- General’s Tent — The Chancellor’s Unease
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The Chancellor’s Unease
The general’s tent was too quiet for something raised in haste.
Outside, the low sounds of soldiers tending the trench and horses snorting drifted on and off.
Inside, only the breath of a man pressed flat by a long road remained.
The wooden frame of the makeshift cot gave a faint creak as Jin Mu-gwang rose.
“Have you come?”
Jin Mu-gwang rose from the simple cot and received the chancellor.
His face looked rumpled, as if he had been trying to shake off the fatigue of the campaign.
Even after arriving, he had not entered the capital.
He already disliked the court, and the order to stop outside the gate almost made his mind lighter.
His body and mind were worn thin.
He had sent Yi Hui inside to report their arrival, and he was waiting for something he knew would not come.
The chancellor swept the air of the tent once.
No incense, no tea, no drums of celebration, no welcoming banners.
A provincial commander sleeping outside the imperial city—this alone was the answer.
The chancellor’s gaze moved from the cot’s leg to the back of Jin Mu-gwang’s hand.
“Are you unwell?”
“No. I was only resting.”
“Have the others withdraw.”
The chancellor sat at a small side table, and Jin Mu-gwang sat facing him.
If the matter was serious, time inside the tent suddenly slowed.
Yi Hui did not step back even a pace.
It felt as though war was beginning not on the plain before the west gate, but at this small table.
Yet Yi Hui did not withdraw.
“Why… you—”
The chancellor asked.
“If you order withdrawal, I cannot be the only one to withdraw.”
Yi Hui’s eyes went to the two men the chancellor had brought.
The two martial attendants behind the chancellor glared, as if to say they were not the sort to be dismissed.
Yi Hui did not lower his gaze.
Unlike the brocaded guards at the gate, Yi Hui looked at men with the eyes of someone who had survived real fighting.
As the chancellor hesitated, Jin Mu-gwang spoke.
“You know it well enough.
If the matter is grave enough to withdraw Yi Hui, then withdraw them as well, Chancellor.”
The chancellor nodded.
“Fine.
You two, withdraw.”
The two martial men gave a formal salute and withdrew first.
Outside the tent, Yi Hui kept distance and stared back toward the entrance.
The two attendants did not move far from the tent either.
Watching those men with that rancid air about them, Yi Hui’s mood soured.
They were not soldiers who fought barbarians.
It was hard to define, but they smelled of politics.
Inside, it grew even quieter.
When the two men sat facing each other, the empty space on the table expanded into pressure.
Before speaking, the chancellor drew a breath.
The longer that breath, the heavier the words he meant to lay down.
“It has been a long time.”
“Yes.
Already two years.”
“I sent you off with nothing, and you shattered Gat-teuk-rip.
You… truly are extraordinary.”
“You flatter me.
Will you take a cup of tea?”
“No.
Let us simply speak.”
The chancellor let out a sigh.
He refused even a trivial cup of tea.
He wanted to look burdened by worry.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Or perhaps he truly was, to the point where he did not want to swallow anything at all.
“Please, speak.”
“You know it as well as I do.
His Majesty dislikes that a commander like you exists.
If you are far away, he fears you will raise your forces.
If you are near, he fears you will plot rebellion.
How many rebellions has it been…
They ruined even a clever emperor.
The Prince Yeong affair, at the end—was the worst.”
Jin Mu-gwang looked beyond the canvas wall into the deepening distance.
Beyond his silent gaze, a blue darkness crept in, sullen and thick.
He knew without being told.
That was why he went far away.
So that no one would be threatened by him—by a man dangerous merely by existing.
And even that, they now said, was not enough.
No one stated it in cold, objective words, yet he understood exactly what it meant.
“………………”
The silence stretched.
It was the chancellor’s waiting silence, and Jin Mu-gwang’s silence of restraint.
Outside, a hoof struck the ground once, and somewhere metal rang as armor bumped—then the sound died.
Those small noises confirmed how forbidden these words were.
“If I die, will that suffice?
If I drink the poison?
Will His Majesty then be at ease?”
Jin Mu-gwang’s voice trembled with anger as he spoke.
To speak was to confirm the truth.
When the truth was unjust, it demanded to be named more precisely.
It had to be made explicit.
“Then… who will stop the barbarians?”
“For a while, they will not come down.
We drove them back to near annihilation.
They will not recover for years.”
The chancellor pressed a fingertip once against the edge of the small table.
If these words were recorded, heads would fall on the spot.
Yet he had come here.
To not come would have meant something worse.
“So… you will die for us, is that what you mean?
I argued that we must keep a few capable generals, but His Majesty remains uneasy…”
“What would you have me do?”
“There is no method.
I only came because I am stifled and needed to speak.”
“So you are saying I should supply the answer.”
“No.
I have no such face left for that.
We politicians are the ones who ruin men like you…”
Jin Mu-gwang closed his eyes briefly.
Closing his eyes was not hiding anger.
It was fastening a decision.
When he opened them, the direction of his life was already chosen.
“Then I will disappear.”
Jin Mu-gwang rose, opened a drawer behind him, and handed over a sealed letter.
“What is this?”
“My petition to resign.”
The chancellor’s hand paused a fraction before taking it.
The moment he accepted it, he understood this was not a spur-of-the-moment resolve, but preparation.
It was the hand of a man who had known, from departure, that he might never be allowed to return.
“Resign… ha.
You wrote it in advance?”
“I had already decided when I set out.
If I leave and His Majesty rests in safety, I will do it.”
“A general who has achieved merit should be celebrated, promoted, granted stipend—
and instead I do this.
I do not even know what I am doing.”
“Do not take it to heart.”
“Are you not wronged?”
“I cannot do politics in the first place.
I must leave.
I only regret it.
I had hoped to grow old farming at Haran’s garrison fields, striking the barbarians when they came.
But I am not wronged.
If my presence near the capital makes men try to use me, it could harm the realm.
That is a natural fear.
Excessive force is worse than none.”
He acknowledged it.
Even if it was unjust, the fact of it existed.
The chancellor objected.
Not strongly.
Only enough to say, unwillingly, “Do not.”
That weakness of objection meant the conclusion was already decided.
“Even in peaceful times, force is needed.
Do not choose something so extreme.”
“No.
I will submit the petition and wait for approval.”
The chancellor shook his head.
In that expression was not dignity but calculation of time.
Time waited upon meant someone else would move first with a blade.
He knew that too well.
“No.
Do not cling to it.
A resignation petition only buys time.
It will not be enough for His Majesty.
You will submit it, and we will say you returned home because your parents are ill.
Leave at once.
Then you may keep your life.
The moment you leave, assassins will attach themselves to you.
Even if His Majesty does not order it, the eunuchs will.
And even if the eunuchs do not, one of the ministers will.
It is not an emperor and a faction leader.
It is faction leaders, eunuchs, and the army.
Politics is these forces forming and breaking alliances.
We do not know what will happen.
Leave quickly.
That is why I came.”
Jin Mu-gwang’s heavy face loosened.
With direction set, the heart grows lighter.
The chancellor spoke of eunuchs, but the chancellor’s own intent would be included in that web.
Civil weakness.
What the emperor wanted was civil weakness.
That tendency would grow clearer with later generations, hardening like a law that ran through the continent’s history.
“Why do you stand on my side?”
“I never said I was on your side.
Beyond factions, I wanted to praise what you achieved, and I wanted to keep such a general alive.
I too am only a politician who moves by gain and loss.
Strictly speaking, it benefits me that a danger like you does not exist—at least for now.
I am not on your side.”
Jin Mu-gwang nodded.
Not so much honesty as a dislike of being dragged into inconvenient matters.
Words without warmth, only calculation—
and therefore believable.
“I have one request.”
“Say it.”
“Preserve this unit, and preserve the unit at Haran.”
“Why?
To remain loyal to a ruler who will discard you?”
“The ruler is the people.
They are needed by the people.
They are well trained, they do not fear the enemy, and they fight well.”
“Yes.
I saw it.
Especially that boy soldier—remarkable.”
“If you mean the boy soldier, Yu So-un.
He is Yu Jang-ju’s son.”
“Yu family estate in Taiyuan?
I heard it was trampled under barbarian hooves…”
“After the estate fell to ruin, he came to Haran, and I kept him with me.”
“Blood cannot be concealed.
Remarkable indeed.”
In the space of one breath, Jin Mu-gwang pressed.
“Answer me.”
“Very well.
Preservation of the unit…
I cannot promise outright, but I will do my best.”
Jin Mu-gwang did not ask further.
In politics, “a promise” is rare, and “I will do my best” is often another name for betrayal.
Even so, he had to pry out even that much.
What the departing general left behind was not his own life, but a way for those who remained to live.
“Then I will not see you out.”
Affronted by the injustice, Jin Mu-gwang rose first.
The chancellor rose after him, wearing a sorrowful expression.
“I am sorry…”
“You have no reason to be sorry, Chancellor.
Rather, thank you for coming.”
“In a better world, you would have been a general who commanded the heavens…”
A hollow wind passed between men who were not close.
After the chancellor left, the air in the tent sank again.
The smells of earth and horse droppings seeped in through a gap, and that smell, oddly, kept a man alive.
The smell of the battlefield was less suffocating than the smell of politics.
After the chancellor left, Yi Hui rushed in.
His internal cultivation was high; he had already heard part of the talk.
“I will attend you.”
Yi Hui dropped to one knee.
“You heard?”
“Yes, unintentionally…”
Jin Mu-gwang smiled gently.
To his subordinate, he must look like a foolish general.
Yet the smile proved he was still human.
A general standing alone could, for a moment, be seen.
“Unintentional?
It was your intention…
Yes.
I must go.
The sooner the better, he says.
The chancellor will go in and submit my resignation petition.
If he submits it tomorrow, that would be best, but they will not grant even that much time.
I will leave.”
“Where will you go?
Let me accompany you.”
The general refused.
He lifted his palm in a blocking gesture.
And he raised his speech.
“I cannot move an army for private ends.
I must go alone.”
“I resigned.”
“What?
When?”
Yi Hui reached into his clothes, drew out his resignation letter, and laid it on the table.
The sound of paper touching wood rang unnaturally loud.
Not a sword, but paper stamped today’s severing.
“Right now.
I have no intention of serving a rotted country.”
“You carried that with you?”
A faint smile rose on Yi Hui’s face.
“Yes.
I always carried it.”
“Did you hate me that much?”
“No.
I knew this day could come at any time.”
Jin Mu-gwang looked at Yi Hui and laughed.
They understood each other.
He knew it was not right, and he knew he could not accept it—
yet when a man stands alone too long, even that becomes strength.