The enemy fell back.
Leaving behind a day's dust and blood, the Sungi-gun took up the road again.Their destination was Yoyang Fortress—already in enemy hands.
After smashing the forces of the Liaodong Branch Secretariat, the enemy seemed intent on holding the fortress through the winter. Shut themselves inside, gather supplies, drag out time—wear us down until we broke.
The column moved slowly.The aftertaste of battle clung to every joint, and no one wasted breath on talk. Between hoofbeats and the creak of wagon wheels, only the soldiers' breathing slipped in, steady as habit. The sun hung low; the earth still failed to hide yesterday's wound, stained a dark, dried red.
From horseback, Seongjin stared down at the tip of his spear.He pictured the faces waiting behind those walls—the enemy inside. The breath of the man he had killed yesterday rose with it. And somewhere in the corner of his mind, the word bait kept circling, refusing to die.
The order came to scout ahead.The vanguard scattered like wind, climbing over brushy hills and slipping along the edges of forest. They probed rocks and thickets for stragglers and ambush. The bowmen tightened their grip and shortened their steps; the spearmen dismounted, lowering their long points as they advanced.
Yoyang was an old fortress.It looked as if walls had been stacked upon older walls—thick, high, layered with time. The villages outside had been burned bare, a scorched field of ash, as if a scorched-earth order had passed through. Above the gate, enemy banners hung and trembled.
The vanguard returned with a report."Many inside the fortress. Most nearby settlements are in ruins."
The Great General reined in his horse.A pause. His eyes slid across walls and ground—calculations moving behind the calm. No reason to throw lives away by rushing.
"Cut off Yoyang's supply routes."He spoke slowly."Secure the local people. Isolate the fortress. Do not hurry."
Words became motion at once.The Goryeo army severed the roads around the fortress. Outside the walls they raised camp and built palisades and temporary barricades. The supply detail checked every approach, sealing gaps where grain or horses might slip through. Other troops fanned out to search for survivors and question them. What they said was braided from fear, anger, and the exhaustion of those who had endured too long.
As the sun sank westward, the encampment took shape—square, hard-edged.A siege made openly, without apology.
If you can run—then come out.
That challenge was written in the angles of the palisade lines.
Before night fully fell, the Great General spoke again."Yoyang Fortress is ours.But do not hurry."
The soldiers answered low and firm."Loyalty."
Seongjin bowed his head on horseback, silent.He watched the enemy banners wavering on the wall. On a road filmed with dust, war began to move again—wearing a different face.
*
We stopped before Yoyang Fortress.
The walls were shut like a black mountain. Only the banner above moved—nothing else. No smoke, no shouting, no fire. The day after victory could be this quiet, and that quiet felt wrong.
Seongjin asked under his breath,"Why… come all the way to an enemy fortress, and then do nothing?"
O Jincheol turned his head slowly."There'll be a reason. The Great General is known for his tricks."
Seongjin stared up at the height of the walls."Is it because they're out of food? Cage them and starve them?"
O Jincheol shook his head."No. This was the Liaodong Branch Secretariat. Inside, there'll be grain stacked like mountains. Arrows, iron, salt. That's why we're here."
Seongjin's brow tightened."Then… can we outlast them?"
"Maybe."O Jincheol's voice dropped."How long we can last on what we've been issued—I can't say."
Seongjin pressed again."Then why lay siege like this? If we ring them so thin, when they surge out, we're the ones at risk."
O Jincheol brushed dust from his armor and laughed—not an easy laugh."That's the point, I suppose."He shrugged."How would I know what the men above are thinking?"
After a pause, Seongjin said quietly,"Up to now we've advanced tight, without gaps.But now… it feels strangely sloppy."
O Jincheol exhaled."It's not sloppier."He shook his head."Victory is what loosens people."
He chose his next words carefully."One win always brings the next loss with it. That's what makes war frightening."
They said no more.
Wind moved. A hawk drew a low circle in the distant sky.
Then, from somewhere beyond the wall, a faint light flickered once—signal or ember, impossible to tell.
Seongjin stared at it."It's too quiet. Too quiet."
O Jincheol half-closed his eyes."A fortress is most dangerous when it's quiet."He spoke low."Something's already happening in there."
Those words did not fade easily.
That night, even as the campfires one by one went dark,a light on the gate kept blinking at regular intervals.
"What is that?" Seongjin asked.
O Jincheol smiled faintly."Could be one of ours inside."
He let the thought hang, then added,"Or… a light meant to lull the enemy."
Seongjin asked carefully,"What's in the Great General's head right now?"
O Jincheol stared at the wall, then answered,"Who knows."
And he chuckled under his breath."Two or three serpents, at least."
The light blinked again.
No one knew what it meant.Night deepened.
A Night That's Too Quiet
We weren't the only ones who doubted the silence.The enemy inside Yoyang did, too.
After losing once, they bolted the gates and held their breath. But something was wrong: the Goryeo army said nothing.
Normally we would have shouted at the gate, sent envoys to urge surrender—or at least thrown a stone to announce ourselves.
But no one shouted.
We completed the siege in silence.
Barricades went up at every choke point, palisades laid to stop sudden sorties. In one corner of camp, the sound of digging hammer-pits and sorting arrow bundles rasped on without pause. From the outside it looked like an ordinary encampment.
Which made it worse.
Seongjin muttered,"The fortress is right there… and we can afford to look this loose?"
O Jincheol gave a dry laugh."One win, and men loosen."He shook his head."That's why the second day is always the scariest day of war."
Before his words even finished, the smell of blood spread through camp.
They were slaughtering cattle.
Not an animal found dead on the road—a healthy ox.
Torches flared. Big cauldrons were hung. The stink of blood and burning fat rolled over the camp.
Soldiers murmured.
"They want them to see.""That we can last."
The light and smoke would be visible from the walls. The smell carried what words did not:
We are not leaving before you surrender.
Seongjin grew even more uneasy.It all felt like another baited hook.
Bait always dies first.
He had already learned that once.
As his heart hammered, Hwang Hyeonpil walked over."What are you doing?"
"I'm uneasy."
"About what?"
"They're watching us, and we're boiling meat like nothing matters. It's… strange."
Hwang Hyeonpil smiled."The Great General is a man the world admits is cunning. If he tells you rest, you rest. If he tells you fight, you fight."
Then he added,"They say there'll be liquor tonight."
"No way."
At that, O Jincheol—leaning against something nearby—lifted his head."Really?"
"A vanguard detail went to a village to look for it," Hwang said."If they find it, that's luck. If they don't, that's luck too."
O Jincheol chuckled."Sounds less like fate than karma."
Hwang turned away as he spoke."Either way, sleep well tonight. Tomorrow may be a hard day."
When he was gone, O Jincheol glanced at Seongjin and said,"When they treat you well, that's when it's most dangerous. Same as love."
"Love?"
"Love, yeah."He grinned."You got a girl?"
"What—why would you—"
"Do you."
"No. I'm fifteen."
O Jincheol clicked his tongue."Everyone says no.""A grown lad with no sweetheart."
Seongjin's face flushed.
"I've been busy with duty."
"Idiot." O Jincheol laughed. "A man needs a woman."
He laughed—then for a brief instant, the laughter stopped.
And he said, low,"That's why you only get a woman after the war ends."
He paused, then added,"Until then, everything's bait. Life included."
It lodged in Seongjin's chest like a thorn.
He looked up.
The enemy banner on Yoyang's wall hung limp, without wind.No light blinked.
Too quiet.
And because it was so quiet—everything felt ill-omened.