345.
Dawn in the Encampment**
Dawn had not yet arrived, but a faint blue line was rising along the far edge of the eastern sky.
Park Seong-jin came out alone from a darkened tent and sat on a low hill.
All night he had steadied his breathing in seated meditation, and the afterglow of it formed gentle ripples within his body.
As each inhalation and exhalation lengthened, the noise of the battlefield receded, and only the sounds inside himself grew clear.
A single gust of wind brushed across the plain.
Carried on it came the sound of footsteps from behind.
It was Song Yi-sul.
A sword hung quietly at his waist, and he walked with his breath lowered from his toes upward, as if unwilling even the scabbard to make a sound.
"Up already, when dawn hasn't even come?"
Park Seong-jin lowered his head.
"I couldn't sleep."
Song Yi-sul tipped his chin slightly toward the sky and said offhandedly,
"When the mind is quiet, sleep comes. When the mind is noisy, it doesn't."
They sat side by side on the hill.
Before them spread the fields of Taepyeong.
Even in the darkness, the outlines of the tents looked like crouching beasts, and between them the remaining embers still breathed faintly.
Song Yi-sul spoke first.
"Seong-jin, your mind's settled lately, hasn't it?"
Looking up at the sky, Park Seong-jin replied,
"When I stopped rushing, like you said, I finally started seeing what's around me. People's faces, the color of the sky… It feels less like a battlefield and more like being alive."
Song Yi-sul let out a small laugh.
"That's how study always is. When you're running, you see nothing. You have to stop to see."
Park Seong-jin hesitated, then asked,
"Then… is stopping important in martial cultivation too?"
Song Yi-sul picked up a small stone near his feet.
It was cold and smooth.
Without a word, he placed it on Park Seong-jin's open palm.
"This is martial skill."
Park Seong-jin blinked.
"This… is?"
Song Yi-sul continued,
"Hold it. When you move, it has weight. Drop it, and it breaks.
But if you simply let it rest in your hand, you won't even know whether it's there or not."
Park Seong-jin slowly closed his fingers.
The stone's cold seeped into the lines of his palm.
Song Yi-sul went on,
"Martial skill is the same.
When it moves, it's a blade.
When it stops, it's the mind."
He paused, giving the words time to sink into Park Seong-jin's body.
Then he added, very quietly and firmly,
"If the mind moves before the blade, you fall into inner deviation.
If the blade moves before the mind, you become a beast."
Park Seong-jin drew in a breath.
The cold dawn air split thinly in his lungs.
"Then… is there a moment when mind and blade become one?"
"There is."
Song Yi-sul pointed toward the distant east.
The emaciated light of dawn trembled faintly above the horizon.
In the gap between night and day, a nameless light was opening.
"That's the moment.
It looks like the sun is rising, but it hasn't yet.
It feels like night is ending, but it hasn't.
Martial skill blooms in that in-between."
Silence flowed for a while.
The wind stopped, and an unknown bird cried awkwardly—
the unfinished sound of an unfinished dawn.
Suddenly, Song Yi-sul said,
"I never saw that boundary properly."
Park Seong-jin turned to look at him.
Long-worn scars lay pressed into Song Yi-sul's face.
It wasn't words, but the years piled behind them that shaped his expression.
"I tried to force open the upper dantian.
Back then, I wanted to conquer everything, climb everything, have everything.
That desire was greed."
He raised his arms again.
Scarred marks beneath his outer robe glimmered briefly in the dawn light.
"These scars weren't left by martial skill," Song Yi-sul said softly.
"They were left by my mind—
by a mind that drove my body too hard."
Park Seong-jin felt his breath catch.
He wanted to ask, but didn't.
Touching another person's wounds always requires care.
Song Yi-sul offered no more explanation, only the conclusion.
"Seong-jin, martial skill isn't something qi does.
It's something people do."
As the words fell, it felt as though the battlefield below also sank into stillness.
"When a person loses their mind, qi loses its path.
And then the person loses their way as well."
The dawn light brightened.
The contours of the land slowly emerged.
Without realizing it, Park Seong-jin gently rolled the stone in his palm.
The coolness moving across his skin made his mind even calmer.
Move, and it is a blade.
Stop, and it is the mind.
The words seemed to seep through his entire body.
Somewhere between his heart and his dantian, he felt a subtle opening and closing.
Song Yi-sul spoke again.
"Your qi's been flowing evenly lately.
Looks like the impatience has drained away."
Park Seong-jin smiled quietly.
"I learned a little ease—watching the generals and the soldiers.
That living comes first."
Song Yi-sul chuckled gruffly.
"Right. Martial skill isn't there to defeat people.
It's there to keep people alive."
Dawn fully opened.
The fields of Taepyeong shone silver.
From the slightly higher rise, the tents lay spread out below, and the stirrings of soldiers just waking reached them—
the clang of pots, horses snorting, someone laughing and cursing as they rose.
Life was pushing back the shell of war.
Park Seong-jin slowly stood.
Song Yi-sul rose with him.
At that moment, Park Seong-jin's gaze was different from yesterday.
Not the light of a blade, but the light of water—
a gaze that could flow, stop, and flow again.
He said softly,
"With this kind of mind… I don't know how far I might go."
Song Yi-sul patted his shoulder.
"When you walk with the mind, there is no end."
The dawn wind passed between them.
Within it, the war still felt distant,
and cultivation stood close at hand.