The fortress prison stood apart from the rest of the compound.
A deep trench had been dug around it like a moat, making escape nearly impossible.
The bridge crossing it was narrow—barely wide enough for a single man.
Inside the ring of earth stood a round building built from packed dirt and stone.
Several narrow windows had been cut high above a man's height.
They looked less like windows than holes meant only for breathing.
Twenty soldiers who had just returned alive from the battlefield were dragged into that prison.
In the middle of battle, insubordination could be punished on the spot.
Execution was permitted.
But they had not done that.
Because the officers knew they themselves were not without fault.
Everyone already knew the commander was incompetent.
Everyone knew he issued endless orders to hide that incompetence.
Yet he was still the commander.
No one could speak against him.
When fools are raised above others, everyone beneath them pays the price.
"Why treat them like that?"
Deputy Commander Park Geun-suspoke quietly.
"They should have opened the gate."
Park Cheol-gu lifted his head.
He was the officer responsible for the South Gate.
"If we had opened it, the gate would have been breached."
"They spared those men on purpose. They could have slaughtered them all."
"They let them escape so they would beg for the gate to open."
"Did you not see it yourself?"
"The armored cavalry was waiting barely a hundred paces away."
"The moment the gate opened, they would have charged straight in."
There was no arguing with a man determined to prove himself right.
Park Geun-su lowered his head.
"Understood."
It was not obedience.
It meant:
You are my superior, so I will follow your order.
But not in my heart.
"Once they quiet down, beat them."
"…What?"
"Beat them hard so they stop talking nonsense. Break a bone if you have to."
"They just returned from battle."
"They're stirring trouble inside the fortress."
"They're angry. That's why they protested."
Park Cheol-gu's eyes flashed.
"Are you siding with them?"
"Siding with them? Of course not."
"Then shut your mouth."
Silence followed.
Then Park Cheol-gu spoke again.
"Beat them until they stop talking."
"Understood."
The gate commander descended from the tower.
His face was red with anger.
No one spoke as he walked toward the command post inside the fortress.
Several of the Black-Robed Immortalswho had helped secure the South Gate watched the scene for a moment.
Then they looked away.
Such things were common in the world.
Too common.
Incompetence.
Irresponsibility.
Men terrified that the blame might reach them.
Men who would rather destroy others than lose their position.
This was not something they would involve themselves in.
At least the gate had not fallen.
They had jumped down because they could not stand watching.
If the enemy had brought forward their battering ram, the gate might have broken.
The trapped soldiers had unknowingly protected it.
One of the Immortals spoke.
"That young man earlier… who was he?"
"The one who rallied the survivors."
"He held them in a thin line and stopped the charge."
"Perhaps he simply chose to die fighting."
Park Geun-su headed toward the prison.
"Aiya… why did you do that?"
Yeong-woo, leaning against the wall while examining the wound on his leg, raised his head.
It was Deputy Commander Park Geun-su.
One of them.
The same side.
Which made it even more disgusting to see him pretend concern.
"Why do you think?" Yeong-woo said.
"If you were there, you would have done worse."
"You're still angry?"
"There was no other choice."
"One day," Yeong-woo replied quietly,
"there will be no choice for us either."
"Will you fight your own comrades instead of the enemy?"
"When do we fight the enemy?" Yeong-woo answered bitterly.
"We die from stray arrows while the officers claim they know nothing."
"You carry deep resentment."
"Careful. That kind of anger will get you hurt."
Yeong-woo stretched out his leg.
His ankle was soaked in blood.
His haengjeon—the cloth and leather wrap protecting the shin and ankle—lay beside him.
"That's a bad wound."
"At least it's my leg."
"I'll send a physician."
"Tell him to let it rot," Yeong-woo muttered.
"Like before."
He said it harshly, but inside he was uneasy.
The wound hardly hurt.
That frightened him more.
Maybe the nerves had been severed.
Maybe he would be sent home.
"This will become a bigger problem if you keep talking like that."
"We almost died."
"How much bigger could it get?"
Park Geun-su tried to calm him.
"You did well."
"I saw you take command out there."
"We just chose to fight."
"If our own side abandoned us, we had to rely on ourselves."
"I'm sorry," Park Geun-su said quietly.
"I couldn't argue strongly enough."
"They were waiting for the gate to open so they could charge."
"I know."
"But that doesn't mean I can't resent it."
"Thanks to you, the South Gate still stands."
"And now we're locked up for it?"
"A disturbance almost broke out."
Yeong-woo fell silent.
There was no point arguing.
They had been terrified.
But the officers had been even more terrified.
And somehow the soldiers were expected to understand that.
"I'll send a physician," Park Geun-su said.
"And food."
Yeong-woo finally relented.
"…Thank you."
The others respected Yeong-woo's judgment.
Soon a physician arrived.
Food followed.
The wounded groaned across the cold stone floor of the prison.
Where treatment began, screams burst out.
Screams were better.
At least they meant the man was still alive.
Those who were dying made no sound at all.
As the light faded from their eyes on the dirt floor, the war outside continued.
Hundreds had died beyond the walls.
Of the hundred who survived and returned, half were badly wounded.
Some swore they would kill Park Cheol-gu if they ever met him again.
But the chance of that was small.
There was almost no chance they would even leave this prison alive.
Even if they did—
he would accuse them of insubordination.
Yeong-woo had learned something about war.
Bad feelings almost always came true.
Especially on battlefields.
Small men always used the same tricks.
They feared what others might see.
They feared what would be written in the reports sent upward.
Numbers were exaggerated.
Losses hidden.
Facts omitted.
That was nothing new.
Would they truly imprison soldiers who had fought outside the walls and barely survived?
Yes.
Because they were afraid.
More afraid of internal judgment than of the enemy outside.
That was the kind of man Park Cheol-gu was.
Men without command ability were the most dangerous.
No one followed them.
Their orders carried no weight.
They devised useless strategies.
Then, when those strategies failed—
they blamed the men beneath them.
And in the reports they would write:
The plan was sound.
Support was sufficient.
The soldiers failed.