It had been many days of hard riding, once Seonggu learned from the refugees of the royal embassy — freshly disgraced from the defeat of negotiations with the Sage. This was how he had learned that the full might of the Sage, consisting of innumerable hosts and brought to the highest peaks of fervour, was about to be unleashed upon the single city of Silsa. From the ambassadors he also learned of the true extent of the insurmountable deprivations and difficulties faced by his General of the Armies in taking up arms against the Sage. He cursed himself for allowing himself to remain ignorant in Anju, surrounded by those who harboured ill will for the General instead of men who were strong of character and integrity. 

“Too long have the kings of my line allowed themselves to be blinded and deafened by ill counsel,” thought Seonggu to himself. “This is why everything has come to this.”

Against the reservations of his officers, the King ordered for his army to march with all haste to Silsa, for ‘the troops of the state have gone too long without the protection of their only lord’. Traversing ruined lands and barren roads, the approach of the King’s army went unheard of by the rebellion, for its attention was focused singly on their foe in Silsa; not once did the Sage ever stop to consider if anyone other than distant Taemin would come to the relief of this insignificant city in the woods of Ansu. Not a single word was heard of this new force that was riding day and night past the Jangseong and into the great chasm beyond Gunju Castle where all of the authority of the Sindeok had wilted into blackness, like petals on a rose. The fires around Silsa became visible to the King when he was only two days away from the city, and again his officers quailed and asked him to at least enlist the help of Lord Taemin, for the fires stretched from the west to east and extended farther than even the orange hue of dawn before the sunrise. But Seonggu would have none of it. He had fixed in his mind, much like Jinki, to struggle with the heretic to the very end in one cataclysmic confrontation, the outcome of which would decide the ultimate fate of the nation. 

The rebels did not notice at first that the King was near. But they saw a few signs. To them it appeared as if the trees atop the hill to the north of the city were moving, even without the wind. Then the dust-clouds appeared overhead, which heralded the approach of a great army; but the wind had also picked up, and not much was thought of it. 

It was not until the deep horns were sounding through the trees that the Sage finally thought to pick up his spyglass and look in the direction of the north. 

“No! It cannot be!”

The banner of the House of Go — a winged horse underneath seven shining stars — was emerging from the trees. With it was the crowned black eagle, on whose wings were embroidered the escutcheons of all the noble houses of the realm — the golden standard of the King and the royal power. And behind it followed the bear and the bull of the bleeding banner of the Asadal tribe. None other than the King could carry all three of these grave standards in a single force. 

Horns, horns, horns. Off the walls of Silsa they echoed. From the forest of trunks and logs came a forest of lances and flowing banners. They met with no opposition as they came between the fires of the siege and the vast fields to the north of the city. A smell of burning was in the air along with the shadow of death. The King looked at the agony of the city and was stricken by anguish. 

Is it too late? Had he failed even in this? 

A great weight and horror settled upon him. Seonggu’s shoulders shrank down, and the years he had suffered in his short reign came back to haunt him. 

Too late. Too late was worse than never. It had all come to this now. 

But then he felt it at last: a tiny change in the wind. A faint light was glimmering through the dense smoke of the fires. 

“There is a noble banner flying atop the citadel,” said Lord Sinhwi, who was looking through a spyglass. “I think it is that of the late Commissioner of the Northwest.”

The lord of Haneulga still defended herself. And if a minor lord like her had not forsaken herself, why should Seonggu, with his seven thousand faithful comrades, forsake himself?

At this thought the King suddenly sprang erect. Tall and proudly he cut a kingly figure in his silver armour, standing in his stirrups. He issued orders to his commanders quickly: to set up an artillery battery, to form his squadrons into columns, to give marching orders towards the enemy. Once all this was done, Seonggu, positioning himself in front of his troops he cried out in a terrible voice that was like the crash of thunder: 

“Shall we allow our audacious enemy to violate with impunity the sanctity of our motherland? Will you permit the roguery to carry on who have struck terror into the hearts of your families? You will not! March against him then! Tear from his brow the laurels which he has won! Teach the world that a vengeance will visit those who defile all of the worldly good of our great country! Rage, rage, against the dying of the light! Rage, with all the might that Heaven can give you! Rage against this monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the lamentable history of this land!”

Seven thousand men shouted back in one voice: “Long live!”

Seonggu turned his horse around and drew his meteorite-iron sword, which gleamed blindingly in the light of the morning sun to reflect its celestial origin. To the rebels it seemed as if the King had managed to enlist the North Star itself into his army. 

The trumpets were sounded for the advance, and the artillery unleashed a rain of lead on the enemy camp. Four thousand armoured horsemen moved from the hill and onto the great plain. When they saw this, those rebels not inside the city increased tenfold in their disquietude; for none had been prepared to face the King of the Sindeok in battle. The King was like a god to these simple peoples, unsurpassed in glory and inviolable in his authority. The Sage himself had told them that they had no quarrel with the King; that their business was with the aristocrats and nobles and magnates of the realm; that they and the King had a common enemy in the nobility and thus should submit to his will. Now their King was riding towards them, and his sword was raised against their faces. 

“It’s the King!” cried Heechul, evidently panicking at the sight of the approaching host. “We must parlay with him now, or we shall all be destroyed!”

The Sage could not believe his own eyes. Suddenly the birds of doubt and concern were circling around his head; by some trick of divine fate Heaven had placed victory at the tips of his fingers, and then took it away in an instant. But this victory had never been real, for the King himself was here, resolved to end this struggle with blood. The negotiations would never have succeeded, for those diplomats and ambassadors could not have restrained the bloody will of their King who was of an opposite mind to them. 

“Move the batteries to fire upon him! Turn the left flank of the camp to face the cavalry!” ordered Minseok. 

“I will not raise my sword against the King!” p