The air of war thickened over Kyushu.
The rumor that reparations had arrived spread faster than expected.
Whenever a war ended, a familiar current followed.
Where the blade was sheathed, hands gathered.
Park Seong-jin had already seen the signs.
"This money can become more dangerous than swords."
Yun Dam did not answer at once.
He waited.
Park Seong-jin continued.
"This is not something that can be divided as military merit.
Those who suffered at the hands of the wakō were the people."
Yun Dam nodded.
In his mind, several lines of calculation were already turning at once.
Park Seong-jin's intent became clear.
"First, do not let it pass through the hands of the generals."
Yun Dam's brow twitched slightly.
If the soldiers received no share, maintaining discipline could become unstable—such thoughts surfaced immediately.
Park Seong-jin was firm.
"The moment it is divided in the camp, it becomes military merit.
From then on, this money is no longer compensation, but spoils of war.
This is not plunder. It is reparation."
"Second, do not divide it quickly—divide it correctly.
If you rush, those who arrive first will take it, not those who suffered most."
"Third, leave records.
Record what is sent to each district, and what each district distributes.
If we fail to leave records this time, reparations themselves will blur in the next war."
Yun Dam did not immediately pick up his brush.
After a brief silence, he spoke calmly.
"Then we will do it this way.
We will designate the funds not as 'war spoils,' but as 'Civilian Loss Compensation.'
We will separate them clearly from military merit and rewards.
They will be excluded at the source from any internal military distribution.
The name itself must be different.
"Second, we will establish standards of distribution.
Damages will be divided into three categories: loss of life, destruction of homes, ships, and farming tools.
We will set both upper and lower limits for each category.
Claims without evidence will not be accepted.
The measure will not be the loudness of grief, but the scale of loss.
"Third, we will conduct damage investigations.
Investigators will be dispatched from each district, while distribution will be carried out by local officials.
Investigators and executors will be cross-assigned.
If investigation and execution fall into the same hands, problems arise.
Collusion may still occur, but reducing the gaps comes first.
"Fourth, we will compile village-level damage lists and require mutual verification.
If false reporting is discovered, the next distribution for that village will be delayed.
An individual's greed will return as a burden on the entire village."
Park Seong-jin lifted his gaze.
"Is that not excessive?"
Yun Dam replied evenly.
"If it is not excessive, it will leak.
Money like this always flows to strange places.
Those who covet it gather, and the attitudes of officials and local magnates change.
Funds like this leak wherever hands can reach."
Park Seong-jin added one line.
"Write that violators will be executed."
Continuous reporting on enforcement
Progress reports on distribution were to be sent regularly to Karatsu.
Once distribution was complete, the results were to be left in writing.
Documents remain, and remaining documents become the next standard.
Shadows of small conflicts began to appear.
The meetings where Yun Dam's plan was explained were quiet.
Some gazes carried resentment—those who felt they had fought hard yet received nothing in return.
Even while receiving stipends, the belief surfaced that the price of battle should be paid separately.
Because it was seen as "free," people believed that even setting down a spoon should earn a share.
The human heart moved faster than documents.
That heart always demanded "as much as I touched."
Someone said it openly.
"We were the ones who fought the war. Why do only the people receive anything?"
Park Seong-jin did not waver.
As compensation began to be distributed in reality, dissatisfaction sharpened.
After the fighting ended, another kind of struggle revealed itself.
---*
Song I-jeong spoke up quietly.
"Could you not have shared a little? Everyone fought so hard."
Park Seong-jin paused, then spoke slowly.
"If I had something to distribute, I would gladly do so.
But it is not theirs.
It is clearly compensation for civilian losses. Even the name says so."
He continued without stopping.
"Do we even have the right to divide it?
There are people who lost family, were injured, whose lives collapsed.
Even if all of it goes to the people—even if several times more were added—it would not be enough.
And yet we divide it again? Let it pass through our hands once more?"
After a brief breath, he added in a low voice.
"Soldiers receive stipends. They fight in exchange for them.
If something more must be added on top of that, what would it be?"
His voice grew rough for a moment.
"A stipend is enough."
The words ended there.
Park Seong-jin lowered his gaze and thought.
How far must one understand human greed.
Is everything resolved simply by giving.
If we reduce what should go to the people because 'we worked hard,'
how is that different from the deeds of pirates.
The boundary grew unclear.
Yun Dam spoke calmly.
"Your words are right.
But people's thoughts do not always flow that way.
Because they are people.
Anyone comes to want, to reach out a hand."
At those words, Park Seong-jin's gaze blurred.
Thoughts he had arranged coldly collapsed at a single point.
Every time he heard, "It cannot be helped, because people are people,"
he felt cornered.
In that moment, Park Seong-jin realized something.
He might never walk at the same pace as these people.
An old thought rose again.
If I do not fit, must I leave.
Is that the conclusion I am heading toward.
"Ah, I truly don't know anymore."
Park Seong-jin waved his hand.
"Please devise another measure, Lord Yun.
Watching able-bodied men indulge such greed makes me wonder what I am even doing here."
He paused, then added bitterly.
"I lose sight of why I came this far, and what I endured it all for."
Yet one thing he made absolutely clear.
"Only this is certain.
Not a single coin will be taken from compensation meant for the people."
Yun Dam nodded.
But his expression was heavy.
He said nothing more and returned to his quarters.
That day, the phrase "wracking one's brain" fit exactly.
His mind tangled numbers and people together.
After Yun Dam left, Song I-sul approached quietly.
After studying Park Seong-jin's face, he spoke in a low voice.
"Do not burden your heart too much."
Without lifting his head, Park Seong-jin asked,
"How should a warrior—no, how should a virtuous man—regard the greed of the world?"
Song I-sul thought briefly, then answered simply.
"Keep a proper distance."
"Do you mean to accept it?"
He shook his head.
"Not to accept it—
but to accept that people live by greed.
Greed is their breath."
Park Seong-jin asked again.
"Then what about you, Daoist Song?"
Song I-sul smiled silently.
"Daoists are people too.
We have material desires.
We simply suppress them."
Park Seong-jin turned the words over in his mind.
To suppress—not to discard or erase, but to endure as it is.
That was harder.
That night, he thought again.
Whether he could stand in a place where desire is suppressed,
or whether he was someone who must eventually leave that place.
There was no answer yet.
And the lack of an answer made him more weary.
What Park Seong-jin had asked of Yun Dam was not a single immediate matter.
It was an evaluation of everything done so far, and the direction that should follow.
What, now, was the right course.
That question led directly to another.
What should be done with this land.
There was no longer any need for theory in making Tsushima Goryeo territory.
Iki, the starting point, had already entered the same category.
Beyond that, however, the situation changed.
Now came the question of how to deal with the wakō's base—the so-called origin.
By principle alone, the correct answer was to dispatch Goryeo officials here as well and rule it.
But this was the Japanese mainland.
And "mainland" meant something clear.
This land ultimately moved by its own rules.
Those rules were hardened by swords, honor, and alliances.
The problem was endurance.
How long could it be held.
If regular armies descended from the Japanese mainland, the situation would change.
While Park Seong-jin remained, it could be held.
The moment he left, even a few months could not be guaranteed.
Aware of this posture, the Nabeshima of Hizen could not sit still.
The fear that their domain might vanish weighed heavily.
They had already seen Goryeo rearrange territories at will.
On top of that, an army had entered.
A thousand cavalry equipped with refined armor and gear,
and a naval force of similar scale.
The problem was not numbers, but quality.
That firepower was overwhelming.
The air of war thickened over Kyushu.
This was no longer the situation of Park Seong-jin roaming alone and cutting down the heads of each domain.
It was not reprisal or punishment.
It was the clear shape of war.
And that war carried a question.
Remain—or withdraw.
Meanwhile, news of the Goryeo landing unsettled the Japanese shogunate as well.
The number of troops was not large.
But the fact that they had landed safely and secured a foothold was enough.
This was on a different level from Park Seong-jin's method of scattering terror across domains.
Calls arose to fight at once.
A shock incomparable even to his personal might swept through the political world of Kyoto.
This was a shogunate that had once repelled the massive armies of the Yuan.
That experience was hardening into conviction once more.