.
Over that dust, the light of spring spread faintly.
By the time the sun reached its height, the procession entered open plains.
The paddies still held no water.
The fields were covered in reeds and dry grass bending in the wind.
Far to the north, a blue line of mountains spread across the horizon.
Beyond them lay Hwaju.
The Twin Fortresses Commandery—where Gi Cheol had fled.
It was land where Yuan troops still held fast.
Park Seong-jin recalled the time when Naha-chu had demanded that land.
They themselves could scarcely manage it, yet he had asked for it outright, and Senior Brother Lee In-jung had been incredulous.
Not for that reason alone, but the talks had ended in rupture.
Park Seong-jin adjusted his grip on the reins.
The smells of blood, fire, politics, and betrayal still lingered in his nostrils.
Even so, his mind was calm.
The path ahead had become clear.
The queen rode with her head lifted, gazing toward the northern sky.
Over her shoulder, the sounds of waves and wind seemed to cross.
Far ahead lay land that would have to be fought over.
And before it, people who would have to live.