581.Only the feeling of something approaching was clear.
Park Seong-jin fell silent for a moment.
His gaze hung on the far edge of the sea, in a direction where nothing had yet arrived.
He himself could not explain it.
It was not that a fixed future was visible—rather, a sense of the flow reached him first.
He could not draw a line between decision and coincidence.
Only the feeling of something approaching was clear.
Song I-jeong asked carefully,
"Lord Park, what is it that you know?"
Park Seong-jin slowly turned his head.
"The Great King of Daehan has sent support."
Song I-jeong's eyes widened.
"There has been no message. How can you know?"
Park Seong-jin pressed his lips together for a moment.
Putting it into words felt awkward.
"It's hard to explain."
Song I-jeong asked again,
"What did you feel?"
Park Seong-jin traced the air with his fingertips.
"From far away, something like a reply came back.
The feeling that something earnestly sought has been accepted."
Song I-jeong swallowed quietly.
Park Seong-jin added,
"When you strike a pine board with a hand-blade, there are times when the hand knows first—
This can be broken.
It's like that."
Song I-jeong bowed his head.
"It is a realm I cannot reach."
Park Seong-jin said briefly,
"It's hard to explain. I just know support is coming. That's all."
He immediately set things in motion.
"The warships coming from Daehan are for inland seas. We'll graft them onto our ships here.
We'll entrust maneuvering to the elders descended from Jang Bogo.
Training the troops begins the moment they arrive."
His tone was not prophecy.
It was work.
Song I-jeong asked,
"Then do we delay sorties for now?"
Park Seong-jin shook his head.
"They're still here. I'll move alone, cutting their currents."
Song I-jeong answered shortly,
"…Loyalty."
He asked nothing more.
There were things beyond his understanding, and he was beginning to grasp that those things were part of Park Seong-jin's world.
=====---*
Meanwhile, ominous rumors spread among the Japanese raiders.
"That thing is not human. It's Goryeo's evil ghost."
Flying Shadow Step (飛影步) — a stride where the shadow arrives first.
"He jumped up from a small boat barely an arm's length long, and the shadow hit the deck first.
The next moment, he was standing before us."
Formless Slash (無形斬) — a cut with no shape.
"I never saw the blade. The wind passed first, and the flesh split afterward."
Mast-Cutting Art (斷幹術) — the way of severing a mast.
"A mast that took two men with arms spread to reach—cut in one stroke.
A soft swish and it was gone."
Shadow-Treading Extinction (影踏滅) — the end where the shadow touches.
"When the shadow brushed your instep, your breath stopped first."
They said he split ships apart.
"Wherever he walks, the deck cracks like splitting wood, water seeps in, and the ship sinks."
Death-Severing Finger (絶命指) — a break at the fingertips.
"It wasn't a blade. The moment his gaze brushed past, the neck twisted."
Treading Shadows on Water (水上踏影) — footprints on the sea.
"He leapt into the water, ran several steps on its surface, and climbed aboard."
Night Demon Breaking Formations (夜鬼破陣) — a hand that cuts only command at night.
"By morning, only the commanders were dead.
The doors were open. The guards were untouched."
It spread that if they scattered, Goryeo troops came; if they gathered, the demon arrived.
Run, and the paths closed. Hide, and the flow was cut.
More crews refused to sail.
Some abandoned expeditions entirely.
Fear hardened as battlefield memory intertwined with rumor.
The dimmer the night's vision, the more exaggeration filled the tale.
The tremor of survivors swelled the stories, and speed of transmission forged names.
Lanterns dwindled on the sea, while rumors lingered.
---*
Park Seong-jin became a man who waited for night.
When dusk fell and the first darkness settled on the sea,
he boarded the fast ship without a word.
It was a strange age.
Wherever along the coast one went, there were raiders.
Enemy ships were more common than burned villages.
It was easier to meet someone to kill than a living Goryeo civilian.
How had it come to this?
The army had rotted until the country reached this state.
While those meant to defend the land served their own interests, the south collapsed.
A night-strike unit was organized to support him.
Light hulls, strong sails, seasoned boatmen.
Those who knew shipcraft called them vessels meant to carry the shadow of a swordsman.
Veteran civilian boatmen volunteered of their own accord.
Boatmen proud to be descendants of Jang Bogo ferried Park Seong-jin and said,
"That which cuts through the darkness is not a man, but the soul of a blade."
At sea, it was easy to lose direction.
Chasing a light sometimes led not to an enemy ship, but to an island.
Rowing with force sent the small craft surging forward—
but the oars did not last. Broken and splintered, they had to carry extras.
Third came the operation of night reconnaissance boats.
They ran ahead to detect anchoring positions, movement, coastal lights, harbor smoke, and signal torches.
They scouted forward and relayed word back.
Seeing their signals, Park Seong-jin moved.
"Now."
The fast ship slid over the water like a skimming wind.
Even with sails half-raised, waves seemed to push it along.
The boatmen gripped their oars in silence.
Park Seong-jin closed his eyes beneath the sail.
He tried not to recall that night's killing.
The sea already held the smell of blood.
The scout signaled first.
The fast ship surged.
Near the enemy vessel, he leapt into the air and landed on deck.
And cut.
Where the blade passed, silence remained.
Light and sound did not linger.
Even the thud of falling bodies was swallowed by waves.
During that time, the words the raiders left each other were always the same.
"He comes every night."
"It's not a blade—it's a shadow."
"The twenty men on that ship vanished without a sound."
"There is an evil ghost in Goryeo. It crosses the sea."
Gathered or scattered, they died.
No one knew where Park Seong-jin would appear.
Only that he arrived at the darkest moment.
When signals folded just before his arrival, they fled in all directions.
---*
Each night, after returning from cutting down the enemy, his eyes wavered briefly.
The weight of killing clung to his shoulders, making even breathing heavy.
He endured because it was for the country and its people—
killing was never easy, and more so for one trained in the Way.
Yet he could not stop.
If he stopped, that many more civilians would die.
"If even one more child can sleep by a warm hearth,
then I will go out and cut every night."
Long before dawn, Park Seong-jin sat quietly on a wooden platform by the old shipyard.
Night's fatigue lingered in his body as he stared at the black horizon.
Someone approached without a sound.
"Please, have this."
A small tray held warm sweet rice drink.
When Park Seong-jin looked up, a rural woman stood before him.
Women were rare in camp; a visit at this hour rarer still.
He spoke politely.
"Thank you."
She remained standing, intending to take the bowl once he finished.
He drank it in one go and set it down.
It tasted good.
He nodded.
She still stood there.
In a small voice, she said,
"I never thanked you."
Park Seong-jin's eyes widened slightly.
He searched his memory through the rough hours of battle.
She was the woman rescued from a raider's ship that night.
He said evenly,
"I only did what was necessary."
Then he asked,
"Why haven't you gone home?"
She lowered her head.
"I have nowhere to go."
His fingertips stiffened.
"…I see."
She continued,
"They're all dead, and the village I lived in is gone."
"…I see."
She tried to steady her expression, but the tremor stayed in her voice.
"With everyone's help, I'll remain in camp for now. I'll cook meals, at least."
He waved his hand.
"That won't be necessary. But people must live—so take heart."
She carefully lifted the bowl he had set down.
"Thank you."
She turned and disappeared.
The scent of sweet drink lingered.
Park Seong-jin let out one long, low breath.
Misfortune lay scattered across the sea.
At sea, misfortune was greater still.
There is a superstition that those who die in the water drag the living into it.
It is called superstition because it cannot be explained—
yet on the sea, calamity truly abounds.