558.
Night had deepened.
Park Seong-jin walked slowly through the camp, where scattered lights glimmered faintly.
The briny stench of the shore mixed with the heavy smells of blood and iron.
The low breaths exhaled by exhausted soldiers covered the battlefield's night.
The warriors slept, spent.
Park Seong-jin's eyes remained open.
The faces of those he had cut down that day were clearer than the moonlight.
As he passed between the tents, the sound of hooves spread.
Men carrying torches emerged.
"Baeseong Gyesu-gwan Im Mok-im, here under royal command!"
The soldiers began to rise, but Park lifted a hand to stop them.
"A royal command in the middle of the night—what is it?"
The local official, Im Mok-im, bowed repeatedly as dozens of baskets and jars were unloaded.
Meat, dried fish, garlic, and ginger were packed tight.
Jars of soy sauce and soybean paste followed, along with sacks of rice.
He offered a formal bow and spoke.
"His Majesty praises your victory and ordered provisions sent at once."
Park let out a brief, dry laugh and narrowed his eyes.
"You came all the way from the Baeseong office—at night?"
"Yes. Not only Baeseong, but many southern subordinate counties each contributed what they could and rode through the night."
Park stood blankly for a moment.
Diligence could not always be explained by profit.
He saw himself—how his first instinct was always to interpret the world through interest and gain.
He calculated silently.
There were one hundred thirty main counties where officials were dispatched.
Three hundred seventy-four subordinate counties without resident officials.
The southern regions had especially many subordinate counties.
Moving from battlefield to battlefield, he had come to grasp local administration by touch.
Some things could not be done, no matter what.
Some things he was simply not good at.
The arithmetic a fifteen-year-old boy had learned in merchant caravans could not unravel centuries of extraction and violent redistribution.
Im Mok-im glanced sideways and spoke carefully.
"Once you finish clearing the field, may we take charge of what remains?
Surplus from the battlefield is… the local official's share."
The tone was gentle.
The eyes were not.
It was a request for permission to loot.
Support and compensation carried together on the same road.
Park answered shortly.
"Take everything except what can be used as military supplies."
The moment the words fell, the Baeseong office retainers swarmed like bees.
They searched the battlefield—where blades had clashed moments before—as if it were a marketplace.
They laid hands on armor, spears, swords, even quivers.
Park spoke again.
"Leave that."
He pointed to one side.
The unit gathered enemy weapons neatly in a pile.
Some of it would be sent to Gaegyeong as war trophies.
Im Mok-im swallowed his disappointment, bowed deeply, and withdrew.
When the people left, only the night wind remained in the camp.
Park looked up at the wide sky.
Battle, greed, death, looting, commands, screams—
all of it had blended into something familiar.
Within that familiarity, emptiness spread like ink in water.
Whose sin was heavier—
the raiders, or those picking over the battlefield afterward?
And yet, if they had nothing to take, the army would gain nothing from them.
Was that why he allowed it?
Or was it because, without even this, they would not survive the barren season?
From Jiangnan to Liaodong to the southern seas, people fought without end.
Lights wavered.
Wind passed through.
Soldiers stirred in their sleep.
Park looked at his sword hilt.
The blood was still damp.
He wiped it once with his fingertips.
"…I'm really tired," he said quietly.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
The mind wore down before the body.
---*
The dawn shoreline was strange.
The wind was not cold, yet killing intent hovered sharply in the air.
Villages abandoned by people lay empty.
Some houses stood with only doors dangling.
Some had windows stripped of their bars.
Some were ruins marked by fire.
When the Wa ran rampant, the people fled into the mountains.
They emptied their homes.
They took or hid food, clothing, and household goods.
The reason they had not returned yet was simple—
the raiders were still nearby.
A scout galloped in, sand spraying.
"Report! We have confirmation!
A Wa force has penetrated deep inland!
They're raiding towns along the route toward Nangju (Yeongam, Jeonnam)!"
Park asked,
"How many?"
"More than three hundred confirmed."
Park's voice dropped.
"Three hundred means another main force."
The intelligence officer placed a small stone on the map.
Twenty ri east from the coast.
A route cut deep along the mountain line was marked.
Park lifted his head.
"Commanders, gather."
He drew the situation in the sand with a stick.
Forces remained along the coast.
Wa units were skirting inland, avoiding allied troops.
There was a route leading to Nangju.
Song I-jeong spoke.
The location was not exact, but the general area was fixed.
Park turned the stick toward the ridgeline.
"We hit them here.
We catch them before they reach Nangju."
"It's mountain terrain. We'll be slow."
"They're wearing armor.
We're cavalry.
We're faster."
He continued.
"Hit them, pull back, hit again.
Wear them down.
Draw them into traps and wipe them out."
The commanders nodded.
As sunlight reached the coast, soldiers ate hastily.
They tied rations to their saddles.
Veterans and newly enlisted soldiers formed lines together.
In the cool wind, wreckage of boats and blowing sand trembled.
Then someone waved an arm and stepped into their path.
It was Im Mok-im, the Baeseong Gyesu-gwan.
This time, he was not alone.
Dozens stood behind him.
They were an ambiguous group—neither officials nor soldiers.
Some had the faces of clerks and errand runners.
Some looked like mere onlookers.
Keeping a distance of five ri, they busied themselves helping the army's movement.
Hands dismantled tents.
Hands gathered dropped bow cases.
Hands held reins.
Hands lifted saddles.
Im Mok-im ran up and bowed deeply.
"General! We hear the inland enemy is formidable.
We wish to follow behind and help, however little we can.
We'll do anything."
Park looked at them for a moment.
They were not bound by a single word—official, soldier, or civilian.
Their eyes were sincere.
Eyes that knew if the country fell, they would fall with it.
"Follow five ri behind," Park said.
"Do not come closer.
The enemy is strong.
They're skilled with blades."
At that, Im Mok-im and his group bowed deeply.
"Thank you, General!
We will support you with everything we have!"
The army moved toward the northern mountain range.
Sea fog shattered along the forest path.
Hooves tore into the earth.
Park Seong-jin's gaze turned once more toward the battlefield.
A new front opened—
toward the Wa forces inland.