- The Return — And Those Who Return
Along the narrow official road threaded like a string between two massive mountain ranges, a small column of soldiers descended.
Every man was mounted, armor intact and properly fastened.
Breastplates and shoulder guards caught the sunlight and flashed coldly, and cloaks hung heavy in the windless air, making their figures appear larger than they were.
They numbered fewer than a hundred.
They did not ride in tight battle formation, merely advancing four abreast at an unhurried pace.
Yet the air between the mountains seemed pressed down by the weight of their presence.
In their wake lingered the chill that follows the end of battle.
The horses were not urged on.
The men did not hurry.
Their bodies swayed gently with the rhythm of the saddle.
No one strained forward; no one sought to halt.
The moment the imperial decree commanding their return arrived, Jin Muguang departed eastward with only a complete White Dragon unit, two personal commanders, and two civil officials.
Behind them followed two wagons.
A handful of mixed troops escorted them, carrying only the barest necessities for the long journey.
They had set out from distant lands beyond the passes.
Proper villages were rare; inns were out of the question.
They camped in open fields and beneath ridgelines night after night.
Though they occupied the breadth of the road, they encountered almost no one.
Only once in the morning did they pass a small merchant cart bound for the desert.
After that, even by midday, there was no human trace.
Yellow earth and treeless mountains reflected the sunlight with merciless clarity.
No animal stirred in that desolation.
Sparse shrubs twisted dry under the sun.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Even the wind seemed asleep, and that stillness dried a man’s heart.
“Why do you suppose His Majesty has summoned us?”
Yi Hui asked casually, seeking to break the monotony.
On a long road, occasional conversation was the thread that reminded one he was still alive.
Jin Muguang did not take his eyes from the road.
“How should I know? I am curious myself. When the war is over, the dog that hunted is boiled.”
His voice was dry.
He spoke as if of someone else’s fate.
“Our kind are best left on distant frontiers, raising troops where we are of use. It would be easier for His Majesty that way. Why call us back? I cannot say.”
The words carried two meanings.
They sounded like simple puzzlement—
and yet like a quiet acknowledgment that removal might serve everyone’s convenience.
His tone suggested a life lighter than passing wind.
“Tosa-gupaeng? When the rabbit dies, the hound is cooked?”
Jin Muguang nodded.
“Just so. Had we left the enemy somewhat intact, there might have been continued use for us. But we nearly annihilated them. For several winters to come, there will be no incursions. Ga Teullip survived, which is regrettable, but for the time being men like us may be unnecessary.”
“Ga Teullip…”
The veins stood out at Yi Hui’s temple.
Most of the White Dragon casualties were tied to that name.
Feigning pressure at the center, Ga Teullip’s elite had slipped to the flank, crushing the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth companies.
The hastily reformed Seventh was struck as well.
Nearly half of each unit fell in that maneuver.
Their coordination with the infantry had been flawless, yet that single lateral strike had carved the White Dragons open.
Jin Muguang inclined his head once more.
He seemed half-asleep, yet his eyes were open.
He rode as though deliberately slowing the journey toward the capital.
He was difficult to read.
Spare with words, uninterested in trivial disputes.
Yet when issuing a final order to advance, he became another man entirely.
“Do you fear something awaits us in the capital?”
“There will be something. There is always something. It may be reward. But what sort of ruler do we serve now? Anything that obstructs perpetuity is removed without hesitation.”
He paused, then continued.
“There is more work after battle than during it—reorganizing ranks, expanding garrison fields, releasing soldiers whose terms have expired. To summon us immediately instead of allowing that—there must be reason. I, too, would like to know it.”
A shadow lay beneath his tone.
“It is difficult to expect good fortune.”
After a silence, Yi Hui ventured,
“Should we have brought more men?”
A hundred riders felt few.
If something were to occur, numbers might matter.
If the Emperor meant to move against Jin Muguang, overwhelming presence might serve as shield.
But the thought dissipated like dust.
A man who lived on imperial stipend could not refuse a summons.
There are things one knows to be unwise yet cannot decline.
Life flows that way—aware, yet carried by inertia.
Jin Muguang gave a low laugh.
“I already declared I would not enter the central bureaucracy again. I had no intention of returning. I had hoped to guard the frontier beneath stars and moon, to fall at last upon desert sands.”
He spoke plainly, but weariness toward the capital lingered beneath.
“The winds of the Imperial City do not suit a man like me. What use are tens of thousands of shi of farmland?”
He said no more.
Yi Hui did not fully grasp the depth of it.
To him, the capital was still an abstract threat.
To Jin Muguang, it was a wind already felt and measured.
Between the mountains, the road continued without end.
Hooves struck the dry earth in steady rhythm.
The return had begun—
but whether they were returning to the same place remained unknown.