After learning of the defeat of the Headmen of Iljin at Jeongseon, Lee Taemin indeed set out with his army on its original route to Jeongseon, for he had previously beseeched the Headmen to combine with him and crush the rebels together. But since they were defeated, Taemin’s army was no match for the hordes arrayed before him, no matter how much they feared him, and he could only content himself by sending riders in all directions to spread rumours of his approach, and thereby contain the advance of the rebels and the growth of the mob with terror alone. 

And yet more calamities struck Nanwian. The dams and dikes of the Black Dragon river burst from a sudden storm far upstream, in the lofty peaks of Toron where only the gods and divinities lived; it would not have been a disaster in a normal year, for it was periodically expected that the valleys of Yangyan would flood with water and mud, but this year the valleys were filled with refugees fleeing the advance of Oh Sehun’s rebel army of 10,000 experienced soldiers. Following the floods of Yangyan, an insidious sickness broke out in Sakju: not of consumption or the plague, but some unknown pathogen that spread like wildfire and rapidly killed men and livestock alike. All doctors and healers were powerless against it; indeed, many of them died in droves along with the common people. Even Minseok, who came to Sakju to conduct great sacrifices and feasts to appease the evil and vengeful spirits of the dead as well as put his mystic powers to use to cure the disease, caught the sickness himself and was only saved from the maw of death by being removed from the province. 

In an unrelated incident, King Mundeok also passed away in the first month of the year, just as Minseok, fueled by vivid hallucinations and fevered dreams, proclaimed that the Awakened Master had appeared over Anju, and cursed the Sindeok with the Four Great Evils of State: Famine, Plague, War, and Strife. The sheer coincidence of these two opposing events was like that of an axe blow to a tree: not powerful enough to fell it, but the leaves and branches shook in alarm and created much noise and disquiet. The death of the king, which occurred peacefully in his sleep, was said by many of the lower classes to be divine retribution; not for his own sins, but for the generational wrongs of the Sindeok — of the eunuchs, the officers of state, the noble princelings, the inexorable generals — for it could only be some celestial working of poetic fate that the country should be deprived of its leader in its most vulnerable moment when it lay on the cusp of destruction. Furthermore, there was a rumour in the royal court, as was common with every kingly death, that perhaps he had not died naturally, but was murdered by Prince Seonggu in his impatience to ascend to the throne. The rumour was not baseless, for Seonggu had been endeavouring to purchase supporters and allies in Anju to pave his way before him once he had secured the throne, and the young nephew of Mundeok had long voiced opposition towards his uncle’s religious and economic policy. It was also possible, if not outright confirmed, that the royal eunuchs had started these rumours, for Mundeok’s policies were their policies, and they had much to gain from imposing the legalist traditions of the Ohnnyo school (and thereby perpetuating their grip on the gold veins of Nanwian) and much to lose if the monasteries were empowered to enforce the mystic and spiritual principles of the Awakened faith. The royal court, once harmonious under Mundeok’s reign, was now looking to become a battlefield of its own, between Seonggu and his supporters in the monasteries and state officers, and the eunuch faction with its allies in the army. Now it was up to the nobility, removed from Anju but a potent political force in their own right, to stand on the side of history — to support the King, suppress the eunuchs, and restore the social orders in Anju, or to ally with the eunuchs, trample on the King’s rights and powers, and increase their own power? 

The nation mourned. Mundeok was buried in the royal tombs. Seonggu took his place on the throne of Nanwian. The governors clung on to their posts in fear of their new king and the rebels picking the land clean. The common people despaired and looked to Minseok for salvation, or to the King for safety. 

But help was not far away. While the royal army experienced desertions from its outposts and border forts, some of it which had served under Jinki at Yichang Plain remained intact, albeit still as poorly-trained and suffering from deprivation as before. With 5,000 troops, he was ordered by King Seonggu to join with the forces of the Governor of Ansu to clear the province of rebels and mobs. Seeing his small army, Jinki was grieved not a little, for he did not expect that so many of the men whom he had led to victory could desert him. But he also understood that he possessed no charisma, authority, or dreadful temper that could chain his soldiers to him. He could not have stopped them. 

Upon hearing of the catastrophic defeat at Jeongseon, Jinki concealed it from the army and went on towards Ansu, thinking to march at random into the eye of the storm and either avenge the defeat, wipe away the disgrace of the armies, or die trying. He judged that there must have been some portions of the royal army left, and perhaps joined with the volunteer militias that had risen up along with the rebels, which could combine with his 5,000 men to form a hurricane strong enough to take on Minseok’s storm. 

Halting at Silsa, he ordered out his cavalry in all directions as pickets. One of these groups returned, victorious from a fierce skirmish, with fifteen rebels that they had taken prisoner. The prisoners related the enormous extent of the uprising and the terrible fruits of the defeat of the Headmen. All the lands north and west of Sujuneong had risen to the last man. The nobles defended themselves in the cities and castles, but many of these had been captured and massacred. 

Minseok’s power was growing every moment. The prisoners gave the number of his army at one hundred thousand, and in a couple of days it might be doubled. For this reason he had remained at Jeongseon, taking advantage of the peace to marshal his people into countless hosts. He divided the mob into regiments, appointed colonels from the defectors and experienced barbarian officers, and sent detachments or even whole divisions to capture cities and castles. Resistance was futile and short-lived, for the rebel armies were now the experienced veterans crushing untrained militias, and all of Ansu would have fallen if not for the Governor’s defence of the provincial capital, and a small pocket around Haneulga guarded fiercely by a Prince of the Mountain. 

Indeed, Seungwan was also increasing in might every day. Aside from those who had set out with her from Haneulga the previous year, she was also joined by many nobles and their retinues, fleeing southwards from the advance of the rebels with their families and possessions, and by regiments of mercenaries and adventurers marching northward, seeking battles greater than the petty skirmishes in the south, being disdainful of the royal commanders in the wake of Seonggu’s coronation. Again Seungwan incurred a painful cost in taking them on, but before the last year had ended her entire army of 3,000 was rewarded with an easy siege and storm of Okcheon, where 2,000 rebels left to guard a supply depot were overcome and put to the sword after a single day of fighting. Winter was spent on raids and skirmishes with rebel armies closing in on Okcheon to retake it, and come spring those armies left the region to Seungwan as they moved east to guard against Jinki. 

Come spring, Seungwan remained unknowing of Mundeok’s passing when Jinki’s messenger found her in Okseon. Greeting her, the messenger then said, “My lord, the General of the Armies requests that you join him at Silsa with all your men to repel the profligates near Yuseong. Time is of the essence; please hurry.”

Seungwan, surrounded by her commanders: the three Kims and Hyukjae, but also new and younger faces — Bang Chan, a young ruffian who led a contingent of light-footed natives of Bonghwa, and Kim Seungmin, another commander of refugee nobles — was not sufficiently moved by the request. She was a noble of her own land, and only a decree from the King himself or an order invested with his own authority could compel her to action. Jinki was a noble too, but he did not claim to represent the King, and Seungwan saw no reason to obey a fellow noble on the mere basis of court rank. 

“How many men are in his army? How can he not call on the forces of more powerful nobles?” asked Seungwan. 

“He also has 5,000 men with him, and he has sent out many messengers like me to ask for aid from the estates of the realm, but none have answered.”

This was greatly disturbing to Seungwan, but not unexpected. 

“Can the good King Mundeok only raise 5,000 for his General of the Armies? Surely there are other garrisons that can be reduced and mercenaries that can be employed.”

The messenger looked perplexed by Seungwan’s question, and said, “My lord, King Mundeok can raise no troops, for he has joined his forefathers in Heaven already!”

Seungwan sprang to her feet at the grave news, which had been unknown to her before this. “How? When?”

“He passed away only five days after the turn of the year.”

“Heaven in its mercy saved him from living in such times and among its people!” lamented Seungwan, who grieved little for Mundeok, but more for the country which was to be deprived of its leader when it was at its most vulnerable. Were she to have assassinated him, it would not have been while the nation was burning in an earthly hell, but when it was still at peace and not wanting for a leader of strength and courage. 

She turned to her officers. “Gentlemen, the King is dead!”

“Heaven have mercy on him!” groaned Hyukjae, and their faces all grew serious; all removed their hats and caps and they were deprived of speech for a minute. 

“May Heaven grant him eternal rest!” said Jongin. 

“And eternal joy await him!” 

Hyukjae intoned, “Amstarabha,” and an agonising sorrow seized their hearts and souls. It suddenly seemed like some sort of expected rescue had failed, and they were standing alone in the world against a terrible enemy.

“And who is the King now?” asked Seungwan. 

“Prince Seonggu is now King,” answered the messenger. 

“There is a silver lining after all,” said Seungwan. “We need a warrior king, and Seonggu has the mettle to fight his enemies at court and on the field. If the General of the Armies acts in his name, then we must support him so that our King can lay his mind to rest for battles beyond the palace. Long live King Seonggu!”

“Long live King Seonggu!” shouted the officers, for the former Prince was known to be a military enthusiast, and was long an enemy of the royal eunuchs. 

Within the hour the army was on the move. In advance went the riders of Haneulga under Jongdae and Junmyeon; then the infantry and artillery under Hyukjae; after them the wagons filled with supplies and valuables; and after them the heavy cavalry of Seungmin; Bang Chan brought up the rear with his light infantrymen. Behind the army came an endless train of wagons, multi-coloured like a rainbow, carrying the families of the nobles who would not remain north of Okcheon. 

The army marched that evening to Milseonyang, a large town like Haneulga. However, they found it in flames and crowded with throngs of people; a rebel force had taken up residence in the town and had laid siege to the steward’s mansion. At the sight of Seungwan’s army, the rebels, who actually consisted of no more than a collection of peasant bands, fled, shouting, “The Datars are coming! The Datars are coming!”. Seungwan gave orders to drive the rabble off, capturing and slaying dozens of peasants before they disappeared into the thick of the woods. The stewardess left her mansion and received Seungwan on her knees at the gate, for her mansion had been besieged for days and she had been keeping the peasants away with the help of her more faithful servants, when the unexpected arrival of Seungwan’s army saved her and her fourteen children, ten of which were girls. 

But alas, the same could not be said for the rest of the town, which hitherto had been home to sixty-one households. On one side of the town on a gentle slope were the black ruins of burnt buildings, among which was the local monastery; the ruins were hot and black smoke rose from them. Between the fires still burning lay here and there the bodies of murdered women over whom had taken place over the night, or stood pyramids of heads cut from soldiers and men in the neighbourhood; these bodies and heads had begun to decay and give off a putrid odour. In the square of the town many captives had been tied together, left behind by the rebels in their haste; to be sent off to slave markets or for the rebels’ own uses. The prisoners were nobles of the land, townspeople of the region who had been unwilling or unable to join the uprising, officials, landowners, and children. There were no old men, for they were of little value as captives and were thus slain. Among the prisoners were also young women of the petty nobility who were used to sate the appetites of their captors. 

The sight of these beings shocked Seungwan to her core, and roused in her a thirst for vengeance. Thus, after rescuing all the captives, she had the rebels interrogated and then impaled on stakes transversely, from their fronts to their backs. However, of one of their leaders, she had him impaled longitudinally, so that his brethren would hear his screams of agony as they died slower than him, until the stake penetrated from his mouth and he screamed no more. 

“A sad day!” lamented Hyukjae, when all the information from the prisoners had been extracte