Gyeongpil’s White Dragon unit, which had departed at dawn, moved in tight along the lower spine of the mountain range, advancing in secrecy.

  A savage wind swept across the plain as if it would tear everything from the earth.

  Vast clouds of dust billowed up.

  In the basin below where the wind curled and twisted, nothing could be seen through the rolling haze.

  Three hundred riders advancing at a slow pace curved around to the blind side of Gat’erip’s wooden palisade and moved forward bit by bit.

  Five scout teams were sent ahead, driving out or eliminating any hidden watchers before continuing.

  “Lure them…”

  Gyeongpil’s face was grave.

  There was no easy way to deal with an enemy that refused to come out.

  Once the palisade had been raised, it was no simple matter to see what happened inside or gauge the size of their force.

  The enemy appeared determined to endure a siege, raising timber walls and not stirring from within.

  They knew the Han army was waiting in the narrow pass.

  There was no reason to walk willingly into the tiger’s jaws.

  “Should we fire fire-arrows? The wind is good…”

  It was only a thought.

  It did not feel like an answer.

  His eyes fell on Soun, riding close behind Sosam.

  Unlike yesterday, he looked perfectly fine.

  He had not slept at all, yet the wave of crushing drowsiness seemed to have passed.

  Gyeongpil remembered Yi Hui saying he would be all right today.

  “Yes. Fire-arrows. We burn it. Spread wide, approach sideways, loose the flaming shafts, then withdraw.

  But if we stretch too wide, we’ll be vulnerable to counterattack…

  Ah. What could really happen?”

  While his thoughts ran on, the enemy palisade drew nearer.

  As distance closed, the scouts’ movements grew brisk.

  Out on the open field, pursuers and pursued darted like figures in a painted scroll—

  White Dragon men flushing out hidden foes, small skirmishes breaking and ending quickly in the open space.

  First Company fanned out in a wide horizontal line, creeping toward the enemy camp.

  Second Company formed in a wild-goose pattern behind them, backing them up.

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  The closer they came, the more enemy heads appeared above the wooden wall.

  Yet none opened the gates to charge.

  They showed no desire to fight.

  “Hey, Cheongyun!”

  Gyeongpil beckoned Park Cheongyun closer.

  Cheongyun nudged his horse forward.

  “You called, Daeju?”

  “We need to lure them out, but I see no way.

  You’re good at luring, aren’t you? Try something.”

  “Lure…? What do you mean?”

  Cheongyun’s eyes widened.

  He possessed no secret method.

  In the army, you obey orders, but he truly did not understand.

  “You remember before? When you baited them and shot down a dozen? That.”

  “Here? That? How embarrassing!”

  He meant shouting.

  The story had spread through the ranks—

  how he had bellowed curses in broken Han speech, and the hidden enemy had burst out in anger.

  Since then, Park Cheongyun had become something of a “master of provocation.”

  In the army, if you can do even one thing well, you’re made to do it again.

  “Embarrassing? They don’t even understand you. Go on.”

  “Ah…”

  “What? ‘Ah’? Is that how you answer a superior? Refusing an order?”

  Gyeongpil raised his voice theatrically.

  “No! I’ll do it!”

  At the word “insubordination,” Cheongyun hurried forward.

  Behind him, First Company widened its line.

  Snickers broke out among the men.

  Red-faced, Cheongyun cleared his throat—and began shouting as he had that day.

  It seemed every foul word in the world lived in his head.

  He even mixed in scraps of barbarian tongue he had picked up.

  The more one curses, the more fluent one becomes.

  He ranted like a madman at dawn, face flushed, veins standing out in his neck.

  His comrades laughed behind him.

  The barbarians, of course, understood none of it.

  Meanwhile, Gyeongpil ordered fire-arrows prepared.

  “They must strike the palisade. Not too far, not too short.

  If anyone falls short, I won’t let it pass.

  Let them catch well before loosing.

  Three fire-arrows each. Target: the palisade.

  No further signal.

  Ready archers—nock one shaft. Fire!”

  Sosam lit oil-soaked torches and hurried back and forth, igniting the prepared arrowheads.

  “So this is the famous art of fire attack,” he muttered, half-mocking.

  Gyeongpil did not answer.

  “If you lack confidence in distance, step forward!”

  He strode along the thin line, shouting.

  There was time; the arrows were drawn slowly.

  Over a hundred flaming shafts arced toward the wooden wall.

  The first struck near the center.

  Others overshot; some fell short.

  Gyeongpil’s face flushed.

  “Can’t you hit straight?”

  They nocked again.

  Torches flared.

  Loose!

  This time, the threat bore fruit.

  Hundreds of arrows thudded into timber.

  With the wind rising, flame took hold at once.

  Where fire caught, it spread swiftly.

  The result exceeded expectation.

  The wood was dry; as soon as the arrows struck, flames climbed the wall.

  After loosing three rounds, Gyeongpil shifted to combat formation.

  Beyond enemy bow range, they maneuvered slowly left and right—

  halted, loosed more fire-arrows.

  Arrows flew from the palisade in return, but none reached the White Dragon line.

  Fire has a way of igniting men’s spirits.

  As sections of the wall burned and collapsed, glimpses of the camp’s interior appeared.

  The enemy struggled to quench the blaze, but in that arid land water was scarce.

  The palisade, so carefully raised, proved useless on parched ground.

  Some soldiers threw open the gates and rode out, startled by the flames.

  The cavalry emerging could not ride directly toward the White Dragon line; instead, they formed ranks before the burning wall.

  “Ah!”

  Gyeongpil turned sharply.

  They were forming to attack.

  Watching the fire had almost blinded him to it.

  More troops than expected were assembling.

  “They’re coming out! Fall back to first position! Withdraw!”

  He had no intent to fight.

  Yi Hui had said: lure them.

  The designated fallback ground lay where one side was strewn with caltrops and the other rose in a low, serpentine ridge like a dragon’s spine.

  “Ride! Ride!”

  At Gyeongpil’s shout, the White Dragon unit withdrew quickly.

  From a distance they glanced back.

  Flames leapt sideways along the wall; men tried to tear down sections to stop the spread, but the wind was fierce.

  “Heh. Serves them right. Why didn’t we think of this sooner?”

  An almost innocent smile touched Gyeongpil’s face.

  “They feared hidden forces and dared not approach!”

  Though only part of the wall burned, the startled enemy poured out in force.

  There is no foe more dangerous than one alarmed.

  Their tails were on fire—

  they charged as if determined to kill today at any cost.

  “…But what now? They’re all pouring out. Withdraw!”

  Enemy commander Mongroe led his men forward.

  Gyeongpil hastened away, but the enraged commander rallied a portion and pursued.

  Gyeongpil maneuvered with uncanny precision—

  evading again and again, drawing them further.