Chapter 66 : The Path to Becoming One (1)
Chapter 66: The Path to Becoming One (1)
After the news of the war’s end spread.
"Finally, we’re going home…"
My retainer, Woongbeom, beamed brightly.
That must be what Nirvana, as spoken of in Buddhism, looks like. This guy truly went through a lot.
He didn’t participate in the battle, but he handled all the maintenance of my armor and took care of the horses.
Is that all?
Though he didn’t join the fighting, whenever someone got injured, he would immediately grab a cart and rush out to transport them to the rear and take care of them.
One of the duties of retainers in this era was to carry willows, elms, hemp, pine resin, alcohol, centipede powder, and embers in the carts and transport the injured, providing emergency care.
‘In this era, even a single wound often leads to death.’
Sepsis, tetanus, gas gangrene, and more… More people died from such post-battle complications than on the battlefield itself.
If 2,000 died in battle, that usually meant two to three times that number would die within three days.
But in the region I was responsible for, the casualties never got that high.
I asked Woongbeom.
"Did you finish everything I asked you to organize?"
"Just about. I focused the report on the effects of that ‘disinfection’ method."
"What about the practice of keeping wounds open?"
"After cleaning with vinegar and willow decoction, the recovery rate was at least three times higher than others. Honey was also quite effective."
In the 21st century, doctors might say, ‘No, no, pouring rice wine vinegar on wounds isn’t good. Please go to the hospital.’ But there’s no better method in this era.
It was commonly used in ancient India and the Islamic world, once the centers of medicine.
But then the method became a lost technology by the modern era… until around World War I, when it was rediscovered and helped reduce deaths from tetanus and gas gangrene—at least, that’s what Khan once told me.
The context in which he said this wasn’t exactly great.
In the game we were playing, the rules said post-injury mortality was 33%, but Khan seriously argued, ‘I used honey and vinegar thoroughly for disinfection and left the wound open, so my death rate should be halved.’
Back then, I yelled, ‘Then why do we even have rules?!’ and we had a huge fight. But looking back now, I’ve never had a better miniature war-game friend.
"Let me see."
"Here it is."
Woongbeom handed me a booklet.
Naturally, he couldn’t read or write in Idu or classical Chinese.
If he could, he wouldn’t be a retainer.
It’s like how you don’t see anyone working at a convenience store after passing the bar exam in the 21st century. The writing system of this era is about as difficult as that.
So, this guy wrote in phonetic script, and thanks to his talent, I even taught him how to make charts.
Thanks to that, we could quickly visualize the data. Just by glancing at it, it was clear that my treatment methods resulted in a significantly higher recovery rate than traditional ones.
That was very important.
Saint-Exupéry may have warned against people obsessed with appearances, but the world rarely notices what’s invisible.
There’s a limit to what experiential change can achieve.
In other words, these charts were the means to make ‘a multitude of experiences’ visible at a glance.
"Indeed, the survival rate of those treated by us is significantly higher than those treated by others."
"That’s right. It’s all thanks to the power of vinegar and honey."
To 21st-century doctors, vinegar and honey might be terrifying, but in this era, better antibiotics are rare.
‘But we can make something better.’
For example, ethanol… or soju.
In the 21st century, diluted soju with 11–13% alcohol was common, but distilled soju—called ‘Andong Soju’ or ‘traditional soju’—had nearly 40% alcohol. That’s vodka-level.
I roughly knew the principle. Use a soju still to gently heat the liquor and collect only the alcohol.
Crossing one hill from my hometown of Punggi led to Danyang, and I remembered that Danyang had quite a few breweries making traditional soju.
Also, an old man named Kim in my neighborhood was a connoisseur. He would infuse this traditional Danyang soju with Punggi ginseng to make ginseng liquor… and eventually got so into it that he acquired a soju still and started making his own.
‘He even brewed beer using homegrown barley and wild hops from the mountains… and made hornet liquor from wasp nests. He was a curious old man.’
A classic rural eccentric, you might say. Every village has one—someone like ‘Jukryeong MacGyver’ who builds their own tractor, ‘Punggi’s Drunk Brewer,’ or ‘Gyeongsang’s Jeong Yak-yong’ who builds pavilions and castles by hand. (In our village, that was all the same Kim grandpa.)
I also remembered helping him make soju… So if things went well, we might be able to produce ethanol or soju ourselves.
‘Once I reach Pyeongyang, I should consider acquiring a distillery or two.’
After all, battlefield mortality was a crucial matter.
If 1,000 are supposed to die and you reduce it to 500, you’ve effectively gained 500 experienced soldiers.
Higher recovery rates would allow soldiers to act more aggressively on the field.
There aren’t many who’d risk a 50% chance of death for a billion won, but if it’s just 10%, some might actually try.
I told Woongbeom,
"Keep it safe. With that alone, you might earn yourself a rank someday."
"A rank… sounds like a hassle. I’d be fine with a small plot of land."
"How much?"
"Well, I’m thinking of having around ten kids later, so just enough land to divide among them without fights? Based on what I’ve earned so far, maybe enough for three of them…"
It was like saying, ‘I don’t want much. Just a building in Gangnam that I can rent out and live off the income.’
Considering he’s not even married yet, he’s definitely got a few screws loose.
"I just want to be rich, and for no one to know me."
That was when my second retainer, Hosan, cut in.
"I don’t need to be rich. I just want every woman to know who I am."
If Woongbeom was quietly unhinged, Hosan was blatantly crazy.
Unlike Woongbeom, who had just made a fortune, Hosan was still broke. Because he had already handed out all the ginseng powder I gave him to the courtesans around here.
"Those courtesans you haven’t seen lately? That’s thanks to me. They gave up the life because of my generosity."
…Whether I should praise that or call him a lunatic, I couldn’t decide.
Then, claiming he’d run out of money, he suddenly volunteered for the frontline—and came back with the heads of three enemy medium cavalrymen. That shocked even me.
He’d apparently crawled under the enemy horse and stabbed the unarmored belly. The allied government soldiers were so impressed that they even gave him a weird nickname: ‘Brave Hosan.’
"I really almost died. Got kicked in the thigh by a horse. If it’d been a bit lower, my knee would’ve shattered. Oh, and I did the task you asked for too."
Whatever his lifestyle, this guy’s abilities were the real deal. That’s why I paid him handsomely to keep him.
While Woongbeom documented patient treatment, Hosan collected materials for building the watchtower and recorded how the dead had fallen in battle.
How many died by arrows, how many by swords, how many by spears.
With those details, I hoped to analyze the patterns of war more precisely.
‘It’ll be useful for updating the Goryeo Myosan too.’
People dismiss war games because of stories like ‘Akagi couldn’t have taken nine hits! Revive her!’ from the Japanese Navy in WWII, but well-made war games are surprisingly effective.
Actually, that Japanese story validates the usefulness of war games. No matter how they ran the simulation, the result was always defeat.
But since they had no choice but to fight, they forced a ‘victory’ by reviving the dead against the rules and including bizarre scenarios like American aircraft falling into the ocean or friendly fire destroying their own battleship.
Naturally, the Americans didn’t pull stunts like that, and Japan lost exactly as predicted by the war game.
In short, a well-made war game could be extremely useful in real combat, and I too had achieved not-insignificant results in this battle using Goryeo Myosan.
If I had managed this much with only vague details, wouldn’t adding even more meticulous detail greatly help in future wars?
At that thought, I pondered Goryeo Myosan, the newly formed Goryeo special forces, and the "Pyeonjeon Archer".
‘Compared to regular archers, they have double the range, 1.5 times the penetration power, triple the mobility since they ride horses, and since the arrows are split, their ammo capacity is double or even triple…’
If this had appeared in a game, I would’ve grabbed a bat and marched straight to headquarters—it’s that broken of a unit.
Thinking that, I let out a deep sigh for no reason.
The war had just ended, yet rather than feeling like it was over, I could only think of what came next.
‘…Well, it can’t be helped.’
Being satisfied with just one victory at Baesan was far from enough—Goguryeo’s future path lay in rugged mountains.
‘The First Yeosu War, with 300,000 troops, is 20 years away, and the Second Yeosu War, with 1 million, is 30 years away.’
Right now, we had merely crossed one mountain.
But even so, we had crossed it well.
That was undoubtedly a good thing.
The future paths of my comrades were also decided.
First off, Maeng Sap decided to remain in the west.
"Seriously? You could even join the government forces."
"This is my hometown, you know."
Maeng Sap replied.
"Even though we won… Beizhou was strong. Right?"
"…Right."
Beizhou’s advance into Liaoxi defied logic by its very existence.
The main overland route was blocked by the remnants of Northern Qi occupying Imyugwan.
And there was no sea near Beizhou to deploy a navy.
So they took a massive detour around the Yeonsan Mountains to attack Goguryeo.
Basically, they had their hands and feet tied when they swung that punch.
Yet it was a punch thrown by 10,000 medium cavalry.
Though Goguryeo successfully defended against it, that single half-hearted blow was more than enough to devastate half of the Khitan and Malgal in Liaoxi.
"I want to prepare for that. Besides, I just got a new fortress."
"Sukgun Fortress?"
"Yeah. Looks like I’ll become the Choryeogeunji of that place."
That made me a bit wistful.
"Maeng Sap, looks like we won’t see each other for a while."
"Well, if that ‘real big war’ you mentioned breaks out, won’t we see each other again? Besides… it’s better for you if I stay here, isn’t it?"
"That’s… true."
Sukgun Fortress was currently the westernmost edge of Goguryeo and a legacy of King Gwanggaeto. Already, quite a few people were planning pilgrimages there.
In that sense, having my friend Maeng Sap manage Sukgun Fortress would be a major advantage. Maeng Sap snorted.
"Of course, that’s just a bonus for you. The main reason is that it’s my hometown."
"Hey. At times like this, you’re supposed to brag."
"Really? Isn’t that kind of uncool?"
I chuckled.
"Politics was never about being cool."
"Is that so?"
Maeng Sap chuckled too, then asked,
"So, all of you heading to Pyeongyang?"
"That’s right. Eulji Mundeok is apparently becoming a Taehak Scholar as a So-hyeong."
That too was Go Heul’s idea.
‘This new Guai-zama Tactics—they should teach this to those Taehak brats too. There’s no one better than Eulji Mundeok for the job. Besides, judging from his personality, he probably doesn’t have any friends, so he should at least have some students.’
Even Eulji Mundeok couldn’t refute that.
It was good for me too.
If Eulji Mundeok taught at the Taehak, where would his students go later?
‘Still, a 16-year-old Taehak Scholar...’
Eulji Mundeok hadn’t even grown a proper beard yet.
He had enrolled young, and even graduated early.
Now, becoming a Taehak Scholar at his age meant most of the students would be older than him.
Would students follow a professor younger than them?
…That wasn’t a concern.
That guy wouldn’t be intimidated just because someone was older. On the contrary, he’d probably taunt them like, "Why are you a student and I’m the teacher?"
And Go Jaemu, who was from the south, had no reason to remain here. He too planned to return to Pyeongyang Fortress for now.
Soyong, having been promoted to Jehyeong, would return to Beomchon and probably shout, ‘I became a noble!’
As for me—though no official position had been announced yet—I had now become a Royal Son-in-law, so I would likely begin working as a close aide to the king near the palace.
That evening,
"Pour it!"
"Drink it!"
"For Goryeo!"
Eulji Mundeok, Maeng Sap, Go Jaemu, and I gathered for drinks. Like our first night at the Taehak, we all got thoroughly drunk.
"Urp, I’m getting drunk."
The alcohol had low proof, but drink enough of it and you still felt it.
Burping loudly, I returned to the barracks—only to find an unexpected figure waiting inside.
"You’re back quite late."
Northern Yoksa, Go San.
Startled, I hurriedly covered my mouth from the burp and asked,
"Wh-what brings you here, Elder Go San?"
Go San, too, had received high praise for his achievements in the north and had been promoted from Fifth Rank Middle Head of Nobility Council to Fourth Rank Chief Envoy.
But he must’ve known as well—that my power had grown too large, regardless of rank.
He had probably come because of that.
Looking at me seriously, he said,
"You’re planning to return to Pyeongyang Fortress, right?"
"That’s my plan, for now."
"Have you considered coming to Domestic Fortress instead?"
Had this old man been drinking too? Why was he suddenly talking nonsense?
Domestic Fortress was still very much Go San’s turf. If I went there, I wouldn’t even be able to spread my wings.
‘It’d be far better to go to Pyeongyang Fortress and target the ambitious second and third sons of the Domestic Fortress Faction who end up there.’
I belonged to the Domestic Fortress Faction, but going back to the Domestic Fortress itself was… complicated, given my situation. So I politely declined Go San’s offer.
"I’m a Royal Son-in-law, after all. My family is in Pyeongyang."
"If it’s about family, you can just bring them with you."
"My Hereditary Village Allotment is in Pyeongyang too."
"That’s nothing more than a benefit that disappears once you retire from office."
Go San said.
"If you choose to remain here, I’ll grant you one of my Tax Villages."
He’d give me a Tax Village?
Even Go Heul hadn’t received that.
…Suddenly, the alcohol cleared right up.