Chapter 3: The Rising Tide
The night air cut like a cold blade.
Amidst the whistle of the dark, the sharp clash of arrows echoed across the valley as Kang Mu-shin and Young Master Hyeon launched their tactical offensive against the invading Wokou forces.
Striking fast from the tree lines, they drew the enemy’s main force away from the city gates, leading them into a brutal, grinding skirmish.
The battle raged relentlessly into In-si (인시)—the Hour of the Tiger.
Mounted atop their steeds, Mu-shin, Hyeon, and their archers struck in swift passes before feigning retreat.
Step by calculated step, they lured the unwitting Japanese ranks deep into the shadowed pass of Mount Hwaak.
There, the hidden pit-traps Mu-shin had laid earlier shattered the enemy’s forward formation.
For a glorious span, the Goryeo archers held the upper hand.
But as the clock neared four in the morning, horn calls pierced the fog.
Japanese reinforcements flooded the ravine, overwhelming the archers with sheer numbers.
“Retreat!” Mu-shin bellowed above the din.
“Fall back!”
They wheeled their horses around, fleeing through the dense timber.
Suddenly, an enemy shaft struck Hyeon’s horse.
The beast reared, crashing to the forest floor and throwing Hyeon violently into the dirt.
“Run!” Mu-shin barked at his surviving archers.
Without a second thought, Mu-shin reined his own mount around and galloped back into the fray.
He hauled Hyeon up behind him, but they had ridden only a few meters before a stray arrow buried itself in his stallion’s flank.
The horse collapsed, sending both men tumbling over the rocky terrain.
The violent landing left Hyeon clutching his leg in agony—his ankle completely dislocated.
“Go! Run while you still can!” the Young Master gasped through gritted teeth, struggling to stand.
“I am not losing another soul today,” Mu-shin growled.
He drew his blade from its scabbard, the metal humming in the cold night.
Hyeon set his jaw and drew his steel alongside him.
Together, back-to-back, they held off the surrounding tide until Myo-si (묘시)—the Hour of the Rabbit.
Exhausted, bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, and barely breathing, the two men dragged themselves behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak to catch their breath.
Hyeon leaned his head back against the bark and chuckled weakly.
“My friend… did I mention? Before we rode out, my wife gave birth to our daughter in the afternoon.”
Mu-shin kept his eyes glued to the tree line.
“A daughter?”
“Yes,” Hyeon breathed.
“And her personal handmaiden gave birth to a girl as well. Though… the mother did not survive the night. The child rests now in my wife’s arms as our second daughter. That handmaiden was my wife’s closest companion since childhood… noble blood or not, she was family.”
Mu-shin glanced at him, his hard eyes softening slightly.
“I would like to see them. But for that to happen, we must get out of this forest alive.”
Before the words fully left his lips, iron boots crunched on dry leaves.
Japanese soldiers swarmed from the brush, swords raised, shouting in foreign tongues.
“What on earth are these barbarians blathering about?” Mu-shin spat, raising his guard.
Hyeon gave a wry, bloodied smile.
“It seems our homecoming will not be so joyous after all.”
Suddenly, a sharp thwack split the air.
The lead Japanese warrior shuddered, an arrow piercing his throat, and collapsed directly at Mu-shin’s feet.
Hyeon knelt down, yanked the fletched shaft from the fallen soldier’s back, and inspected the iron head.
A sudden relief swept over his face.
“The Royal Guards… they are here.”
A storm of armored riders burst through the mist.
The Goryeo Royal Guard swept through the clearing, clearing out the enemy forces within minutes.
As they helped the wounded men onto spare mounts, Mu-shin turned to the officer in charge.
“Where is the rest of the invading force?”
“We arrived shortly before dawn,” the captain replied as they began their ride out of the valley.
“We raided the intruders from village to village. Many were put to the sword, and the few who survived fled back to their ships at sea. The Magistrate informed us that you had led a strike team into the mountains—that is how we tracked you.”
Upon reaching the fortress, Mu-shin bypassed the command tent and went straight to the private quarters.
When he pushed the wooden door open, his wife stood waiting, tears of relief streaming down her pale face.
“My love…” she sobbed, rushing into his arms.
“I thought… I thought I had lost you.”
Looking past her husband’s shoulder, she caught sight of the limping officer.
She bowed her head respectfully.
“Welcome back, Young Master Hyeon.”
Hyeon offered a warm, weary smile.
“Rest easy, Lady Kang.”
The midwife stepped forward, cradling two small bundles wrapped in warm quilted cloth.
Mu-shin stepped toward them, the memories of his fallen village, his dead parents, and the burning streets surging through his mind.
He looked down at the first baby’s face.
“My heart has been heavy—a constant wave of endless sorrow. But you arrived at the very moment I needed hope most. Therefore, your name shall be Pung—for you are my wind.”
He then turned to the second child, whose soft eyes stared back at him quietly.
“And you, my son… as serene as a cloud, shining beautifully like the morning dew. Your name shall be Woon.”
Mu-shin smiled softly at them both.
“You are Cloud and Wind. And wherever the wind blows, the clouds must follow.”
After handing the boys back to the midwife and a servant sent by the Magistrate, Mu-shin embraced his wife, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.
Stepping outside into the courtyard, Mu-shin knelt and set to work resetting and tightly binding Hyeon’s dislocated ankle.
Once the joint was secured, they rode side-by-side to the Magistrate’s court to deliver their official report.
Outside the main gates, Hyeon gathered the reins of his horse.
“I will be riding back to the capital with my surviving men. You have the Royal Guards stationed here now.”
“Take care of yourself, my friend,” Mu-shin said, grasping Hyeon’s forearm firmly.
“Give my regards to your wife… and your daughters.”
“I will,” Hyeon replied with a nod, turning his mount toward the northern road.
“Until our paths cross again, brother.”
Two years passed.
With the southern borders secured, Commander Kang Mu-shin relocated his household from the military fortress to a private estate in Dongnae, bringing the faithful midwife and their loyal retainers with them.
Then came the historic turn.
Eight years later, in the Year of the Water Monkey (1392), the 500-year reign of the Goryeo Empire came to an end, and the Joseon Dynasty was born.
Having officially retired from the military, Mu-shin traded his armor for the peaceful robes of a scholar.
Beneath the shade of the estate’s courtyard trees, his twin sons—Pung and Woon, now ten years old—circled each other with wooden practice swords, learning the stance of the blade under their father’s watchful, proud eye.