I Became a Fallen Noble of Goguryeo

Chapter 45: Three Will Come (4)

That year’s 10th month in the lunar calendar.

In the solar calendar, it was somewhere between November and December.

“Newbies! The Yellow-cloaks are coming!”

“We’re Blue-cloaks now!”

We shed the mark of Yellow-cloaks, evolved into Blue-cloaks, and new Yellow-cloaks entered.

My third encounter also came at this time.

You might ask, wasn’t it already three people—Monk Uiyeon, Nak Sangtae, and Go San?

I clearly said there were three ‘important’ encounters.

Why would Nak Sangtae be counted in that?

Did he have influence, did he have prestige? That guy had nothing. Just trash, right?

And finally, my third benefactor turned out to be none other than a boy of 13.

I was, by nature, someone who hated absurdity.

I hated the memory of being thrown into the water right after entering the Gukjagam, the memory of seniors taking my books, and the times when I got called out by those anchovy punks to get hit with fists that didn’t even hurt.

Because of that, I eliminated a few of these absurdities.

The juniors owed me their thanks.

However, there were also things I couldn’t eliminate.

For example, the ritual of extorting the newcomers.

“Hey Yellow-cloaks! Offer liquor and meat! Now!”

This was Goguryeo’s long-standing traditional event, originating from the heartwarming tale of Gaema Cavalry where soldiers offered up their clothes.

Shouldn’t we naturally emulate such a grand intention?

At first glance, one could say, “Aren’t you being absurd too?” but look carefully.

“Let’s not take their clothes, okay?”

“Yeah. And not their books either.”

At least taking clothes and books was abolished.

Leading this was Go Daewon.

“If clothes and books are stolen, what would happen to the poor?

In the past, Eulpaso and Myeongnim Dapbu were poor, yet became Prime Ministers, so we must not exclude bright minds simply for being poor.”

“What about the meat then?”

“Meat and liquor—there must be at least that much.

Even back in Confucius’ time, weren’t such things offered to the teacher?

It isn’t strange to offer them to seniors.”

“Besides, if you take those away, it’ll cause chaos.”

I learned here that 80% of Gukjagam’s meals were crappy porridge and dried radish.

Sure, they had nutrients, so it was better than German sawdust bread (with turnips added), but it was still tasteless.

Pork and liquor could only be had during festivals or when juniors came in, so if anyone tried to take those, there would be a riot.

“So now freshmen only have to prepare liquor and meat? Wow, in my time, I couldn’t even imagine that.”

Anyway, this much already eased a lot of the juniors’ burdens.

Was that all?

Even the discipline drills changed a lot.

“Do Mabo and come straight back up. Forty times. How many? Hey bastard, not straight? Don’t know Mabo? Then switch to Ubo. You don’t know Ubo? That’s walking while bending your knees. Up to that flag, go!”

“Now, this is the mantis stance. Lie flat, bend your arms, and push up. Until when? Until your chest touches the floor!”

“No planks?”

“That knocks them out too fast. Doesn’t work as discipline.”

See, discipline now was squats, lunges, and push-ups.

They no longer dunked Yellow-cloaks into ice water.

That was fine for growing spawn, but with people, they could die.

But squats and lunges?

Do enough, and you get healthier.

This was advanced enough.

If what I did counted as absurdity, then from now on, let’s call fitness trainers “absurdity-makers who get paid for absurdity.”

“You bastards, even Baekje kids are stronger than you!”

“You can’t handle this much? Fine, Goguryeo ends here. Go ahead and spread your arms and legs wide for Baekje bastards!”

After strangely frequent mentions of Baekje, the Yellow-cloaks were completely exhausted.

Training juniors was harder than expected, so we too got exhausted, but if it was for establishing discipline, it was bearable.

“Let’s wrap it up. Everyone hit their quota, right?”

Here, the quota meant the ‘mandatory bullying quota’ given to the second-years by the Taehak Scholars.

Everyone entering here was a noble with stiff necks, so they forced us to break them early.

One side of Goguryeo’s macho society.

Did it work? I wasn’t sure.

But what was certain was that if I didn’t hit the quota, my grades would be ruined.

I was sorry for the juniors, but if ordered, I had no choice but to follow.

So, our peers diligently picked on the juniors, but there was one we couldn’t get.

“Mang Sap didn’t meet his quota, I think.”

“What? The guy who looked like he’d do best?”

“Well… look at that kid.”

Mang Sap pointed at one boy.

A head shorter than the others.

His face still childlike, barely thirteen?

Yet despite that, when everyone else’s legs shook, he alone stood stiff-necked.

Not ordinary.

“That one’s tough. I kept watching, waiting for him to make a mistake so I could pounce, but he hasn’t made a single mistake.

Still, we can’t just let him go.”

From afar, the Taehak Scholars sent signals meaning, “Hurry up and force it if you have to.”

Mang Sap clicked his tongue.

“By the way, what’s that kid’s name?”

“Oh, since he’s so young, I remember. Wasn’t it Eul Mundeok?”

Huh?

Who?

* * *

Entering Taehak at the age of thirteen was quite rare.

Even when it did happen, the candidate was usually from a prestigious family.

And this time as well, the boy from Seokdasan, Eul Mundok, belonged to the noble Eul Clan, which had produced eminent ministers such as Eulpaso and Eulduji.

Unfortunately, Eul Mundok was a distant branch of the Eul Clan, so far removed that it was like comparing the Han imperial family to the mat-seller Liu Bei, and his household was poor.

The fact that such a boy entered Taehak at thirteen was proof that his achievements were extraordinary.

Thus, in the late winter of 573.

Thirteen-year-old Eul Mundok stepped through the gates of Taehak, his heart filled with dreams.

“Yellows! Bring us liquor and meat!”

…He encountered upperclassmen extorting money under the pretense of Gaema Cavalry tradition.

But it felt odd.

‘They’re only taking meat and liquor?’

From what Eul Mundok had heard, they were supposed to take books and clothes too.

Yet the seniors did not.

Eul Mundok thought it was fortunate.

Since his family was poor, losing clothes and books would have been disastrous.

The hazing afterward was different too.

‘Horse stance? Cow stance?’

It seemed the custom of dunking newcomers into water had also disappeared.

Compared to that, crouching or repeatedly standing up and sitting down wasn’t all that diffi—well, not exactly easy either.

“Keugh!”

By the time it took to drink a cup of tea, Eul Mundok felt blood rising in his throat.

Yet he endured all of the seniors’ hazing to the very end, standing firm in his place.

As a man of Goguryeo should.

Eul Mundok soon felt the weight of someone’s gaze on him.

‘That senior is Maeng Sap, they said. The son of the Western Division Leader.’

Even in this situation, Eul Mundok managed to grasp the names from the seniors’ conversations.

Maeng Sap, who had been watching him, strode forward as though he had made up his mind.

“Hey, brat, shouldn’t you go drink more of your mother’s milk? Didn’t you come to the wrong place?”

The correct answer in such situations was something like, “I’m sorry, Senior!”

Then Maeng Sap would reply, “Sorry? Then get down!” and pile on more hazing.

That was certainly the proper order of things, but Eul Mundok instead looked up and down at Maeng Sap’s massive frame and replied:

“Senior, you must have had plenty to drink yourself. I envy you.”

“Yeah, sorry means get down—what?”

Eul Mundok, like Ondal, came from a lower-ranking noble family, and he was poor.

Normally, someone like him would not even have been able to attend Gyeongdang, but thanks to a teacher who recognized his talent, he barely managed to study there.

In short, he was a smart but poor low-born noble.

Because of this background, he had been attacked often during his Gyeongdang years, and as a result, his manner of speaking and personality had grown rather sharp.

He had softened his words a little because this was a senior, otherwise if it had been a peer, he would already have composed a twenty-character verse to insult them.

“Ha, would you look at this punk?”

Maeng Sap grinned and poured every kind of curse on Eul Mundok while driving him through more hazing.

Eul Mundok endured it all willingly.

The problem was, he endured it too well.

If he collapsed at the right moment, then the second-years would save face, and the first-years would still be considered to have “held out well,” but at this rate the session would drag on until sunset.

“Maeng Sap, that’s enough.”

At that point, Ondal stepped forward.

“Eulji Mundok. You should stop too.”

“Eulji… Mundok?”

At those words, Eul Mundok tilted his head.

Adding “Ji” after a surname was something reserved for respected elders.

Since Eul Mundok was neither of the age nor in the state to deserve such treatment, it was only natural that he took Ondal’s words as sarcasm.

“Eulji Mundok, then should I also call you Onjidal, Senior?”

Roughly translated into twenty-first century nuance:

—Yeah, you’re really great.

—You too, you’re really great.

…That kind of exchange.

Once it reached that point, Ondal had no choice.

“Eul Mundok, get into plank position.”

The only option left was to push him until he truly collapsed.

Somehow, after the freshman “welcome” was over.

Maeng Sap gave a small laugh.

“That Eul Mundok kid, he seems like he’ll do well no matter what he tries. I like him a lot.”

Maeng Sap, in fact, liked Eul Mundok—who had openly defied him—quite a bit.

This was also a glimpse of Goguryeo’s macho society.

“If only he fixed just one thing.”

“What should he fix?”

“That prickly way of speaking.”

What, bastard?

Do you want to bring down Goguryeo?

Eul Mundok—better known as Eulji Mundok—would one day drive Wu Zhong’s army into ruin at the Battle of Salsu, securing the greatest land battle victory in Korean history by scraping at his enemy’s nerves.

His knack for aggravation was a talent to be cultivated, not a flaw to be corrected.

“Leave Mundok as he is.”

“What? Since when are you calling him Mundok?”

“Just leave Mundok alone!”

The thought of altering history and causing problems for Goguryeo’s future guardian spirit was terrifying.

After that, I paid close attention to Eul Mundok’s affairs.

“That Eul Mundok, he has no friends.”

“…Huh?”

“Rather than saying he has none, it’s more like… he refuses to make any himself.”

Eul Mundok’s grades were said to be at the very top.

Since his body had not yet fully grown, he lagged a little in physical areas such as horsemanship and weapons training, but even there he managed to score around average.

And in fields not much tied to age, there was no one who could match him.

Confucian classics, mathematics, military strategy… in every subject, first place went to Eul Mundok.

But it ended there.

Eul Mundok did not become the leader of the first-year students.

“Because he’s too young?”

“That plays a part, but compared to his personality, it’s hardly an issue.”

Personality, huh.

Eul Mundok truly lived obsessed with studying.

That was somewhat unusual.

Taehak was indeed a place for study, but it was not solely for study.

It was both an academic institution and a course for advancement.

The connections and friendships built at Taehak were of immense help later in political life.

In the twenty-first century, the term “political soldier” carried a negative nuance, but in this era, all soldiers were political soldiers.

Yet Mundok devoted himself not to politics, but only to military strategy.

Unless attendance at events was mandatory, he would often refuse to go, insisting on studying instead.

And if something looked militarily flawed, he would ignore authority, age, and lineage, bluntly saying, “That’s not how you devise strategy.”

If he were older, it might have been acceptable, but for the youngest at Taehak, a thirteen-year-old, it naturally made him unpopular.

“His evaluations are really interesting though.”

“What do you mean?”

“They say he’s someone you’d never want to be near under normal circumstances, but if war broke out, you’d have the best chance of survival under his command.”

I thought about Mundok—Eulji Mundok.

When it came to him, whether by casual knowledge or scholarly research, everyone knew the same things.

‘He never once appeared in the records, then suddenly showed up as a Supreme Chancellor during the Battle of Salsu.’

And after Eulji Mundok, as Supreme Chancellor, won a great victory at Salsu, he disappeared just as suddenly.

For a Supreme Chancellor and victorious general to vanish without record was one of the mysteries of Goguryeo’s history… but the answer seemed simpler than expected.

‘Perhaps he simply wasn’t interested in anything besides war.’

Being uninterested in politics and devoted only to the military, once the war ended, he had no reason to leave his name.

Perhaps he simply raised troops in the frontiers rather than meddling in the central court.

Maeng Sap said:

“…Maybe he’ll rise in the future, but if a man that unsociable rises to prominence… it will only mean a great crisis has struck Goguryeo.”

I gave a faint laugh and replied.

“Well, isn’t it good to have at least one guy like that?”

Even Eul Mundok had his hobbies.

“There he goes again today.”

Eul Mundok enjoyed board games.

At first, he played Baduk or Janggi, but these days he seemed to have switched to Goryeo Myosan.

The problem was, he never had an opponent.

When he played Baduk, he held both the black and white stones himself, pondering and placing them.

And now, while playing Goryeo Myosan, he likewise moved pieces around alone, enjoying the game by himself.

Even the pieces were not miniatures, but just crude wooden blocks scribbled with words like “Swordsman,” “Spearman,” or “Gaema Cavalry.”

‘They did say he had no friends.’

So that was why he played alone?

Suddenly, he looked rather pitiful.

“Mundok, shall we play a match together?”

“Ah, it’s Senior Ondal. However, I must decline.”

Eul Mundok said.

“I have played with others here and there, but their skills were too wretched, making it no fun. Playing alone is better.”

Wow, if I did not know about Eul Mundok’s future, I might have cursed him as a brat with a filthy tongue.

“By the way, I heard you’re heading to the West after graduation?”

When Eul Mundok asked suddenly, I nodded.

“Yes. It looks like war with Northern Zhou is coming.”

“I heard people say that after Northern Zhou takes Northern Qi, they will next attack Goguryeo.”

“That’s right.”

“I think so too.”

Eul Mundok said this as he swept away the pieces on his Myosan board.

Then the map underneath was revealed.

“This is… Western Land?”

“Indeed.”

To my modern eyes, the map was crude, but recognizable.

So he had been playing Myosan with this.

No wonder the number of pieces had seemed oddly large.

“At first I wasn’t sure, but after turning through the Myosan, it became clear. As you said, Senior, it won’t be Southern Chen, but Northern Zhou who destroys Northern Qi.”

“Why do you think that?”

“If you’re curious about my opinion, it’s only right I share it.”

Eul Mundok pointed at the map.

“People of the east and west do not differ much in how they live, but those of the north and south live in very different ways.”

That was true—the latitudes were different north to south.

Even the Pyeongyang Faction and the Domestic Fortress Faction were, in a sense, a north-south divide.

“This produces differences in armies. Northern Qi, with its open plains, favors cavalry and spears, while Southern Chen, with its forests, cannot easily use long spears or large horses, so swords are their main weapon.

But no matter how skilled their swordsmen may be, can they truly withstand cavalry in open plains? I doubt it.”

He was right.

The best way to counter cavalry was not spears or arrows, but cavalry of your own.

But the Southern Dynasties could not.

‘Their shortage of horses was practically chronic.’

In King Jangsu’s time, they even sent envoys to Goguryeo to request fine horses, which said it all.

“Though Southern Chen is currently holding out well against Northern Qi, their lack of cavalry means their offensive power is limited. It is impossible for them to drive Northern Qi to destruction, and even if they did, that would create problems.”

Eul Mundok spoke.

“Besides, the differences between north and south are not only military. Their way of life is different too. Even if Southern Chen succeeded in taking Northern Qi, governing it properly would be nearly impossible. Great chaos would follow, and Northern Zhou would never sit idly by.”

“So in the end, Northern Qi can only fall into Northern Zhou’s hands?”

“Yes. Had Northern Qi remained strong, they might have been the victor, but they are already collapsing. In the present situation, Northern Zhou looks the most advantageous. And if Northern Zhou does seize Northern Qi—”

Eul Mundok tapped Goguryeo.

“Then, as you said, Senior, they will strike Goguryeo. In fact, if I were Yuwen Yong, I would do so without hesitation.”

“Why?”

“To affirm new hegemony, to consolidate internal control, to test loyalty, to probe a future enemy… There are far more reasons to attack than not to.”

This boy truly was the real deal.

And this was not even all.

“Of course, since Southern Chen remains, the upcoming conflict with Northern Zhou will not be a total war. But once the Western Land is unified, it will be different.”

“You’re even foreseeing the unification of the Western Land?”

“It’s not so much that I foresee it, but that it is inevitable.”

Eul Mundok spoke firmly.

“If Northern Zhou seizes Northern Qi, I guarantee you that within a decade, Southern Chen too will collapse.”

Author’s Notes.

According to the Tongdian, Eulji Mundok was recorded as Guksang of Goguryeo.

However, the office of Guksang disappeared after King Jangsu’s reign and was reorganized into the office of Supreme Chancellor.

Thus, most scholars believe that the “Guksang” mentioned in the Tongdian was likely a scribal error for “Supreme Chancellor.”

Eulji Mundok was named alongside King Yeongyang (Go Daewon) by Emperor Yang of Sui, and as supreme commander he led the Goguryeo army to victory at Salsu, so it is reasonable to assume he held such a position.

When redrawn in twenty-first century style, the map drawn by Eul Mundok would look roughly like this.

It is the same as the map shown in the previous chapter, but I am including it once again.