Hamun bowed his head deeply.
His voice was low, his words trailing off.
"I am a man who handles another's affairs… I have no authority."
There was no excuse in it, no protest.
Only resignation.
"There are orders to collect from the tenants. There are orders to drive them out.
But… there has never been an order to correct what is wrong.
No order to lower the rate, to extend the term, or to return what was taken."
He lifted both hands as if to show he was the one in charge of the matter, then lowered them again.
"As much as I manage this work, the one who decides is someone else.
Even if I request an audience, I cannot meet him.
Even if I report upward, what returns is only urgency."
When he finished, Hamun tucked both hands deep into his armpits and pressed them there,
as if to hide them from sight,
or as if begging without words that they would burn no more.
The sight was not base so much as pitiable.
He was not the one who held the blade, nor the one who could establish will.
Only a man who transmitted and executed orders.
A face bearing the weight of another's greed, holding responsibility alone.
Park Seongjin spoke.
"Yes. You only did as you were told."
Hamun nodded.
"Yes."
Park Seongjin's gaze narrowed slightly.
"Then if someone in the road orders a man to kill another, and he kills him, he bears no fault. Is that so?"
Hamun's mouth closed.
"You believe that following an unjust order erases the crime."
Park Seongjin's voice did not rise.
Its calm made it colder.
"If you feel it unjust, you refuse and leave.
To remain, to continue wrongdoing, and then say you bear no blame—
that is not something a man does."
A brief silence passed.
"That is the conduct of a dog."
Hamun's face twisted.
"That is the common sense of Goryeo! Why blame only me?"
Park Seongjin answered at once.
"There is law. Why use violence."
"They do not leave by words. Not willingly."
"The common sense I know is this.
A man who harms another is punished.
Yet you hired ruffians to beat them.
You are the criminals."
"That was… to drive them out…"
Park Seongjin lifted his chin.
Song Yijeong moved quietly to the door behind them, shut it, and barred it from within.
"See that none leave."
"Yes."
Park Seongjin rolled up his sleeves.
At the cuff clung flour not yet dried.
He had come straight from kneading noodles.
He called out, loud enough to fill the room.
"Those who tried to drive people from the fields earlier. Raise your hands."
No one moved.
He seized the nearest man by the collar and dragged him forward.
"It was not me!" the man screamed.
Park Seongjin shoved the man's face toward Song Yijeong.
"It was him, was it not."
His fist flew.
Crack.
The sound rang in the room.
The man's cheek swelled at once.
"You went?"
"I was wrong!"
"When a bad man tells you to do wrong, you do it? Or you refuse?"
Crack.
The other cheek.
The face doubled in size.
"Spare me!"
Park Seongjin asked again,
"All of you here— the same, yes?"
"Yes!"
"You all did wrong because a wrong man ordered it?"
"Yes!"
He flung that one aside and seized another.
Pulled him close.
Another strike.
A scream burst.
He moved about the room, striking whichever man he caught.
More than ten were beaten, yet none dared resist.
The name of a master who had entered the Realm of Transformation already pressed the air down.
Two men ran for the door.
They stumbled after only a few steps and fell flat,
as if tripped by something unseen, faces striking the ground.
One man drew a sword.
"Put it away."
The words were short.
The man held the blade at an angle, retreating.
"What wrong have we done!"
"If you fight with fists, you are struck with fists. But if you draw steel—"
Park Seongjin flicked a small stone from the floor.
It flew.
Tap.
It struck the man squarely on the brow.
He fell backward.
Park Seongjin stepped forward, took the fallen man's sword,
and without hesitation drove it into his shoulder.
A scream tore out.
"You drew steel. Then steel answers."
He swept his gaze around.
Then seized the nearest again.
The sound of flesh striking flesh filled the yard before the gate.
Dull thuds.
Choked breaths.
Teeth clacking.
Strong men fell.
One clutched his belly and rolled.
Another covered his face and gasped.
"I did nothing!"
"It was not me!"
The excuses were always the same.
I only followed orders.
I did as I was told.
Yet none rushed him.
He was already a master beyond them.
The moment they raised a hand, they knew the end.
He did not hesitate.
He moved forward, back, left, right,
ending each in turn.
Force was unnecessary.
Direction alone brought a man down.
The noise reached inside at last.
Heads appeared.
"Oh heavens—"
A plump middle-aged woman cried out and withdrew.
Another presence stirred.
Baeksu.
The master of the house.
The man who had watched everything from within.
When the groans and screams filled the yard, he could not remain hidden.
He stepped out.
His eyes met Park Seongjin's.
His face stiffened.
Without a word, he turned and ran.
Arms flailing.
Yet he did not move forward.
He thrashed in place.
A long cord caught at his back.
Park Seongjin held it loosely, as if holding a fishing line.
He asked,
"This is Baeksu?"
Nearly twenty voices answered at once.
"Yes!"
Park Seongjin gave a short, low laugh.
"Heh."
He dragged Baeksu to the gate.
"I am Park Seongjin, Jungnangjang of the Yongho Guard."
"I have done nothing—"
"Fine. Be struck first."
The stick cut the air.
The sound was brief.
The result clear.
Baeksu screamed.
Each time he tried to speak, breath left him.
A strike to the leg bent his body.
A pull at the shoulder drained strength.
Park Seongjin asked,
"Do you know why you are struck."
"I do not!"
"Then you are struck more."
Baeksu endured.
Then collapsed.
His face swollen, breath ragged.
"I know! I know!"
"What."
"Driving out the tenant of Hagungchon— it was wrong."
Park Seongjin nodded.
"Good."
He asked no further.
Explanation was unnecessary.
Documents were brought at once.
Seals were pressed immediately.
Each completed paper opened another door.
"Elsewhere?"
"From my father's time—"
"And before that?"
Whenever the words faltered, the stick moved again.
Baeksu howled.
He begged.
Yet his mind remained clear.
He was not being killed.
Park Seongjin stopped speaking.
He drew his sword.
A silver line cut the air.
The two-story building split without sound and collapsed.
The yard froze.
"This is what follows."
Baeksu pressed his head to the ground.
"I will do it. All of it— I will."
Park Seongjin turned to Song Yijeong.
"If one man escapes from this moment?"
"He dies."
The answer was short.
That day, the gates of that house did not open again.