The wall was cold.
The stones, heated by the day, had already lost their warmth. Cold seeped up through the soles of his feet. The soldier stood with his spear planted, staring down beyond the walls. Each time the wind passed, the banners sagged like wet cloth.
There were fires below.
Many of them.Not too many. Not too few.
The fires outside the walls were not disorderly. They did not flare unevenly, nor did they scatter. They were set in place—orderly, deliberate—as if they had always been there. That, the soldier felt, was what made them ominous.
"They won't go out,"the man beside him muttered.
He did not answer.
The fires did not move.There were scarcely any shadows of men.
Yet the smell rose.
Meat.
The smell of blood and fat mingled together—a smell that clawed at an empty stomach. The soldier swallowed without thinking.
And in that moment, he hated himself.
We are inside the fortress.There is grain. There are arrows.This place will not fall easily.
Then why—do their fires look so at ease?
Inside the walls, it was quiet.Too quiet.
After the defeat, the commander had ordered the gates shut and silence kept. No drums were sounded. No wine was allowed. Soldiers held their posts without a word. Some slept without removing their armor; some did not sleep at all.
The soldier looked again at the fires.
They were calling.
Come out.Endure, if you can.We are still here.
They said none of this aloud.But the fire said it all the same.
"They're not preparing an assault?"someone asked from behind.
He shook his head."No… they're waiting."
"For what?"
He chose his words carefully."For us to make the first mistake."
The wind stirred.The flames wavered.
But they did not diminish.
Watching the fires, the soldier remembered the defeat earlier that day: horses collapsing in dust, spears snapping, the sudden silence where drums had been—
—and arrows he never saw.
They are not rushing us.
That was the most terrifying truth.
There was still enough grain inside the walls.But the human heart was another matter.
Someone, staring at those fires, would think:If they are that calm, are we truly the ones surrounded?
Someone would count through the night—how many days they could last, who would die first.
And someone—where no one could see—would begin to imagine the gate.
The soldier tightened his grip on the spear.Sweat beaded in his palm.
Outside, the fires showed no sign of dying down.As if this night would never end.
Only then did he understand.
Those were not the fires of a siege.
They were the fires of doubt.
On the wall, he whispered to himself,"…They're not trying to starve us."
The wind swallowed his words.
The fires continued to burn.
*
That night, the stars were unnervingly clear.
There was almost no wind, and the campfires below the wall cast a faint glow against the stone. The silence pressed against the ears.
Most soldiers, soaked in exhaustion, slept. Some snored under the haze of drink.
Seongjin did not sleep.
The stillness beneath the sky felt as though it were hiding something.
Then—
Tak.Tak-tak-tak-tak—
Something rolled. The sound scraped through the night—half like an animal's cry, half like iron striking iron.
Then—
Thud.
The gate of Yoyang Fortress shuddered.
And opened—without a sound.
No banners.No war cries.
Cavalry poured out like a black tide.
At the same instant, every torch outside the walls went dark.
That moment marked the beginning of dawn.
"Enemy!"A shout tore through the night.
Iron crashed against iron. Horses screamed. Men shouted all at once. Fire burst up at the edge of the camp. Though there was no wind, the flames spread.
Oil.
It had been poured in advance.
Seongjin sprang up, shouting,"Cavalry! North side!"
But it was already too late.
The enemy vanguard smashed through the barricades and surged inside.
Then O Jincheol's voice cut through the chaos.
"It's the empty sector! There—the empty sector!"
Something locked into place in Seongjin's mind.
In the darkness—
Flash.
A crossbow flare.
A signal.
Soldiers sprinted to positions prepared for firing.
Above them, Hwang Hyeonpil's voice ripped through the air.
"Fire!"
There was no time to hesitate.
The direction was unclear.That place—
—had been an allied camp.
And yet—
Whish— whish-whish-whish—!
Iron bolts flew from all sides.
Hundreds of heavy crossbows poured death down onto the enemy vanguard rushing into the "empty" camp.
Horses screamed.Men tangled and fell—into fire, into pits, into death.
The dawn air grew thick with blood and burning oil.
"Don't stop!"Hwang Hyeonpil's voice split the darkness.
Seongjin seized a nearby crossbow and drew the string.
An enemy rider collapsed before his eyes.
Only then did he see it.
That place had never been empty.
It was a trap.
The night assault had struck like a tongue of flame—and shattered brilliantly beneath a rain of iron.
Jing—Jing—
The signal gong rang. The firing ceased.
Silence returned.
But it was soaked in blood and ash.
O Jincheol panted as he spoke."See… that's why they call him a master of strategy."
Staring beyond the walls, he muttered,"He used us as bait, sure. But—he set a trap around that bait."
Seongjin had no words.
The relief of survival was lighter than the weight of realizing this had all been drawn in advance.
"How… did he know they'd come out?" Seongjin asked.
O Jincheol gave a short laugh."A man who never loses. An undefeated commander."
Seongjin's eyes widened."…Baekin Army."
"Hey, hey. Is he your friend or something?" O Jincheol scoffed. "The Great General, I mean."
At that moment, flames flared again atop the walls.
Inside Yoyang Fortress, the enemy was not yet extinguished.
The fire dyed the dawn sky red.
And Seongjin understood—
This fight was not over.
It had, at last, truly begun.