Dawn broke.

The conscripts spent the night huddled together on the floor of a large storage hall, spreading handfuls of straw over thin mats.

Naturally, they shivered in the cold and barely managed to doze off in a curled position. Yet no one complained.

“Ugh…”

Unlike the others, the boy—Makjeong—slept deeply for the first time in a long while.

Compared to the harsh month he had spent wandering through the mountains, this place felt like a palace.

There were no biting winds swirling through the valleys or beasts rustling in the dark, ready to pounce.

Instead, the warmth of a hundred bodies crammed together felt almost comforting.

With the added cushion of straw mats and a layer of hay on top, it was as if he were wrapped in a thick blanket.

On top of that, Makjeong had eaten hot food the night before—something he hadn’t done in what felt like forever. With his stomach full, he even drooled in his sleep.

—Bang!

“Wake up!”

Before the sun had fully risen, the soldiers stormed in, shouting and prodding the conscripts awake with their spear shafts.

The men groaned and stumbled to their feet, their hair sticking out wildly and their clothes still wrinkled.

“Ugh, that was a good night’s sleep…”

Makjeong scratched his face with fingernails blackened from grime. Sleeping in such filth had left his body crawling with lice, and now he itched all over.

“Everyone, get outside! Form ten lines!”

The soldiers did another headcount once the conscripts were lined up. After that, they were given breakfast.

The meal was nothing more than boiled millet mashed into lumps and served with warm water, but no one complained. They accepted it gratefully, sitting down wherever they could find space to eat.

Despite the morning chill, the conscripts quickly devoured their small portions. The soldiers then handed out straw sandals—the only supplies the army seemed willing to spare.

‘It’s been a while since I wore shoes.’

Makjeong slipped his feet into the sandals, flexing his toes against the rough texture.

Over the past month, he had lived like a wild animal, tearing through the forest barefoot. His soles had split open, healed, and split again.

It was a miracle they hadn’t gotten infected despite his malnourishment.

Now, with the sandals on, the ground felt unbelievably soft.

‘So this is what straw sandals feel like… If I’d had even ten pairs of these, I might’ve made it all the way to Shang Kingdom by now.’

When he was still Han Yegum, he had never worn anything as crude as straw sandals.

Who would have dared put such things on the youngest son of General Han Jin?

As Makjeong quietly marveled at the sandals, grumbling voices drifted from nearby.

“What the hell is this? They’re sending us to fight, and they won’t even give us a single spear? Are we just meat shields?”

The complaint came from a large, broad-shouldered man standing beside him.

“They probably think we’ll run if they give us weapons. Maybe they’ll hand them out once we reach the battlefield.”

This time, it was a lean and sharp-looking man who answered. The two of them continued muttering to each other, careful to keep their voices low.

“Still, this is too much. We’re not prisoners, are we? What’s your name?”

“Yeopchi.”

The larger man, who had called himself Gaesang, glanced around to make sure the soldiers weren’t listening before leaning closer to Yeopchi.

“We’re heading east, right?”

“Of course. The Shang bastards invaded from there, so that’s where we’re going.”

“You look like you’ve handled a blade before.”

Gaesang’s eyes roamed over Yeopchi’s lean, wiry frame, sizing him up.

Yeopchi’s sharp features and piercing gaze made it obvious—he wasn’t just some ordinary laborer.

“Yeah, I know how to swing whatever’s in my hand. Heh.”

Yeopchi’s casual reply suggested he’d fought before, though he left out the details.

“What about you?”

Yeopchi nodded toward Gaesang.

The larger man forced a smile and scratched his head.

“Me? I just chopped wood for a living. Haha.”

But Yeopchi didn’t buy it. He stared at Gaesang like he’d just heard the world’s worst lie.

Gaesang quickly shifted his attention and tapped Makjeong’s arm.

“Hey, kid. You look pretty young. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

Makjeong didn’t like Gaesang’s tone, but he decided it wouldn’t hurt to stay on the good side of someone who looked strong.

“Seventeen? Seventeen, huh… Damn. You should’ve stayed home and shoveled dung or chopped wood instead of ending up in a place like this.”

“Like I had a choice. I got caught and dragged here.”

“Let me guess—you were stealing, right?”

Strictly speaking, Makjeong had been caught stealing food. But he didn’t feel like sharing the details.

“I was living alone in the mountains. They brought me in because I didn’t have papers. Tsk.”

“No parents or siblings?”

“No. They all died a few years ago.”

“Damn. That’s rough.”

Makjeong started to say something but stopped himself.

He never thought he’d hear someone call him “rough” or “pitiful.”

If someone had said that back when he was Han Yegum, the bodyguard standing next to him would’ve beaten them half to death before he even had a chance to react.

But now, he had lost his entire family—and even those who cared for him were gone.

By the time he had recovered from the shock, he had been hiding in a cold, rocky crevice, trembling from hunger and pain.

After that, he hadn’t had time to grieve. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

He was pitiful. Anyone could see it.

But every time that thought crossed his mind, he remembered his sword instructor, Master Jangjo.

—Yegum. If you see yourself as pathetic, you’ll become pathetic. A man should face any hardship head-on and enjoy the challenge. Believe in yourself, and one day, you’ll be strong—unbreakable, like your father.

Makjeong had clung to those words, even when he was stumbling through the mountains, starving and exhausted.

‘There’s no way my father raised a weakling.’

He smirked coldly and shook his head.

“What’s pitiful is dying in battle. That won’t be me. I won’t die—I’ll kill if I have to, but I won’t die.”

Gaesang raised an eyebrow at the scrawny, malnourished boy’s bold words.

If the soldiers hadn’t been watching, he would’ve laughed out loud. Instead, he held it in, shoulders shaking.

Yeopchi also smirked but didn’t say anything. He knew from experience—no one could predict who would survive the battlefield.

Just then, the officer returned with the soldiers.

“All right! From now on, you’re the reinforcements! We’re moving out immediately. No talking along the way! Understood?!”

“Yes, sir!”

The conscripts’ responses were weak and scattered, but the officer didn’t seem to care.

He immediately ordered the soldiers to form the conscripts into neat lines and prepare for departure.

For the soldiers, the sooner they delivered these recruits to the battlefield, the sooner they could return. Wasting time wasn’t an option.

“You there! You’re in charge of the carts. Hurry up and get over here!”

Shouting orders, the soldiers lined up the conscripts and led them out of the barracks.

The reinforcement unit consisted of over a hundred conscripts, twenty soldiers, and fifteen carts. They formed a long column and began marching through the streets of Myeonseong.

Despite being soldiers sent to fight for the U Kingdom, the conscripts couldn’t hold their heads high.

Without armor, helmets, swords, or spears—just ragged clothes—they looked more like cattle being led to slaughter than warriors heading to battle.

Makjeong walked among them, his steps heavy.

As they passed under the eastern gate of the city, he slowed down and took a deep breath.

The sunlight filtering through the gate seemed to wrap around his arms, pulling him back.

‘I’ll never return to this city. No matter what, I’ll escape to Shang Kingdom. Goodbye, U Kingdom… forever.’

Even as he resolved to leave it all behind, Makjeong couldn’t help but glance back at the gate.

Perhaps he wanted to take one last look at the city he would never see again.

But soon, he turned away and marched toward the frontlines, where an uncertain fate awaited him.

*****

They walked and walked.

Once outside the city, the road quickly narrowed and became rough, but Makjeong didn’t mind.

Compared to the treacherous mountain paths he had navigated for a month, this was easy.

What worried him was his body.

Weeks of hunger and cold had left him weakened, and now the strain of marching was starting to show.

At first, he thought it was just exhaustion, but as they continued, he realized it was something more.

‘Damn it… My body’s worse than I thought. What if we’re thrown into battle as soon as we arrive? What if I die before I even get the chance to run away?’

He needed time—time to recover.

The meals, however small, and the straw mats for sleeping had given him some hope.

If he could just buy a little more time, he might be able to regain his strength.

But could he really expect such luck on a battlefield?

‘Focus on breathing… Deep, steady breaths. Breathing can make a strong man weak—or a weak man strong.’

Makjeong forced himself to stay calm.

Recalling the lessons of his sword master, Jangjo, he focused on controlling his breath and calming his mind.

No matter how cruel fate was, Makjeong had already vowed to carve out his own path.

By afternoon, the march continued.

Makjeong took turns with others, helping to guide the oxen pulling the carts.

He thought back to when he had ridden horses as Han Yegum.

Now, he was walking beside an ox, holding its reins. The stark difference weighed on him, but he quickly shook off the thought.

He repeated Master Jangjo’s words to himself, steadying his resolve.

When the sun dipped toward the western horizon, the officer finally gave the order to stop.

“Frontline halt! We camp here tonight! Everyone, gather around! Team leaders, check your numbers!”

“Line up! Count off from the front!”

“Bring the carts over here! Didn’t you hear me? Move!”

After a brief commotion, the soldiers finished organizing the camp.

They stacked the carts together and cleared the area of underbrush to make space for sleeping and firewood.

Once the preparations were complete, the conscripts lined up to receive their rations.

“Damn it. We’re no better than beggars.”

Gaesang grumbled as he sat down next to Makjeong and Yeopchi.

The rations were just balls of boiled grain—about the size of a fist.

It wasn’t nearly enough to fill their stomachs, but for Makjeong, it was more than enough.

His month of living like a fugitive had already lowered his standards to that of a beggar.

Slurp.

Makjeong devoured his portion and licked his fingers clean.

Yeopchi, who had been watching, broke off a small piece of his own ration and handed it to him.

“Here. Eat this too.”

“What?”

Makjeong looked at him in surprise.

Food was precious. They needed all the energy they could get to fight—or to run.

Yet Yeopchi was offering him some of his share.

“We’ll eat better once we reach the battlefield. But we might be thrown into a fight the moment we get there, so you need to recover as much as possible.”

Makjeong realized Yeopchi had been worried about him.

His appearance alone—battered and starved—made it clear he wasn’t in good shape.

“…Thank you.”

Grateful, Makjeong accepted the food.

Even if it was just a bite, it felt like a lifeline.

“Hey. I’m bigger than you, so I can’t give you much. I’ll need my strength to keep walking tomorrow.”

Gaesang, too, broke off a small piece and handed it over.

“Thanks.”

Makjeong bowed his head and ate it in one bite.

It wasn’t much, but it was the first act of kindness he’d received since losing everything.

And somehow, it eased the tightness in his chest, loosening the knot of fear and despair.

*****

That night, the conscripts pulled out straw mats from the carts and laid them down on the ground.

As darkness fell, the only sounds were the snores of exhausted men.

Makjeong lay down but kept his eyes open, scanning the camp.

Soldiers stood guard outside the circle of conscripts, their spears glinting in the firelight.

‘Could I escape…?’

Makjeong calculated his odds.

He could run.

But his body wasn’t ready.

Even if he escaped the soldiers, he’d be defenseless in the wilderness—hungry, weak, and easy prey.

The archers worried him most.

If he stumbled while fleeing, an arrow in the back was almost guaranteed.

‘Forget it… Even if I escape, I’ll just starve to death in the mountains. I guess I’ll have to survive long enough to reach the battlefield first. Damn it…’

Sighing, Makjeong closed his eyes.

He didn’t know what trials awaited him, but for now, his priority was clear—recover, survive, and endure.