When Seungwan brought up the matter to Jongin, he became deep in thought without a reply for a while, but then became extremely perplexed. 

“Why would you promise him the impossible, my lord?”

Seungwan was surprised. “You think this is impossible?”

“Short of deceiving both the court and the gentries at once, I see no other way. And since that is not possible, then only Heaven can compel them to pay their debts.”

“Oh no,” said Seungwan, and both of them sat down to place their heads in their palms. “What now? I have already said you could give him a strategem, and if you do not, he will be disappointed. Besides, if the gentries are not brought to heel, this campaign will be doomed from its inception.”

“I am well aware of that, my lord. The Headman was right; only violence is the answer. Only how much to apply, and how justly it is applied, is the question here. I have no strategem or trick to offer him, unless an opportunity presents itself — and that is only up to the will of Heaven.”

And thus it was so. Jinki was more than willing to act tyrannically, but only to the soldiery. For the gentries and civil officials, he could do nothing without criminal charges or proof of crimes. Failing which, bringing anyone to justice without the supervision of a civil court would only make him a pariah in the eyes of the court and even the King, and he would be summoned back to Anju to be disciplined. Thus the General was left in a state of limbo between action and inaction, leaving him with only one option left: to extort from the peasantry. But the peasantry of Silsa could not offer enough for half of his army’s needs; indeed, the exertion of extorting and pillaging from them would probably outweigh whatever they could take. Were he in a richer region such as Wiwon, where there were even divides between the rich and poor peasants, Jinki could have done the same as he had before the confrontation with Mohe, but in Ansu the nobles were powerful and strangled the flows of commerce and industry in their hands, so anything of value could only be found in their coffers and vaults. 

Another week passed, during which the royal troops continued making their preparations. All was calm and uneasy in Silsa; the disquiet only grew with ominous clouds that covered the sky, blocking the light of the sun and casting a low gloom over the land. Spring was beginning earnestly, but it was getting terribly hot for spring. In the woods, instead of being cool, the air was so thick and humid that men and horses could not breathe properly. Refugees streaming through the paths fell at every step, or when they encountered a body of water rushed towards it with no regard for others. Horses too began to fall, especially the huge mounts of the heavy cavalry. The nights became unbearable due to the humidity and the overpowering stench of smoke and pitch and tar.

On the seventh day the heat became like that of summer, and the horses and oxen began to snort and bellow restlessly, as if they foresaw a danger that men could not sense. 

“They smell blood!” the fugitives in Silsa said. “The rebels are coming! There will be a battle!”

At these words the women lamented, and then a disturbance set in the locals; the people began packing their belongings and drawing up their carts to carry off everything of value towards the directions of the four winds. But men sent by the General soon restored order, and scouts were sent out on all sides to identify the cause of the unnatural heat. They soon came back with the same report:

“The woods are on fire.”

Jinki did not allow himself to be disturbed by this. “A villainous method, for sure, but in vain. They are only burning their incendiaries, but since the snow has only just melted, no great amount of trees can be torched.”

But in the nighttime the skies flickered with red and orange as far as the eye could see. Monks sang sacred hymns from dawn to dusk. Terrified wild beasts took refuge on the road and followed the peasants. The wind blew in the smoke, which bit the eyes and clogged up the nostrils. The light of the sun could not pierce the clouds, and the stars were covered from view. 

Meanwhile news came that Yifan was marching his main force towards Singiri once more, from Taein. The exact number was unknown, but scouts affirmed that he was still far away and moving very slowly. 

Hyukjae, standing on the battlements of Silsa and looking at the flames in the west, remembered his younger days, when he looked upon similar scenes created by Canghali, and by his father Obder, and by Ibak Khan who was the last of the line of Tuhglugh Timur. 

“This is a tactic of the great Datar and Tegrek hosts,” he told Ryujin, who happened to be near him. “They will burn vast stretches of land and forest to create a great darkness over the land with the smoke. Their bonfires rage just beyond the horizon and are fanned in such a way as to create pillars of flame towering into the heavens. If these were Datars, there would also be a dreadful cacophony of war-horns, fiddles, and oxen-hide drums to accompany their march. One horn means that one of their riders has returned; two means that a warband is gathering; three horns heralds a great host; and four horns signal the hunger of their ruinous gods. Those who are unfamiliar with the ways of the steppe would behold the advance of their enemy, and think that the legions of hell themselves were issuing forth for the commencement of the End Times. And for the Datars, the End Times have already come for them.”

Ryujin trembled a little when she heard that. “But it is so quiet,” said she. “Sometimes I wish that there were Datar horns; then at least I would know where the enemy is.”

“This is the deep breath before the plunge; the calm before the storm. Our enemy is ready; his full strength is gathered: not only the hordes of murdering and thieving serfs, but trained soldiers as well. Traitors of the Crown armies, retinues of nobles in the rebellion, and mercenaries who follow where the spoils of war go. All who answer the call of the false Sage will be with Yifan. And it is here, where the last of the might of the King is stationed, where his hammer will fall hardest, for the annihilation of the royal army will force our King to come to terms of humiliation. If Silsa falls, the last defence before the Jangseong will be gone. The Sage will have a clear road into Anju.”

“Is there any hope of defeating him?” asked Ryujin. 

Hyukjae had no easy answer, but he said, “Oh, ye of small faith! Anything might happen. And Lord Seungwan is with us; that should count for something.”

“And Lord Taemin too,” added Ryujin. “Surely he would not let the rebels march towards the Jangseong unimpeded.”

“So you see that the road is not dark, even if the sun does not shine on it. There will be a downpour soon, but to whom victory inclines towards, only Heaven knows. And one must have faith in oneself, otherwise how can you ever have faith in the Divine?”

Ryujin found some comfort in Hyukjae’s words, knowing that worry and concern were futile at this point. Faith was the answer to the heralding of the End Times; the righteous and virtuous would undoubtedly triumph over wickedness and blasphemy. 

But the next day an unexpected visitor arrived with great haste from the direction of Milseonyang. She was the daughter of an old family attendant of the House of Son, Hwang Yeji, whom Seungwan had left in charge of Okcheon. Seungwan received the grievously debilitated woman urgently, even though in her heart there was a falling weight, as she knew that Yeji was bringing the worst news Seungwan could expect now. 

Great consternation was caused when, pressed by the Prince for news of Haneulga, Yeji answered: “I deserve death, my lord! Okcheon has fallen!”

“To whom?”

“Donghae of Temur’s Fall! He attacked with artillery and a regiment of Sehu