In the heart of the Karakorum steppe, where the sky served as the roof, there stood a palace.
That palace was a ‘building’ unlike the gers, the tents where nomadic people commonly dwelt, and rumors had spread through the temple that the Khan had decorated like the buildings of settled people several years ago.
That the most noble imperial grandchild in the world was there, and thus none could set foot in that palace without the Khan’s permission.
Whether I am the most noble imperial grandchild, I do not know; but I do know that I am an imperial grandchild who lives in the most stifling, dog-shit-like manner.
The winter of the steppe is always fierce. How else could the nomads have so feared the frigid winds that freeze livestock to death?
Yet, inside the temple where I lived, even the flow of such a world felt strangely muted. It was merely quiet and dull.
So rarely did footsteps cross the temple threshold that one might say I had been perfectly severed from this world.
Already, six years had passed since I came here. At first, I had spent my days waiting for the moment I would leave this temple, but the only thing that grew was my knowledge of how to play alone.
Had it not been for the people who occasionally entered to look after me, I might have thought the world had ended.
Then rumors spread. That the day would come when that noble imperial grandchild would open the door and step out.
“My lady, the Khan has arrived.”
And the day that had seemed as though it would never come had arrived.
----- -----
A day no different from usual. The sky was merely wretchedly high, and the cold winter was still a distant season away.
It was an early season for the horses galloping across the steppe and the sheep wandering slowly as they grazed to put on weight, yet from the palace, a great clamor could be heard.
“My lady, are you not yet ready?”
“Please wait a moment, Yesugei. I am nearly finished.”
Clothes wide in breadth yet small in fit, made to endure the harsh Mongolian days and nights, were being layered upon me. The garment, lined with white fur wrapped around my neck like a scarf, would effectively block the piercing cold rushing in from Siberia.
…Though, truthfully, it would be better if this garment never had cause to prove its effectiveness.
“Ah, Lord Yesugei. Would it not be better to wait outside? The corridor is crowded; I fear we may be in the way.”
“Very well. Tell me when you are finished. The Khan said he would arrive before the sun reached its zenith, yet it is already nearly noon.”
The voice of the only man in the Inner Palace rang through the corridor from outside. Perhaps he was nearly the only person I could meet, apart from the maidservants, during my time in this temple.
And as I recall, when Gaegyeong fell and countless screams echoed around me, the one who came to retrieve me was also Yesugei. The one who brought me, my mother, and my father here to Karakorum of the Mongols was also him.
That was why I had found him disagreeable at first. Even though he was one of the very few people I could meet in this cramped temple that had become my entire world.
Still, perhaps nothing lasts forever; after about two years, I had more or less grown comfortable with him.
He would occasionally come to bring necessary items, sometimes ask how I was faring, and sometimes sigh at the mountain of things I had piled up in my room. Though I think he had long since given up suggesting that I try living more tidily.
Booo—
The sound of a horn echoed across the steppe from afar. It was a sound I had never heard before, yet I could not fail to understand what it meant.
“The Khan has come!”
The maidservants grew frantic, and Yesugei shouted along with them.
My maternal grandfather, the one who had taken my mother and father’s lives, and the Great Khan of the Mongols.
He had arrived here.
----- -----
Yesen Khan, my maternal grandfather. The Great Khan of the Unified Mongol Empire, the ruler of the four seas, the sovereign of all nomads, and the terror of the settled peoples.
Whatever titles were attached to him, the person reflected in my eyes was merely an old man with a head of abundant white hair and a beard more lush than when I had last seen him.
“It has truly been a long time. Will you walk?”
And it was that old man who had cut down my mother and father in a single day, a single hour. That crimson wave which had dyed the earth still had not faded from my mind.
Even now, that day sometimes appeared in my dreams.
In any case, he now stood before me. To hide my hands trembling as though I had encountered a being I ought not to face, I clenched my fists tightly.
“Will you walk for a while?”
Before I could answer, Keshig soldiers had formed two lines before the Khan who asked again, and he walked between them.
“I have something to tell you. Follow me.”
His voice was low and rough, and he asked not a whit for my opinion. His words were spaced tightly, his tone hard as brick. Though it was a one-sided conversation devoid of even a speck of consideration, I silently followed behind him.
Perhaps because it had been six years since I had left the temple called the Inner Palace, the sunlight was glaring, and the wind seemed to gnaw at my flesh. Seeing how the outside world, felt after so long, had become rather strange, I wondered if I might have lost my mind had I been confined any longer.
But more frightening than such sensations was the fact that the Khan stood before me.
I felt the urge to flee, yet in a corner of my heart, curiosity seemed to surge forth enough to overcome that fear.
Why had he pulled me out? Now, of all times? For what purpose?
----- -----
“Did you hear it from Yesugei?”
“…Of what do you speak?”
The Mongolian words rang low and cold, while mine stumbled forth anxiously. One might ask if this was not a vast improvement from when I first came to Karakorum and could not speak a single word of Mongolian, but my maternal grandfather did not seem to think so.
Frowning slightly at my still unfluent Mongolian, he began walking again, gazing quietly at the steppe stretching to the horizon.
“The Western expeditionary force was defeated at Kievan Rus’.”
His voice was as peaceful as if he had said, ‘Yesterday I had meat for lunch,’ so I thought it meaningless… What? What was defeated?
“Our army was halved, and the supreme commander I appointed is dead.”
I said nothing. Hmm, that is unfortunate… but so? What does that have to do with me? Is there any need for me to know of it?
“I intend to place you in that position.”
Damn, so there was an enormous connection. In any case, my mind went blank in that instant. It did not take long to understand the meaning of his words. What I needed was time to accept in my heart how great an aftershock this single phrase would bring upon my life.
“…I am to lead an army?”
When a reply burst out of me like a reflexive question, I felt several Keshig soldiers glance at me with perturbed eyes. Yes, I know. My apologies for being such a fiery filial daughter who attaches the polite ‘-yo’ to Grandfather so impudently.
“Yes. Your mother and your father defeated our finest troops three times in Goryeo. If that talent flows through the blood, you shall possess it as well.”
His gaze pierced through me, and I averted my eyes. Hmm, it is true that in my previous life I had loved strategy simulation games, and especially historical simulation games, but reality is not a game. I have no confidence!
Whatever words I shouted in my mind, he continued resolutely.
“You shall take command of the army and complete the remaining task of the Western campaign. As one born of Mongol blood, establish merit for the Mongols.”
I bowed my head. I did not answer.
Me? Why?
My hands trembled. Was it because the wind brushing my cheek was cold, or because of a fear that seemed to freeze my very bones?
Or was it because I had heard those hollow words—that as one born of Mongol blood, I should establish merit for the Mongols; that because I was born a Mongol, I must conquer as a Mongol?
While I was lost in thought, he had already narrowed his eyes and was looking down at me.
----- -----
“…Your gaze is displeasing.”
His voice dropped low. He must have noticed my inclination to refuse. In truth, a man of his stature ought to have his face shoved into dishwater if he couldn’t read such signs.
So this is what it means to be a Khan. He thrust an offer I could not refuse at me. As if I had never possessed the right to decide in the first place.
“The darughachi report strange tidings from Goryeo. The blacksmith’s hammers strike not plowshares and hoes but the steel of swords, and military provisions have vanished without a trace. It is as if I am seeing the past once more.”
I drew a breath, and the cold air of the steppe, where autumn had arrived far too early, filled my lungs.
“Once may be coincidence. Twice is inevitability. A third time cannot be tolerated. Do you understand my words?”
The first rebellion of Goryeo, in which my father in this life had been dragged to the Mongols; the second rebellion of Goryeo, when my mother and father led the Goryeo army to rise up; and the third rebellion, which the darughachi might well fabricate.
If the absence of a “last time” sounded like “Goryeo will now vanish from the map,” was I being overly sensitive?
He took a step closer to me. As though urging me to choose, even when there was no room for choice.
“If you refuse this position, I shall take matters into my own hands. This time, I will sever Goryeo’s windpipe.”
I raised my head. The Khan’s face was close. That gaze. The gaze with which he had glared at me, his face spattered with blood, after cutting down my mother and father.
That gaze which had erupted from a face stained with rage and despair had returned once more before I knew it.
Yes, that’s right. When had I ever been given a choice? I had not even been given the choice to have this second life.
Had it been my choice that I, who had lived in modern Korea in the early years of the second millennium, awoke in medieval Goryeo? It was merely the trickery of the world and the gods.
“…I shall obey your command.”
I spoke thus. Under that gaze looking down upon me, unable to harbor any thought of defiance. Without knowing what would happen from now on, about to take a parachute post I had never once held in my life.
He nodded his head.
“It will be a long road. Prepare yourself thoroughly. Yesugei shall assist you.”
When the Khan turned his back, the Keshig followed. I remained alone in the spot where they had stood like wooden puppets, forming a human barrier, and watched as the sound of clanking iron grew distant from me.
----- -----
Yesen Khan closed his eyes atop the horse returning to the palace.
“Daughter, can you still not forgive me?”
They were the same. He had seen her in that child. How could she resemble her so? How could she resemble that face he so missed, as if carved from the same mold?
And how could she bear that very same gaze with which she had come to him, harbored in her breast, before gripping the knife in reverse to strike at him?
That child barely surviving within blood-dried pupils. The only child of Oljei. From a child who resembled his daughter too much—or perhaps excessively—she had seemed to superimpose herself.
“…”
The words that had attempted to flow out as he moved his lips scattered into the empty air. Now, it was time for him to suffer once more.
“Blood does not lie.”
He muttered thus. The ancient adage that the nomads had proven over generations: that blood does not lie.