Chapter 47 : Baby Arrow
Chapter 47: Baby Arrow
The Northern Qi, ruined by the play of treacherous ministers, could no longer sustain its refugees.
Disgusted by this, the refugees decided to leave Northern Qi, and in truth, their only choice was Goguryeo.
The Northern Zhou and the Southern Chen were enemy states, while the nomads of the north, the Turks, would never treat refugees as human beings.
That left only Goguryeo, an allied nation and a fellow agrarian state, as their sole option.
They crossed the Great Wall and fled to Goguryeo, skirting around the Liaodong defensive line and entering into Liaodong.
At this point one might wonder if the fortress was even functioning properly, but that would be unreasonable.
After all, a fortress was built to block armies, not individuals.
In modern terms, a fortress was like a ‘barricade’ cutting off pathways.
People could climb over it, but if an army attempted such a thing, its supply lines would be severed, and chaos would ensue.
Didn’t the Turks raid across the Great Wall as if eating a meal?
It was precisely because the Great Wall existed that they only slipped in and out, ending their raids there.
If the Wall had not existed, the Turks would have come in and never left again, turning raids into full-scale conquest.
The refugees, however, came empty-handed and had no need to worry about such things.
By any means necessary, they forced themselves across walls, rivers, and mountains until they poured into Goguryeo.
Along the way, some drowned, some froze to death, and some were dragged away by tigers.
Yet despite this, many survived.
And so the refugees who entered Goguryeo quickly became a headache.
Banditry and plague were one issue, but for the northerners, their very means of survival itself was the greater problem.
If they hunted a single deer in the forest, it meant the Malgal people went hungry.
If they burned a forest to clear fields for slash-and-burn, it meant less firewood for the Goguryeo people, leaving them shivering in the cold.
Starving and desperate, they could not be easily controlled, and so the northerners regarded them as nuisances, driving them out or killing them—or doing both.
Yet these ‘nuisances,’ given only a little food and shelter, could transform into the finest farmers.
They had lived along the capriciously flooding Yellow River, so there was nothing they did not know of irrigation and construction.
Were they not the very laborers who, thirty years from now, would build the Grand Canal in no time at all?
This was the purpose of Goguryeo’s current northern operation—to bring as many of these SSS-grade farmers into Goguryeo’s embrace as possible.
Moreover, present-day Pyeongyang, thanks to my Agricultural Light Law, was already yielding more produce than in the original history.
The rate of population growth had yet to catch up with the rate of crop production, which meant there was surplus grain.
If that surplus was used, the newly arrived northern refugees could be absorbed.
After all, Goguryeo had long practiced the Jindaebeop, the farmer-promotion law, and had its own system in place.
And if the Agricultural Light Law was spread into the western borderlands with the Western Land, then local provisioning would also become possible.
It was only natural, then, that I—the originator of the Agricultural Light Law—was included in this campaign.
Winter, 575.
A tavern in Pyeongyang’s market district.
“Keuh, already stepping into government office! We’re still waiting for our postings!”
Maeng Sap slapped my shoulder heartily.
“And I hear you’ve become the Garadal of Gun’an’s Yoksa! Normally a Garadal post is for a Junior Elder of the 10th rank, but that’s for those under an Elder or a Choryeogeunji. The Garadal under a Middle Head of Nobility Council usually goes to an Envoy of the 9th rank or even an 8th-rank Balwi Envoy! You’ve already secured your success!”
By royal decree, I had leapt from the 14th-rank Attendant Official to the 10th-rank Junior Elder.
That meant a jump of three ranks?
…But it wasn’t worth boasting about.
Commoners had to climb one step at a time, from Attendant Official → Deputy Judge → Judge, and so on.
But nobles who graduated from the Taehak were generally appointed directly at the 11th rank as a Middle Elder, or even at the 10th rank as a Junior Elder.
Since my grades were good, I had expected to be a Junior Elder anyway.
The important part was not the rank, but the post.
In Joseon, even among the same officials, whether one began in a prestigious post or not made a difference as vast as heaven and earth.
That was why I paid attention to the fact that my post was Garadal.
Goguryeo’s military defensive system was divided into small fortresses (Soseong), middle fortresses (Jungseong, also called Jesung), and large fortresses (Daeseong).
The Junior Elders commanded small fortresses, the Elders commanded middle fortresses as Choryeogeunji, and the large fortresses were commanded by Yoksa, such as the one Go San had taken, usually under a Middle Head of Nobility Council or higher.
And the Garadal, being a Junior Elder’s rank, served as a kind of staff officer assisting the Choryeogeunji or the Yoksa.
In this age, they were often called Makryo, “those serving in the headquarters.”
Thus, as Garadal to Gun’an’s Yoksa, Go San, my role was equivalent to a chief operations officer or personal aide to a division commander in the 21st century.
A classic course for advancement.
Which made me wonder.
“…But even if we’re all part of the Domestic Fortress Faction, is it really proper for a northerner like Go San to hold the post of Gun’an’s Yoksa?”
I had heard that Gun’an Fortress was originally managed by the Go clan.
To be clear, this had nothing to do with the royal Gaero Tribe Go clan, nor with Go San of the Northern Go clan, nor with Go Heul of the Hwasong Go clan, nor even Go Jaemu of the Southern Go clan.
It was yet another Go clan, this one of the Western Division.
As expected of Goguryeo, obsessed with clans—the whole world seemed to be full of Gos.
Maeng Sap answered.
“Normally, it would be questionable… but what choice is there? This matter requires close cooperation with Pyeongyang, and it concerns the north as well. Besides, this is work of transporting supplies with horses and ships. Who could be more suited than Go San, the Middle Head of the Ministry of Carriages? Even the Western Go clan accepted it.”
“That makes sense.”
“Besides, once the problem is solved, Go San will return soon enough. Do you think Go San wants to be stuck out in Gun’an Fortress, at the western edge, leaving his own territory behind?”
Indeed…
As the leader of the Domestic Fortress Faction, and since the refugee issue concerned his Northern Division as well, Go San had accepted the post of Gun’an Yoksa.
It wasn’t as though there was much benefit in it for him.
At that point, Go Jaemu slid into the conversation.
“In any case, Ondal, looking at the results… it seems you ended up in the Western Division you wanted. Maeng Sap has been busy writing letters to his family since yesterday.”
“Really?”
“The fool was writing them in the Mack script, so I had to remind him that his parents won’t be able to read it.”
“Go Jaemu! Why would you say that!?”
“What, should I keep such a funny thing all to myself?”
As Maeng Sap fumed, Go Jaemu chuckled, nimbly dodging his fists.
Watching them, I couldn’t help but laugh.
I had made many friends at the Taehak, but my closest were still Maeng Sap and Go Jaemu.
To be honest, I found it amusing.
‘These two will never appear in the Samguk Sagi or the Samguk Yusa—they were unrecorded in history.’
But of course, there were also “recorded men.”
“You two are always noisy.”
“Senior Yeon Taejo?”
“I’m here too!”
“Your Highness the Crown Prince!”
It was the future King Yeongyang, Go Daewon, and the future Prime Minister, Yeon Taejo.
The two had arrived a little late.
I took the chance to ask Yeon Taejo.
“Senior Yeon Taejo, are you not busy?”
“Busy? Damn it, with Northern Zhou in that state, how could the Jungri Bureau not be busy these days?”
Yeon Taejo, a year ahead of us, had already graduated last year and been appointed as a Junior Elder in Goguryeo’s intelligence agency, the Jungri Bureau.
The Jungri Bureau was also the best promotion track in Goguryeo, and the influence of the Yeon clan was strong there.
Didn’t Yeon Jayu and his father also serve in the Jungri Bureau?
‘Later, Yeon Gaesomun too would place his son, Yeon Namsaeng, into the Jungri Bureau to build his career.’
There was no reason for Yeon Taejo to go anywhere else.
I asked him.
“Any latest news?”
“Northern Zhou, which had been attacking Luoyang, has retreated.
There are rumors that Yuwen Yong’s health is failing, and I’m looking into it.
Ondal, once you go to the west, lend me a hand.”
“Of course.”
When I grinned, Maeng Sap and Go Jaemu beside me looked on enviously.
Seeing that, Go Daewon also grinned.
“Maeng Sap, Go Jaemu. Yours hasn’t been decided yet, has it?”
“That is correct.”
“Do you perhaps want to follow Ondal? I may be able to lend a hand.”
“Truly, Your Highness the Crown Prince?”
“Of course.”
Go Daewon nodded.
Back in Taehak days, we had all spoken casually, but that era ended the moment we graduated.
Maeng Sap spoke politely.
“Since the refugees are entering through Liaodong in the west, which is also my home, I must of course go.”
“As for me, hmm…”
Unlike Maeng Sap, Go Jaemu hesitated a little.
He was from Hanseong, the southernmost part of Goguryeo.
But he did not hesitate long.
“I wish to go. After all, I must keep the promise I made, to shield you from these arrows.”
So the two of them said they would follow me.
That was immensely reassuring.
“Good. I will be waiting.”
Yeon Taejo, watching us, chuckled.
“Within me, King Gwanggaeto speaks. He says you will do well.
Still, I regret it—playing Goryeo Myosan with you was one of life’s small joys.”
At that, Go Daewon also laughed.
“I too wish to go with you, Brother, but it seems difficult.”
“Your words alone are already an honor, Your Highness the Crown Prince.”
It was honestly a pity that the two of them could not come with us, but Yeon Taejo and Go Daewon had no reason to be dispatched all the way to the far north.
So, I said my farewell a little differently.
“Thank you for everything until now. Let us meet again when I return.”
We clinked our cups together.
And that evening, an unexpected visitor came to me.
“…Senior, I hear you are going west.”
“You? What are you doing here, instead of at the Taehak?”
“I escaped. Just to pay my respects.”
It was Eulji Mundeok.
In truth, my relationship with Eulji Mundeok was only so-so.
We were in different classes, and he himself was a rather reserved type.
The only proper conversation we had ever had was last year, when we briefly discussed the situation in the Western Land.
And yet, Eulji Mundeok had come to see me.
“Congratulations. Things turned out as you planned.”
“You really escaped? You were never one to break Taehak rules.”
“If not now, then when would I ever? Our diligent Taehak scholars have ignored my proposals five times, yet they never bothered to plug the hole.”
“Won’t this leave a blemish on your record, because of me?”
“Over something like this? Do you know how much I’ve built up already?”
That was so like Eulji Mundeok.
“By the way, before you head west, may I make one request?”
“What request?”
“This. Let’s play a game.”
What he brought was Goryeo Myosan.
“I felt we had to play at least once. Last time we only talked about it, but we never actually played together.”
“Fine.”
I didn’t mind.
I brought out my ‘soldiers.’
In the current Goryeo Myosan, there were four factions.
The first was ‘Goryeo,’ centered on cavalry.
It was the most popular faction.
Most people only played Goryeo, so in most battles, one side was Goryeo, while the other was forced into a different faction—whether by losing rock-paper-scissors or because they were pushed aside by seniors.
Next was ‘Baekje,’ with fewer soldiers and thus good for beginners, though being small hexagons, it was not very popular.
The third was ‘Silla,’ centered on crossbows (Nogung) and catapults (Pono).
It was the representative defensive faction.
And lastly—
‘The Western Land,’ centered on massive numbers of soldiers.
It had no glaring weakness, and with its sheer numbers, it was the strongest faction… but it could not use castles, the defensive buildings available to other factions.
For balance reasons—if they could use castles too, they would be truly unbeatable.
And I, of course, played only the Western Land.
Because in my view, Goguryeo’s greatest enemy was the Western Land.
By playing against me, Taehak students could indirectly experience the Western Land and think of countermeasures against it.
And what about Eulji Mundeok?
“Oh dear, I also chose the Western Land.”
“You too?”
As he brought out his soldiers, he looked a little flustered.
It was the first time I had ever seen him flustered.
And he laughed.
“Then it seems we cannot play today.”
In truth, a Western Land vs. Western Land match was possible.
But there was no need for it.
“Exactly. It would be pointless.”
Goryeo Myosan was no longer just a game.
It was a war simulation.
As Goguryeo men, we had no need to simulate a battle of Western Land against Western Land.
“By the way, Mundeok. What are those soldiers of yours supposed to be?”
“These?”
“Yes. Those don’t look like soldiers. They’re just boards.”
Eulji Mundeok simply used square tiles with words like ‘Spear’ or ‘Sword’ written on them as his soldiers.
“What does it matter? As long as I can play, it’s fine.”
“Of course it matters.”
The reason a miniature game was called a miniature game was because the miniatures were important.
“Use this.”
I handed over the miniatures I had painstakingly crafted.
Eulji Mundeok looked puzzled.
“…Are you giving these to me?”
“I have plenty more besides this set.”
Of course, mine were special.
They were the very first set of Goryeo Myosan.
But I could give them to Eulji Mundeok.
“In exchange for this, could you take charge of Goryeo Myosan while I’m away? Information will keep coming in, the figures, the compositions, and so on.”
“I was planning to do that anyway.”
“Good. Then I’ll tell you the first thing to do. That is—buff Goryeo.”
“You mean in terms of troops, correct?”
Eulji Mundeok was quick-witted.
“I heard you’re going north to absorb the refugees. And you also have the Agricultural Light Law. Based on that, Goryeo’s troop numbers will gradually increase, will they not?”
“Correct. And the second thing—do you know what it is?”
“…Hmm, I can’t guess that one.”
“It’s this.”
I handed him a book.
It was written in Idu, which already felt somewhat foreign even to Taehak students.
Eulji Mundeok slowly read the title.
“Pyeonjeon… Baby Arrow Shooting Method?”
At that, I grinned.
“Correct. A new branch unit, the Pyeonjeon Archer, will be added.”
In the Royal Palace of Pyeongyang, Wang Jun had been in good spirits lately.
All thanks to his father, Wang Godeok.
“Should we try applying lacquer to these wooden movable types?”
“Wouldn’t that be too expensive?”
“If a set of one thousand prints becomes three thousand after lacquering, then it’s hardly a loss.”
After retiring from politics, Wang Godeok had grown fat, spending his days only eating and sleeping.
But now the fat had melted away again—thanks to the wooden movable types and printing that Ondal had brought.
With these movable types, books could be printed efficiently, and thanks to this new invention, the Wangga Wood Workshop was regaining its former influence.
Wang Jun too, over the past three years, had enthusiastically studied the Baby Arrow that Ondal had entrusted to him.
True to the name of the Royal Palace of Pyeongyang, he had built a fairly solid tactical system for Baby Arrow.
Of course, it was not yet complete.
No tactic was truly complete until it was proven in actual battle.
But as far as theory went, there was no flaw.
It was solid enough that even an influential figure had come to take notice.
“…So you’ve created something useful, I hear?”
“General, it has been a while.”
“General… I haven’t heard that in some time. Sounds much better than Supreme Chancellor…”
Supreme Chancellor Go Heul laughed.
“So this Baby Arrow—you were the one who created it?”
“No, Ondal gave me the inspiration.”
“Ondal, eh… quite an interesting fellow.”
Go Heul was the Supreme Chancellor, and his main duty was to oversee and conduct the Jeja Council.
But he had little interest in politics or the council these days.
That was mostly handled by Prime Minister Yeon Jayu and Grand King Go Yangseong.
Instead, Go Heul’s interest lay in the ‘secondary duty’ of the Supreme Chancellor—managing the Taehak.
So much so that he had a fairly detailed grasp of the Taehak students overall.
That was why he found Wang Jun’s words a little strange.
“As I recall, Ondal was no archer. He was fine with a sword, but had little talent with the bow, no?”
“Exactly.”
“And yet, such a man has created an archery technique. Quite peculiar.”
To this, Wang Jun replied.
“The old Guan Yiwu failed three times in business, yet destroyed the State of Lu through commerce. One can learn from failure as well, can one not?”
“Hmm… In that case, have you considered joining the Taehak?”
Of course, he did not mean as a student.
Nor as a Taehak Scholar, usually appointed from Junior Elders of the 10th rank.
Wang Jun had no current post, but his rank was still that of a 4th-rank Senior Envoy.
What Go Heul meant was for him to serve as the Taehak’s general overseer.
“I am old now. When I die, someone must manage the Taehak in my place. As a Senior Envoy, you are well suited as the aide of the Supreme Chancellor. And besides…”
Go Heul placed the Pyeonjeon Shooting Method booklet firmly on the table.
“Who else but you could teach this?”
* * *
1. According to the Epitaph of Go Heumdeok, the Go clan to which Go Heumdeok belonged inherited the post of Gun’an Yoksa across generations.
2. Goguryeo’s official system, unexpectedly, did not entirely lack a distinction between civil and military roles.
Traditionally, posts with the title ‘Elder’—Middle Elder, Junior Elder, Elder, Middle Head of Nobility Council, and Prime Minister—were primarily commanders, while those titled ‘Envoy’—Envoy, Senior Envoy, Balwi Envoy, Chief Envoy, Grand Envoy, and Uljeol—were primarily administrators.
But this was only a tendency, not a fixed route like in Joseon where civil and military were entirely separate.
According to the epitaph of Yeon Namsan, he held both Elder and Envoy posts, as well as military roles, and his ranks were recorded in progression not as civil or military grades, but simply as 7th-rank Elder → 6th-rank Chief Envoy → 5th-rank Middle Head of Nobility Council.