Training continued the entire way.
Whenever the column halted, no one said rest.Instead, the same command always came.
"Form ranks."
A brief stop was not rest.It was preparation for the next movement.
"Dress the line!""Unload equipment!"
Before they could even straighten their backs, soldiers were already untying the carts. Horses' breath mingled harshly. After long hours of marching, equipment crusted with sweat and dust felt twice as heavy as before. Wet leather straps clung to their palms; after pulling them again and again, skin peeled away.
"Fire-ready within half a gak!"
The order flew.
Soldiers fumbled open quivers and pulled out the heavy crossbows. Ropes tied down during the march refused to come loose. The harder fingers tugged, the more dust and grit flew into their eyes.
"Faster!""Move!"
The commander's voice rang like iron. Horses pinned their ears; shoulders flinched by instinct.
"Firing stance!"
The soldiers dropped to one knee with their crossbows.
The moment knees struck the dry ground, dust burst upward.
"Load!""Loaded!""Fire!"
With the short command, steel cords were drawn tight.
Dozens of bolts flew at once. The sound of torn air cut across the field. Arrows skimmed past or missed entirely, leaving only dust and wind behind.
"Reload!""Too slow!"
With each repetition, breath grew shorter. Arms trembled; feeling dulled at the fingertips. Someone misseated a string and sliced a finger. Blood mixed with sweat, dust sticking to it.
Still, the commands did not stop.
"Dress the line!""Advance again!"
Soldiers hauled up their gear and mounted. With numb fingers unable to tie knots properly, they ran anyway.
Someone gasped and muttered,
"Is this training… or a rehearsal for dying?"
Another answered flatly,
"At this point, can you even tell the difference?"
Then the wind rose.
The smell of iron scattered through the dust.
Seongjin tightened the reins and drew a breath.
The smell was familiar—the smell of his father's equipment from long ago. Something in the center of his chest throbbed faintly.
Following this smell…his father must have gone all the way out there, too.
He did not stop his horse.
When the order came, he ran again. Breath flooded his chest, vision blurring, but his legs did not stop.
From within the dust, Hwang Hyeon-pil's voice cracked.
"Hold formation!""Do not slow!"
Wherever the sound passed, soldiers' shadows stretched long.
When training finally ended, the evening sky was already burning red.
Someone said quietly,
"At this rate, even if the real fight comes…there won't be time to dodge."
Seongjin did not answer.
On the back of his hand, blood and dust were caked together.
Several rounds of firing drills repeated during the march—they were not practice, but a sign that the enemy was already near. Perhaps they would fight the real battle as if it were training. He realized he was growing accustomed to the intention laid bare before him.
And that realization unsettled him more than the drills themselves.