Chapter 38: Our War Game

When I listened to the lectures at the Gukjagam, I often felt an indescribable frustration.

Most notably, it was the scientific theories that made me feel that way.

“Mokja once argued that the earth was round and spinning, but that was already an outdated theory debunked a thousand years ago. The world is Tianyuan-Dibang, with a flat earth and a round sky placed over it like an egg. This is called the Hunchon.”

Oh my goodness.

As a man from the future, I expressed my support for Mokja.

‘Well… if you look closely at the sea, the middle bulges upward. And if the earth is flat, shouldn’t we be able to see the Tianshan (Himalayas), which are ten thousand li away, from here?’

‘How could you see everything when there is dust and fog? And if the earth is round, then how do people at the bottom not fall off?’

‘I think… there is something called… universal gravity.’

‘What nonsense are you talking about, Ondal? Besides, with the Hunchon Theory, we can make calendars and even predict solar and lunar eclipses.’

‘…What?’

Why does that even work?

But it really did.

‘The earth… is round….’

‘Stop spouting nonsense and admit it. The earth is square, and the sky is round! If you do not admit it, your grades will plummet!’

At that moment, I simply decided to believe that the earth was square and the sky was round.

The earth? Such heretical ideas did not give me grades.

Other than that, there were also history classes, and I truly enjoyed those.

History here was not just memorization—it was closer to an academic debate session.

For example, today the Doctor asked this.

‘Among the emperors of the Han Dynasty, who was the greatest?’

The instant I heard the question, chills ran down my back for no reason.

Wasn’t this the famous Sado quiz? I instinctively answered.

‘Wouldn’t it be Emperor Wen?’

Then the Doctor said.

‘Why do you not mention Emperor Wu?’

‘Emperor Wu?’

‘Wasn’t Emperor Wu the best at fighting? To the north, he subdued the Xiongnu, to the south the Yue, to the east Joseon, and to the west Dayuan. Emperor Wen was also excellent, but as a true man of Goryeo, it is proper to rank Emperor Wu higher.’

What a madly macho country this was.

Prince Sado, why were you born in Joseon?

You should have been born here instead….

Other than that, martial arts was a class I liked.

Ttak–!

During swordsmanship training, I stepped back after my wrist was smacked by Maeng Sap.

Maeng Sap grinned.

“Ondal! Is this all you’ve got? Where did that swordsmanship you showed at the Hunting Festival go?”

“I told you, I’ve only been learning for a year….”

The swordsmanship I had shown at the Hunting Festival was simply ‘putting all my strength into the very first strike.’

It only worked in the first encounter, and not against those who had seen me twice or thrice.

Maeng Sap must have realized that was the only thing I knew, because he kept exploiting that weakness and beat me up.

“Of course, on the battlefield, most opponents will be strangers and fall to you… but if by chance you meet someone with skill like mine, you might fail, right? It wouldn’t be bad to think of a follow-up.”

“Thanks. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good. Then next….”

Maeng Sap’s eyes gleamed.

“Teach me how you made those wonderful muscles of yours!”

I had brought into the Gukjagam the weights I had made earlier.

The seniors must have thought they were just some strangely shaped weapon, so they didn’t interfere.

(If you thought they should have interfered more because it was a weapon, then you are not yet a Goguryeo man.)

Through this, I honed my body whenever I had time, and my classmates, whether from the Domestic Fortress Faction or the Pyeongyang Faction, showed interest since they valued martial spirit.

“Where did we leave off last time?”

“The… lying down and lifting the weight. Something about an arch shape… but what is an arch?”

Ah, that.

Embarrassingly, I had thought “arch” was a Chinese character. Something like 亞嗤, meaning ‘similar to a smiling shape’?

But it wasn’t a character at all.

“It’s shaped like… a bow.”

“What kind of bow? A folded one, or a long one?”

“Like when you use wood to make a bridge.”

“Do you mean a Hongye, the arch used to make bridges or fortress gates?”

Go Jaemu drew an arch shape precisely on the ground as he asked.

In this era, an arch was called Hongye.

“Yes, that’s it, Hongye. Bend your body into a Hongye shape.”

“Ah, like this?”

“Right. Now pack your scapulae… no, pull them together, as if there’s an apple in the middle.”

“Ap…ple?”

“Peach! As if there’s a peach in the middle!”

Oh man, I was going crazy.

Why do peaches exist, but not apples?

Even with my pathetic explanation, Maeng Sap roughly understood and took the posture.

“Like this?”

“Perfect. You’ve got talent.”

“Good. How many should I do?”

“Ten.”

“Say it’s ten, then after counting ten several times, you’ll probably stop around seventeen, right?”

“Yeah.”

That was how it was done.

Aside from the three major exercises, push-ups and planks were also very popular here.

It was only natural.

Our bodies had been swelling up.

No matter how much this was said to be a nation of warriors, Goguryeo-style physical training couldn’t compete with the standardized fitness tools of the 21st century.

In particular, with planks, the hardship was so noticeable that the Taehak scholars even discussed making it part of the official drills.

After fitness spread like this, even the surrounding nobles started treating me differently.

“Thanks to you, my arms got thicker!”

“Thank you, Ondal! I’ll definitely repay you someday.”

Since I passed on the secrets of body training in a military state free of charge, it was no wonder its influence spread far.

They practically treated me like a teacher.

And during breaks?

We played.

Yes, we finally played.

Instead of grabbing those damned brushes, those damned books, and copying endlessly onto that damned paper, we finally began to play.

“Ondal, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Because of you, we can play.

I never knew playing was this good.

Playing is the best.

Gather around, friends.”

“It’s always fun!”

The children gathered in groups of three or five.

As expected, no matter the era, kids were kids.

How could fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds hate playing?

Sometimes the more energetic ones still played kickball or pitch-pot, but there weren’t too many of them.

Shooting arrows and swinging swords was already exhausting—how could they keep running around even during breaks?

There was a game that was far more popular.

“Should we carry here?”

“Carry? What are you talking about? We’re betting! How much money’s on this?”

“One roll’s worth a bolt of cloth.”

“Wow, big spenders! What an honor, great patrons!”

“Hey, shut up. Don’t distract me during backgammon.”

“A real King Gaero’s in the making.”

Those seated around the table chuckled.

What they were playing was Ssangnyuk, the most popular board game of this era.

It was similar to Yut, except instead of sticks they used two dice.

As with most dice games, rolling double sixes was best, hence the name ‘Ssangnyuk.’

“They also call it backgammon.”

It was said to be a board game played since the Bronze Age, around 3,000 BCE.

That meant it was older than Gojoseon, and fitting its long history, it had already spread both East and West.

In the East it was called Ssangnyuk, in the West, backgammon, though the rules were nearly the same.

“Dasan Jeong Yak-yong was famous for being a master of Ssangnyuk.”

He won huge amounts of money with it and spent it all on courtesans.

(Though later, realizing it wasn’t right, he wrote in Mokminsimseo that Ssangnyuk was gambling and should not be played.)

The second most popular game was Baduk, which was said to have appeared around the Shang Dynasty, about two thousand years younger than Ssangnyuk.

“Give me advice and I’ll stab you with a knife.”

“Fine, I won’t.”

The appearance of the game was a little different from that of the 21st century.

Modern Baduk started with an empty board, but in this era, each player placed eight stones—sixteen in total—on star points and sides before beginning.

It was a kind of speed Baduk.

Seeing everyone so absorbed in board games stirred something inside me.

“Board games… it’s really been a long time.”

I liked board games and knew them well.

That came from my experiences living in the countryside when I was young.

Since I grew up in the countryside without a mother, I mostly played and studied with the village grandfathers and grandmothers.

“Math? Should we just teach him the abacus?”

“It’s better than not teaching anything.”

That was when I learned the abacus.

I had already asked Wang Godeok to make one, and a prototype would be arriving soon.

I also played with those elders, and naturally, the kinds of games old folks could teach a child were limited.

“Insam, want to play Baduk with grandfather? Or Janggi?”

“Or maybe play Go-stop with grandmother?”

“Go-stop? Seotda would be better.”

“You old fool, you’re about ready for the grave, aren’t you? Teaching a kid Seotda? Get lost!”

…So I ended up playing board games, namely Go-stop and Baduk.

Since the grandparents didn’t know ‘kids’ games,’ they taught me their own.

And they thought it was adorable when a child played Baduk or Go-stop.

“Ah, I miss those grandfathers.”

Now, as a man of Goguryeo, by birth year I was older than those grandfathers.

Anyway… I had some talent in Baduk, and at one point even hoped to pursue a career in it.

“Wow, this kid plays well!”

“Didn’t you say you were amateur 4-dan?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Then does that mean he just earned 4-dan?

Are we looking at the next Lee Chang-ho from our village?”

“Rather than Lee Chang-ho, these days it’s Lee Sedol….”

And so, dragged along by my grandfathers’ fussing, I once went to a Baduk tournament held in the county town.

“…I lost.”

After being completely crushed by a seven-year-old kid, I realized my Baduk talent was questionable and gave up my dream of becoming a professional.

However, I did not give up the joy of board games.

Since then, I continued to enjoy various board games.

To play board games, I had to take the bus to the county town, or even to the city, but it was worth the trouble.

Starting with popular ones like Monopoly and Catan, by the time I was in high school, I had stepped firmly into the realm of niche hobbies.

“And Goguryeo is truly a paradise of board games.”

For people of this era, board games were as popular as StarCraft, LoL, or Valorant in the 21st century.

The only problem was, the options were limited to Yut, Baduk, Janggi, and Ssangnyuk.

Then.

“…Should I make a new board game?”

To boost my reputation, and also to have fun.

Hmm…

It might not be a bad idea?

And a month later.

“Hey, junior. When is the expansion pack for Goryeo Myosan coming out?”

Second-year leader Yeon Taejo came straight up to me and asked that.

I pointed to the dagger in my hand.

“Can’t you see what’s in my hand right now?”

I was carving wood.

When I carved a few wooden movable types before, I realized I had some talent in woodworking.

Of course, I wasn’t as skilled as a true craftsman… but it was enough to make things as a hobby.

“To be precise, tools for a hobby.”

After thinking hard about what board game to make, what I released was something called a “Miniature Game.”

A war game where pieces with their own rules and characteristics moved and fought using dice.

“A war game… the concept of Myosan already existed in this era.”

There was a story that when King Chu planned to wage war, the philosopher Mokja used Myosan to simulate a battle and showed the attack would fail.

But that Myosan was closer to a rhetorical debate than an actual game.

It was like saying, “I’ll place my troops here.” “Then the enemy cavalry will strike from there.” “Then I’ll use my reserves in the rear.” “Now I activate hidden catapults! Reserve blocked!”

But the Goryeo Myosan I made was different.

It used a ruler to measure, implementing “fog of war” through dice rolls.

The reason I made this was simple.

Goguryeo people loved board games, and they loved war.

So if I combined the two things they loved, wouldn’t they love it twice as much?

So, I clumsily made a few miniature foot soldiers and tested it, and my guess was wrong.

“Myosan! Myosan!”

“From now on, anyone without Goryeo Myosan soldiers loses the right to be a Taehak student!”

“Draw the sword called Soldier!”

They didn’t love it twice as much—they loved it dozens of times more.

Even what was happening right now proved it.

“Bring more rulers!”

“Here….”

“Is this ruler right? Feels a little short?”

In 21st-century miniature games, the tool for calculating unit ‘movement’ was a tape measure.

But of course, tape measures didn’t exist in this era, so at Taehak they used rulers instead.

A Goguryeo ruler was about 35 cm, but surprisingly, even soldiers rarely carried precise measuring tools.

However, thanks to the craze for Goryeo Myosan, a new paradigm of “standard units” was born at Taehak.

Why?

“This should reach!”

“Your ruler’s shorter! Where did you get it?”

“This one’s from Yeon ga Ironworks. Yours must be the weird one!”

Because of balance issues.

If ruler lengths weren’t uniform, the whole game collapsed.

Thanks to the Goryeo Myosan craze, ruler orders flooded Yeon ga Ironworks, and it even became trendy to carry one around.

And that wasn’t all.

Complaints about the rules poured in too.

“Hey, junior. My grandfather once fought against Silla.”

“…All of a sudden?”

“I asked my father for the records and brought them.”

A Pyeongyang Faction senior waved expensive sheets of paper.

“He said sixty out of a hundred dead were killed by crossbows, thirty by swords, and only ten by spears.

That means spearmen are overrated right now.”

“…What?”

“And another thing—the crossbows are off too.

Silla’s crossbows were mostly blocked by shields, and only one in five got through.

Their attack power should be lowered!”

“Calm down. This is just a game, isn’t it?”

“A game? How can you call this a game? This is a real war fought on a table!”

…Something was happening.

In the West, by the 6th century BCE in Greece, it was already known that the Earth was spherical.

After all, the word “Earth” itself meant “round land.”

In the East, Mokja argued both heliocentrism and the spherical Earth.

It was likely based on his observations, but it never gained much recognition.

The main reason was that the Eastern “Tianyuan-Dibang” model could already explain most astronomical phenomena visible to the naked eye.

Mokja’s heliocentric-spherical Earth theory seemed to lose ground against such astronomical models.

Also, it could not explain the major issue of gravity.

So how did the West explain it before Newton?

The answer is: they didn’t.

They simply said, “That’s just its nature.”

The famous armillary sphere embodied this Tianyuan-Dibang model.

It is usually known as “Jang Yeong-sil made it,” but in truth, Jang Yeong-sil only made one adjusted for the Korean peninsula.

Imported, Made-in-China armillary spheres were already present in this era.

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