Outside Gaegyeong’s western gate, it was dawn.The mist of the west had not yet lifted.

  Along the wide field before the gate, the low tread of soldiers’ feet echoed softly.Leather armor rasped against itself.Frost shattered beneath horses’ hooves.Iron-rimmed supply carts scraped stone.

  They were the only sounds waking the city still asleep.

  Beyond the fog, the tiled roofs of Botongwon emerged faintly.It was less a temple than a vast relief hall, enclosed by low walls on all sides.Above the main gate hung a single, weathered plaque.

  Botongwon.

  Time had washed away half the lettering.Before the threshold, countless weary footprints overlapped—the starving poor, wandering merchants, envoys from distant roads.And now, soldiers.

  Whenever troops departed from Gaegyeong, this place became their gathering ground.There was no better place to organize provisions, repair equipment, raise banners, and dress the ranks.

  I lifted my head.

  Through the mist, the slope of the mountain hovered indistinctly.Below it, where wall and field met, Botongwon’s roofs lay damp with a silvery sheen.Beneath the eaves, a few crows shook their feathers.The cauldrons’ fires had not gone out through the night.

  “Enter from the west! Tie the horses at the paddock!”

  The commander’s shout cut through the dawn.The soldiers broke formation and entered in three lines.

  In the courtyard, cauldrons were already hung, steam billowing upward.The smell of cooking rice, torchlight, and horses mixed together.Crows scattered with harsh cries.It sounded like a song of parting.

  A young soldier stopped without meaning to.

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  At the edge of the courtyard, dew pooled on the shoulder of a bodhisattva statue, catching the light.The spear in his hand trembled slightly.

  If he returned alive, he wanted to hang this spear on the wall and set a meal before his mother.Yet somewhere in his heart he already knew—beyond today’s road, there might be no spring, no rice, no home waiting.

  The gates of Botongwon opened.

  The drum sounded three times.The ranks began to move.

  When he glanced back, a single monk stood at the gate, hands pressed together, lips moving quietly.A prayer, no doubt.

  The cauldrons continued to boil.Monks ladled rice and poured hot soup in silence.One young soldier burned his hand.

  “Ah—hot.”

  A ripple of laughter passed, then vanished.Everyone ate.Everyone rose.

  Pinned to my back was a name tag—just a scrap of worn cloth.The inked letters were faint, yet it was a name unlike any other in the world.

  As banners were raised in the distance, I searched for blue.

  There it was.The Sungui Unit.

  My father had spoken of that blue banner with pride since I was a child.

  Mist settled again over Botongwon’s yard.Footprints layered upon one another in the mud.A mule snorted, wooden tally tokens clinking in its pouch.That sound alone tapped against the waking sky.

  It was my turn.

  Fifteen years old.Barely reaching an adult’s waist.At my belt hung a small talisman, tied there by my mother.

  “Reporting. Park Seongjin, son of Park Jinsul.”

  The officer looked up.

  “Park Jinsul?”

  “He was killed in battle.”

  “And Park Seongil?”

  “He went missing in the last campaign.”

  The officer’s gaze traveled over me.

  “You’re small.”

  “Only in height.”

  “How old?”

  “Fifteen.”

  For a moment, something like a smile flickered across his face—then vanished.

  “Go make an identity tag.Park Seongjin. Fifteen.Household: Haeju. Millyang Park clan.”

  “Yes.”

  “Come back after.”

  I bowed.

  “Loyalty.”

  As I stepped away, steam rose again from the cauldrons.My footprints disappeared into it.

  A moment later, the bell rang.

  Dong—dong—.

  The bell of Botongwon.

  Somewhere behind me, names were being called—some aloud,some only in the heart.

  Hwando (ring-pommel saber) was a single-edged curved sword used during the Goryeo and Joseon periods.

  Its overall length was about 1 meter, with blade lengths typically ranging from 60 to 80 cm.

  Using modern measurements based on the cheok-gwan system, infantry blades measured about 73.63 cm, while cavalry blades averaged about 65.60 cm.