Warlord Han Yegum

Makjeong took a deep breath and placed his hand on Ayong’s neck, massaging it firmly. If this could help Ayong calm down, that would be ideal.
"Hyung... Makjeong hyung..."
Ayong’s eyes, fixed on Makjeong, looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

"Ayong, it’s okay. Our hyungs are in front of us, and I’m right beside you. We’ll protect you, so don’t be scared."
"Hhhuuuk…"
— Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack.

But Ayong's trembling didn’t stop, his suppressed whimpers slipping out as he shuddered.
At that moment, a voice rang out from somewhere unseen.
"All troops, hear me—!"

"If we hold out just one more day, the enemy will be pushed even further to their limits! They’ve barely been sitting here for a day or two! Today—! We will show them the might of U, and make them regret ever setting foot on this battlefield—!!"
— Waaah—!
"WUWAAAAAH!!"

The moment the commander’s speech ended, the military officers raised their fists and roared, and in response, the three thousand soldiers followed suit with a thunderous battle cry.
"Anyone who brings me the heads of Hoh Sang or Byeok Tae—will receive a reward of 100 mun! Remember that! The bounty is a full 100 mun—!!"
"UWAAAAAA—!!"

In truth, most of the soldiers couldn’t even hear what the commander was yelling, but thanks to Na Jeong and the other officers repeating the message loudly, they managed to grasp the key points.
The Blaze Ridge reinforcements had no idea who Hoh Sang or Byeok Tae were, and even if they came, none of them were confident in taking them down. But still, they shouted along with the others with all their might.
Because in this madness, screaming like lunatics was the only way to chase away at least some of the fear.

"Uaaah…!"
Even the youngest, Ayong, attempted to yell at the top of his lungs, but he was so tense that his throat tightened, making it difficult for any sound to come out.
Still, he had to keep trying. The more he screamed, the more he could loosen the muscles stiffened from tension.
If one's body locked up before a fight, they'd be an easy target for an enemy’s spear or sword. How could someone dodge or block properly if their body wouldn’t move?

This was exactly why the commanders and officers made them shout like this before a battle.
The roar of three thousand men lifted their spirits.
Even if the battle cries were forced, the sheer vibrations of that collective voice loosened their rigid bodies.

And beyond just physical preparation, the continued war cries across both sides of White Plains were a battle of morale and momentum.
"UAAAAAH—KAHK!"
"Aooh—my throat! It’s completely shot…! These bastards should hurry up and attack already, my throat’s killing me…!"

Madal groaned, his throat aching from all the shouting. Frustrated, he cursed loudly, making Makjeong grin.
Ease.
A sense of ease on the battlefield had a strange effect—it didn’t just help oneself, but also gave strength to those around them.

If even the commander could carry himself with that kind of ease…
‘Father must have been calm before battle too, right?’
Makjeong had never seen nor heard of how his father, General Han Jin, carried himself on the battlefield. But in his mind, he imagined his father standing strong, unwavering.

A composure only possessed by the truly powerful.
A warrior who could smile even with enemies before him.
Makjeong wanted to have that same composure.

‘First, let’s survive this battle…! Survive and get through this! I will get through this!’
Makjeong once again checked the weighty sword at his waist, the spear in his hand, and the joints of his armor. No amount of preparation was ever too much when it came to his gear.
Then, noticing Ayong looking as if he were about to faint, he readjusted the younger boy’s helmet, tightening the straps before giving his back a firm slap.

But… Ayong didn’t even notice Makjeong fixing his helmet.
His pale face was drenched in cold sweat, his breathing shallow, and his teeth chattered audibly despite his clenched jaw.
"Ayong…"

"M-Makjeong… I… I think I’m going to die…!"
Now even Deokheung was visibly uneasy. He struggled to even stand upright on his own, gripping his spear tightly with both hands to support himself.
"Deokheung! We’re not gonna die! Don’t worry! You and I fought well back at Blaze Ridge, didn’t we?!"

Whether he was saying it for Deokheung or for himself, Makjeong forcefully encouraged him, slamming his back firmly.
And then—
— Bwoooooooo—

A deep horn sounded in the distance, signaling movement.
A heavy tremor followed.
The Shang army had begun their advance.

The U forces started moving in response.
"Unrivaled! Left Army—! Advance—!"
"Un! Rivaled! Left! Army! AAAAAAH—!"

With a powerful battle cry, the Left Army of U began marching forward. No one wanted to move forward, but with strict military orders in place, there was no choice.
Following them, the Right Army advanced, and then the Center Army slowly followed.
Now, with the reserves left alone at the back, the full scope of the battlefield before them became even clearer.

White Plains was vast, so they couldn’t simply charge straight into the enemy lines. They had to maintain their formation while advancing, then, once close enough, charge forward with a final war cry.
Even as they marched, they continued shouting and chanting to maintain morale.
For a moment, Makjeong watched the Center Army gradually pulling away, wondering how he would feel if he were among them.

But he quickly dismissed the thought.
Whether they fought first or later, it made no difference.
‘Fighting earlier or later doesn’t decide whether I live or die!’

Makjeong swore he wouldn’t let himself think weak thoughts.
‘How fiercely I fight, how determined I am to survive—that’s what decides whether I live, even in a place where I should die!’
He refused to let the fear from Ayong, Deokheung, or the other soldiers infect him.

‘My father was the general of generals! If things had gone as they should have, I would be at the very front of the Center Army as an officer right now! If I let fear take over, I’ll only shrink away and be left behind! I am Han Yegum, the son of General Han Jin!’
"Squad Leader!"
Hearing Makjeong’s voice, Nam Pae turned around.

"Squad Leader! If I kill all the enemies this time, can I become an officer?"
"What?!"
— Smirk.

Nam Pae, Madal, Gaesang, and Yeopchi couldn’t help but smile at Makjeong’s sudden confidence.
In this desperate moment, the youngest of them all was the one showing the courage and composure they all needed.
"Hah—! Madal, you hear that? Looks like we’ll have to save Makjeong a few more times if we want him to make it to officer rank. Ugh—how annoying!"

"This time we’ll have to save him at least ten times, huh?! Makjeong, you better not turn your back on us once you become an officer!"
"Of course not!"
 

*****
"Rapid March—!!"
At the officer’s command, the soldiers quickened their pace. At the same time, they tilted their weapons forward, gripping them firmly.

— Clack, clack, clack, clack!
As thousands of soldiers from both sides advanced at a rapid march, the very ground of White Plains trembled. The distance between them was now close enough to make out the expressions on their enemies’ faces—their sharp, unyielding gazes and the gleaming edges of their spears were clearly visible.
"All troops! Charge—!!"

"UWAAAAAH—!!"
With weapons pointed forward, the soldiers from both armies roared at the top of their lungs, running toward one another, trying to drown their fear in the sound of their own battle cries.
"Shields—!!"

Even without an officer’s command, the soldiers in the front line instinctively raised their shields, bracing for impact.
— Thwack! Thud! Crack!
Arrows rained down with terrifying force, striking the shields. Some shafts pierced straight through the wooden surfaces, embedding themselves into the hands gripping the handles. Arrows fired in a direct trajectory were powerful enough to make even shield-bearers momentarily falter.

For the soldiers behind the shield-bearers, the arcing rain of arrows brought even worse consequences.
— Whizz! Thunk! Pshhk! Crack! Twang!
The sky darkened for a brief moment as a storm of arrows fell upon the soldiers, striking helmets, shoulders, and exposed parts of their bodies.

The armor, worn thin from countless battles, was no match for the sheer force of the arrows. The heavy, sharp arrowheads tore through rusted metal plating, punching into flesh.
"Kuheuk!"
A soldier clutched at the arrow lodged deep in his chest as he collapsed forward.

But no one could afford to help him.
Instead, the rush of soldiers behind him trampled over his fallen body, pushing forward mindlessly. The weight of their boots drove the embedded arrow even deeper into his body.
"Impact—!!"

— CRASH!!
The moment both armies collided, the battlefield erupted in chaos.
Shields clashed against shields, shields smashed against armor, and spears and swords struck one another in a deafening cacophony.

The soldiers, having sprinted at full speed, crashed into their foes with tremendous force. Some shield-bearers were knocked off balance and shoved backward, while others lost their footing entirely and were trampled.
And for those who fell—
The enemy shield-bearers mercilessly slammed the bottom edges of their shields down on them.

— Crunch! Crack!
The sickening sound of bones snapping filled the air, yet the brutal strikes didn’t stop.
"Move aside—!"

A massive axe swung down toward one of the shield-bearers.
— CLANG!
A soldier had just raised his shield to crush a fallen enemy when an axe struck down, forcing him to quickly raise his guard.

— CLANG! CLANG!
The axe-wielding soldiers showed no hesitation. Their goal wasn’t simply to push back the shields but to split them apart entirely.
— WHACK! WHACK!

"AARGH!"
A shield splintered into nothing more than shards of wood, and the soldier holding it was left defenseless. His arm was severed in one clean stroke by the axe’s brutal force.
Finally, the axe-wielding soldier had broken through a defensive line. Just as he lifted his weapon to strike his next opponent—

A spear shot forward, driving straight into his right eye.
"KYAAAAAK—!!"
— Squelch!

As the spear was yanked back, the sound of tearing flesh followed.
Even as the wounded soldier shrieked and stumbled, no one moved to help him.
The moment he lowered his head in agony, another spear was driven into his chest.

His comrades behind him merely used his dying body as a makeshift shield, thrusting their weapons forward at the enemy.
With the first clash, both sides suffered heavy casualties. Blood and bodies piled up within minutes.
Yet neither side faltered.

They pressed on, hacking and stabbing, each unit desperately trying to maintain formation.
Their survival depended on it.
If their formation collapsed and the enemy broke through, it would be a slaughter.

"First Squad! Third Squad! Fall back! Second Squad! Fourth Squad! Move up—!"
The officers quickly assessed the losses and rotated the frontline troops, pulling back the units that had taken the most damage and pushing forward those who had been fighting in the rear.
The battle on White Plains had now fully transitioned into formation warfare—a test of endurance, strategy, and discipline.

Victory would depend on who could break the enemy’s lines first.
And defeat would mean death.