What They Saw in the Goryeo Army
Three days had passed since the defecting martial artists joined the Goryeo forces.
For the first time, they were able to look directly at what it meant to be
the Goryeo Army—not as rumor, not as an enemy, but up close.
From that moment on, the calculating looks in their eyes slowly shifted
into respect, and then into something closer to awe.
The First Shock — Firepower
Their first realization was simple.
There are fewer soldiers… but the firepower is overwhelming.
At the front of every engagement, it was not cavalry or infantry that led,
but archers.
Rows of slim, elegantly curved bows stood ready.
The bows themselves were small—
yet the tension they carried was extraordinary.
Short arrows. Light frames.
When the martial artists first took one in hand, they were at a loss.
"How does this have such pull?"
"It's smaller than ours, yet it flies farther."
After firing the short arrows themselves, their expressions changed.
The range exceeded that of the Central Plains' heavy war bows,
and the penetration punched cleanly through Northern Yuan steel armor.
Then came the sound from behind—
BOOM.
Massive crossbows, drawn with arms and legs together, hurled bolts through the air.
The martial artists swallowed.
"Siege bolts…"
"They fly farther than great bows."
"They pierce shields and armor at once."
They understood then.
The Goryeo army was built to win battles at distance—
to turn fewer numbers into decisive results.
That was the first shock.
The Second Shock — Discipline Without Whips
What held them next was discipline.
Not discipline enforced by shouting or fear,
but one that functioned through precision and routine.
There were no officers screaming orders.
No whips. No threats.
Yet when a runner arrived, soldiers moved instantly.
Fortifications were repaired before being requested.
Sleep, guard rotations, and meals ran like clockwork.
Low voices passed among the martial artists.
"Who moves them?"
"There's no coercion."
"They act on their own."
"It's an army bound by agreement."
More striking still was how the martial unit moved by its own rules
yet meshed perfectly with the army.
The martial artists scouted hidden enemies ahead of the line.
When foes charged the archers, they stepped forward to block with their bodies.
When battle began, they cut directly toward enemy leaders.
Labor—hauling, digging, reinforcing—was done without orders.
Everything flowed naturally.
"Without force…"
"Everyone knows their place."
That was the second shock.
The Third Shock — Fighting for a Country
The deepest impact lay beneath it all.
The force that carried this discipline
was not fear, nor reward—
but the idea of a homeland.
Goryeo warriors did not fight for pay.
They did not demand honor.
When battles ended, they returned quietly to their positions.
Even those who distinguished themselves did not boast.
Someone spoke in a low voice.
"When we move, it's always money."
"We sell our blades."
"We protect merchants, enforce the violence of the rich."
"We justify bloodshed by calling it 'requests.'"
Another murmured,
"That young lieutenant commander…"
"They say when the war ends, he'll return to the mountains."
"He only joined to replace his father's brother who died."
"And yet he became a peak-level master at such a young age."
No one answered.
They had lived trading their lives for coin.
These people were fighting for their country.
At the center of it all stood Park Seong-jin.
The "Monster" Named Park Seong-jin
Among the martial world, Park Seong-jin was spoken of as a monster—
a man even Zhu Yuanzhang feared.
But the man before them
was a youth barely past boyhood.
Perhaps still a boy.
He was not tall.
His body was not massive.
And yet his presence crushed the space around him.
Within dozens of paces,
there was a weight that made idle chatter feel inappropriate.
He treated senior martial artists with the respect of a junior disciple.
He personally shared food with them.
He gave instructions to subordinates as requests, not commands.
And when battle began,
he was always the first to step forward.
The martial artists fell silent.
"To think such a man hunts emperors across battlefields…"
"That such a warrior exists…"
They asked themselves quietly.
Could we ever fight with such a heart?
The question lingered deep within them.
This was not something that could be dismissed
as a mere difference in culture.
The meaning carried by these lives
was far heavier than that.