transportation hub.
Park Seong-jin chose a broad crossroads where the roads split in all directions and set up his camp there.
In modern terms, it was a transportation hub.
With peninsulas, bays, and islands tangled together, following the coastline alone yielded no clear answers.
Rivers, mountain paths, and the shore all converged here—a critical node between them all.
From that point, he again scattered his scouts in every direction.
"East, south, west, and north. Thirty ri each way, then return.
If you see firelight, report immediately.
The essence of intelligence is getting as close as possible."
"By your command!"
Once the scouts disappeared, a dust-covered stream of refugees was led before him.
Starving old men, women carrying children on their backs, merchants who had just abandoned their bundles.
With trembling hands, they spoke over one another.
"General… that port too… and that one as well… those raiders—"
"Along the southern coast, here, there, and there again—"
"They say enemy banners were seen on the western sea!"
"Every port at the end of Jeolla has burned…!"
Park Seong-jin did not greatly change his expression as he listened.
He only muttered briefly,
"…This looks like it won't end."
Throughout the afternoon, scouts returned one after another.
Reports from the various wei, messages from local officials, and testimonies from the people began to converge into a single picture.
They were not merely looting and leaving.
In some villages, the enemy had dug in, throwing together fortress-like structures.
Elsewhere, ships were hauled ashore and turned into crude palisades.
At some harbors, watch posts had been erected at the mouth of the inlet.
Across both the western and southern coasts, the enemy was settling in.
This was no longer simple piracy—it had taken the shape of a quasi-occupation.
Park Seong-jin clenched his fist without realizing it.
"…They're putting down roots."
When the reports were compiled, at least five enemy groups were confirmed operating in this region alone.
Each numbered between one hundred and three hundred.
The size varied, but their equipment and conduct were close to that of regular troops.
Some reports even claimed numbers approaching a thousand, like the first encounter.
"They're not raiding and leaving," someone muttered.
"They squat, take everything they want, then move on…"
Still mounted, Park Seong-jin closed his eyes briefly.
Song I-jeong drew a slow breath.
"General, how will you move?
Will you simply strike them one by one?"
Park Seong-jin shook his head.
"If we strike blindly, we won't know where the other groups scatter to.
First, we watch."
He summoned the intelligence officer forward.
"Bring me drawings—exact positions of each group, troop strength, unit composition, commanders, equipment, number of ships, and the structure of their camps and fortifications. Everything."
The officer's eyes widened.
"…General. You won't attack immediately?
If we delay even a little—"
Park Seong-jin looked straight at him.
"We are at war.
Not a single battle—a long war."
The officer fell silent.
"Mark it all on the map."
"By your command!"
Song I-jeong added quietly,
"It's the same in the Central Plains, and it was the same for Goryeo.
We hear their side is losing control as well.
Even if the shogunate issues orders, their reach doesn't extend this far."
Park Seong-jin asked,
"Then who stands behind them?"
Song I-jeong replied,
"Lords who profit from it.
Names from Shikoku and Kyushu come up often.
Some even provide troops."
Park Seong-jin spoke softly,
"I've heard enough."
The intelligence officer bowed without complaint.
"I will investigate at once."
Park Seong-jin continued,
"Song I-jeong, assign ten riders to him.
Make sure he doesn't die while scouting."
"By your command!"
Watching the reconnaissance party ride away, Park Seong-jin added,
"They're pirates… but they're not pirates."
His voice was low and cold.
"They're an army.
And an army must be dealt with like one."
His index finger traced the map slowly.
Several points already marked the confirmed enemy positions.
His finger stopped at one place.
That pause became a thought.
"A Captured Merchant Named Mitsui Is Brought Before Park Seong-jin"
A single prisoner was dragged forward, his arms held by two soldiers.
Unlike the others, he wore not torn rags but a neat silk outer robe.
The belt was worn, yet clearly of fine quality.
His hands bore none of the calluses of swordsmen—only the smoothness of one accustomed to documents and money.
He appeared to be in his early forties, perhaps late thirties.
Park Seong-jin narrowed his eyes.
"What is that man?"
The officer straightened.
"General, his clothing differed from the others, so we questioned him separately.
He claims to be a merchant."
"A merchant…?"
For a moment, Park Seong-jin thought of Lord Wang Pil-sun.
When he looked up at the man, the prisoner darted his eyes like a startled rabbit, then went deathly pale as their gazes met.
He was neither soldier nor thug, nor did he look like someone who would torment villagers with a blade.
Park Seong-jin nodded slightly.
"Bring him closer."
The soldiers shoved the merchant forward.
At that moment, Park Seong-jin lightly tapped the ring-hilted saber resting on his knee.
Click.
A clear metallic sound.
That sound alone made the merchant's legs give way.
Park Seong-jin asked,
"State your name."
"…Mi— Mitsu… Mitsui Rosuke," the man stammered.
"Mitsui?"
"Yes, sir.
Mitsui trading house—Rosuke."
At the word sir, Park Seong-jin let out something like a quiet breath of amusement.
The merchant was clearly grasping for the right form of address.
"Foreign names are hard to keep straight," Park Seong-jin said.
"Sounds familiar, or maybe not.
In any case, go on."
The merchant bowed deeply.
"I am truly nothing but a trader.
I did not start this war, nor can I wield a blade.
I followed the Wa forces only to transport supplies—"
Park Seong-jin raised a hand.
"Enough."
He turned to the officer.
"You said this man 'knows many things,' did you not?"
"Yes.
He claims to know where the enemy ships depart from, how many remain at sea, the size of each force, and even their next destinations—at least in outline."
Park Seong-jin pulled a chair closer and sat directly in front of the merchant.
"Sit."
The merchant collapsed to his knees as if his spine had been cut.
Park Seong-jin's voice sank low and heavy.
"Very well. Speak, merchant of the trading house."
His gaze was cold and sharp—what filled it was not anger, but need.
"How many ships remain at sea?
Where did they come from, where are they headed, and for what purpose?
Tell me everything."
The merchant's lips trembled.
"Sir… if I speak… will you spare my life…?"
They always try to bargain first.
Park Seong-jin shook his head briefly.
"I will not decide on your words alone."
He met the merchant's eyes.
"I will weigh them against what I have seen and confirmed."
"I did none of it!" the merchant blurted.
"You stood beside those who did," Park Seong-jin replied.
"That cannot be called a crime!"
Park Seong-jin tilted his head slightly.
"Then it is also insufficient as a reason to spare you."
He continued calmly,
"Prisoners of war become slaves.
Sending you to Gaegyeong to be worked to the bone would take effort.
Ending it here would be faster.
I thought as much yesterday."
His tone was even, but the weight of his words was like stone.
"I have seen many things with my own eyes.
But if the value of your information is great, I will choose a method that matches its price."
The merchant swallowed.
"Where is your homeland?"
"K—Kyoto," he answered hastily.
"The Mitsui house was founded in Kyoto by Lord Takatoshi—starting with textiles and garments, expanding into finance, mining, shipping—"
"Only what is necessary," Park Seong-jin cut in.
"Y-yes, sir!"
"You said your house knows the movements of the Wa forces," Park Seong-jin said.
"Numbers, ship dispersal, commanders' names and temperaments, methods of battle, times and routes of appearance—tell me truthfully."
Then he added,
"Does your house not say that 'information is gold'?"
"Yes… sir.
I will speak of everything I know, without concealment."
At that moment, Park Seong-jin's gaze shifted—
not with interest or pity, but with the sensation of information that could move a battlefield finally coming within reach.