Chapter 234 — The Goryeo Camp
That evening, a small feast was held in the Goryeo camp.
It was a gathering to welcome Lee Yeongu's return.
It was not a grand feast.
The Goryeo support contingent itself was not large, and they were not in a position to make noise as they pleased inside Huiling Fortress.
They merely built the fire a little larger, took out the meat they had been saving, roasted it, and passed around a few bottles of liquor.
Even so, the faces of the men had relaxed for the first time in a long while.
So Cheollyong voiced his concern first.
"We truly wondered what would become of us if you really left."
Yeongu smiled awkwardly.
"I truly meant to leave...."
Before he could finish, Cheolun shouted.
"Ah! Then what about us!"
Yeongu's face became troubled.
Firelight caught on his cheek, and the meat skewer in his hand stopped awkwardly in place.
Then Gyeongtaek said indifferently,
"Each person lives his own life. Why are you asking the commander to take responsibility?"
Yeongu brightened.
"That is what I am saying."
At that, Kim Yun-gyeong raised his head.
He was not a member of the Fifth Unit.
Yet now he wore a face even more like one of the Fifth Unit than the Fifth Unit men themselves.
As if deeply steeped in the air, speech, and habits of the Goryeo camp, he answered without yielding at all.
"This is a place we did not have to come to.
If the commander had not insisted, Goryeo would have withdrawn long ago and never looked back.
So you must take responsibility."
Yeongu closed his mouth.
He did not want to repeat the same story again.
The same words had been simmered for far too long.
Every person lives believing in his own righteousness.
At the very least, each believes his own position is correct.
Even a villain condemned by all people speaks of his own reasons and builds legitimacy upon them.
Each place has its own circumstances, and each circumstance always sounds plausible enough.
Yeongu was the same.
He knew the reason he had tried to leave.
He could not watch helpless people die and still laugh while drinking wine.
He could not stay any longer in an army that covered slaughter with words like spoils and military merit.
The heart with which he had tried to leave was righteous to him.
Yeongu did not argue further.
He simply tore off a piece of meat left on the skewer and chewed it for a long time.
The fire burned low, and the shadows of the men swayed on the tent wall.
The voices that had been noisy also quieted for a moment.
Cheollyong needlessly raised his cup.
"Anyway, you came back."
So Cheolun immediately picked up the words.
"Yes. You came back, and that is enough."
Gyeongtaek laughed softly.
"Now we just need to guard him well so he cannot leave again."
Yeongu opened his eyes wide.
"Are you saying you will watch me?"
Kim Yun-gyeong said calmly,
"We are protecting a person of responsibility."
"No, you people...."
At those words, the men laughed.
The laughter was not loud, but it was the sound of tension long held in the body loosening a little.
It was a small feast.
There was not enough meat, there was not much liquor, and the work to be done tomorrow was piled up like a mountain.
Even so, that night, it was enough that the man they had thought gone was seated in the middle again, and the place they had thought empty had been filled once more.
Kim Yun-gyeong briefly explained what had happened in the meantime.
His tone was calm, but within it lay the unease he had pressed down for several days.
"After you left, our position became ambiguous.
It felt as if we were floating in the air.
They did not treat us as closely as before, and they kept us at a distance, as if looking at us from one step away.
Cooperation did not completely stop, but whatever they did felt formal.
How should I put it? It seemed they regarded us too as people who would soon leave.
Your departure seems to have struck them as betrayal."
Yeongu listened in silence.
Would he have to say the same words again?
They had come here in the name of the state.
Yeongu had seen the evil acts of the Jin army and rejected them.
He had tried to carry through his will even at the cost of giving up the benefits he received as a salaried official and the position he held as a commander.
Fortunately, with the Great Khan's decisive decision, his will had now been accepted.
A military order had been issued forbidding cruelty toward submitted peoples and commanding that conquered people also be treated as subjects.
But Yeongu did not think that meant everything had ended.
Similar situations would arise again.
In another fortress, before different prisoners, in the anger of another commander, before the eyes of soldiers demanding spoils, the same problem would raise its head again.
Each time, people would bring out their own reasons.
Because military grain was lacking.
Because the discontent of subordinates had to be soothed.
Because the tribe's share had to be secured.
Because the order was unclear.
Because nothing else could be done at the moment.
All those words would sound plausible.
And plausible reasons are what most easily bring people down.
Yeongu sincerely wished for this.
That he would not stand on the side of evildoers because of survival.
That he would not pretend not to see the blood of the helpless because of the need to make a living.
Yet life does not flow according to one's wishes.
Between righteousness and livelihood, people often choose livelihood.
And later they say there was nothing they could do.
That excuse is sometimes true.
But truth does not make the heart lighter.
The memory of participating in evil acts called forth by a wrong decision remains long.
Even if one later regrets it and wants to undo it, the dead do not return, and a burned village does not return to its place.
At that point, a person blames the difficulties of the world before his own cowardice, and in the end comes to hate himself for a long time.
Yeongu knew that path.
He could not carelessly mock those who could not let go of their livelihood.
He too might someday stand before such a choice.
Only, when that moment came, he wanted at least to know what he was choosing.
He did not want to become someone who followed along without being able to call evil by its name.
The smell of meat burning by the fire rose faintly.
Someone turned a skewer, and a cup of liquor quietly passed to the side.
Yeongu looked at Kim Yun-gyeong, then said in a low voice,
"It must have been hard."
Kim Yun-gyeong lowered his eyes for a moment.
Those brief words seemed to reach him more deeply than any explanation.
Yeongu spoke again.
"This is also something I created. Still, I will not stop. If the same thing happens again, I will block it again. Even if that makes things uncomfortable and ambiguous, even if we are cursed for it, that work must be done."
Kim Yun-gyeong lifted his head.
Yeongu's voice was not loud.
Even amid the firelight of the feast, those words alone settled heavily.
"So each of you should think about it. Whether you will remain here and continue together, or whether you will return. If you remain, the path ahead will not be comfortable. If you return, I will not blame you."
So Cheollyong was about to open his mouth immediately, but this time he swallowed his words.
Gyeongtaek too silently touched his wine cup.
Cheolun was looking at the fire.
Only after a long while did Kim Yun-gyeong slowly bow his head.
"That is why I said you must take more responsibility."
Yeongu let out a hollow laugh.
Those words sounded like resentment, but at the same time they also sounded like a pledge to continue together.
So Cheollyong quietly asked,
"If someone wants to return, will you allow it?"
Yeongu's gaze briefly turned toward empty air.
He seemed to look into the darkness beyond the firelight, then brought his eyes straight down and slowly nodded.
They had come here by the command of the state.
But this was not an ordinary dispatch.
They had left Goryeo's borders and come all the way to distant Jurchen land, and above all, the nature of this work itself was unclear.
They were Goryeo soldiers, yet they were helping Jin.
They were soldiers following orders, yet at times they had to judge for themselves within another country's war and another country's military law.
Yeongu said in a low voice,
"Of course... yes. Naturally I must."
Gyeongtaek chuckled.
"See? Even the commander could not answer right away."
Yeongu cleared his throat.
Then he continued as if making an effort to explain himself.
"I cannot demand unconditional devotion.
We are soldiers, and therefore we must be loyal to the country.
But right now we are helping with another country's work.
It is also true that at times we will face situations where we must think and judge for ourselves whether this is right or wrong."
He looked down at the cup in his hand.
The liquor inside the cup trembled in the firelight.
"If we live without thinking, we may commit some terrible act.
If we had joined in a slaughter, by Goryeo's standard that would be a criminal act deserving punishment.
Even if we did not lift the blade ourselves, if we did not stop it and simply let it happen, what would Goryeo say?
Even if the law could not punish us, we would spend our whole lives hearing people say, 'You rotten bastards.'"
Several men laughed softly.
But the laughter did not continue for long.
Yeongu's words used a crude expression, but the meaning within them was not light.
"That is why I cannot ask unconditional loyalty from you.
If someone says he will return, my position is that I must permit it at any time.
I may make a show of holding him back. I may say I am disappointed, or ask him to endure a little longer.
But if that person says he will return because of his own moral judgment, I will accept it without conditions."
After finishing, Yeongu closed his mouth for a while.
Those gathered around the fire could not easily speak either.
His explanation contained enough of the anguish he must have gone through.
A man who had said he would leave could not simply tell those who remained not to ask responsibility of him.
The person ordering others to remain also had to ask himself how far that order was just.
So Cheollyong quietly looked at Yeongu.
The first question had sounded like a light confirmation, but in truth it was the question everyone had been carrying in their hearts.
How far must we follow orders?
If we came in the name of the country, must we also shoulder the evil acts of another country?
Yeongu did not give a beautiful answer to that question.
He merely said he would not close the door of escape.
That alone changed the faces of the men a little.
A path to remain becomes clearer when the path to leave is also open.