596.The sense of time passing disappeared
Park Seong-jin lay down on the narrow cot inside the tent.
The lamp was turned low, and the wind-screen cloth breathed faintly.
The moment he closed his eyes, thought stopped first.
He felt neither the process of falling asleep nor the process of waking.
The sense of time passing disappeared.
No shape of dreams arose.
Neither the memory of a hand gripping a sword nor the smell of blood reached him.
The body sank, and consciousness did not pass over it.
His breathing continued, neither deep nor shallow.
No thought slipped in between breaths.
The battlefield, names, and tomorrow all receded.
He remained still, leaving only existence behind.
He did not know how much time had passed.
The lamp flickered once, and the sound of a guard rotation brushed past outside.
His eyelids trembled ever so slightly.
Before consciousness returned, the body woke first.
---*
The morning sun slowly rose above the ramparts.
Morning inside Jinju Fortress began by cautiously catching its breath.
Through the mist, pot lids lifted, and steam from thin porridge spread into narrow alleys.
Children laughed more quietly than the day before.
People gathered at the well, talking.
Arms holding water jars trembled, and when water spilled, they stepped aside without a word.
Yesterday's fear remained fully in their expressions.
Morning inside the fortress was a confirmation of being alive.
Outside the gates, the fields showed a different face.
Beneath dust that had settled overnight, the red earth lay damp.
Entangled footprints and drag marks flowed in a single direction.
Broken spear shafts and fallen shields were scattered like weeds.
Where bodies had lain, the color of the soil remained.
The smell of the battlefield grew clearer under sunlight.
The mixed scent of blood, sweat, and earth settled low on the wind.
Crows landed at regular intervals.
Their cries were short, their movements familiar.
Here, night had ended, and sorting had begun.
The two scenes seen from the wall did not touch.
Inside the fortress, life continued.
Outside, traces remained.
The same sun shone on both, yet the weight of the light was different.
The living and the dead.
The direction in which people lived and the direction in which people fell were divided.
Park Seong-jin stood on the battlements, gazing at that boundary for a long time.
The morning of the people and the aftermath of the battlefield overlapped in a single view.
He did not turn away from either.
He accepted that the place connecting the two was his place.
---*
Across half of the southern coast, the shadow of the Japanese raiders had lifted.
The scattered remnants remaining in the other half, crushed in spirit, were gradually retreating as well.
Park Seong-jin accepted that the decision to meet them head-on as far as Jinju had been the right one.
With nowhere else to rely on across the Eight Provinces, Jinju became the place of response.
Here, the direction of the front and the grain of logistics interlocked.
At dawn the next day, a report came in.
"General, the gunpowder has arrived."
Park Seong-jin tilted his head.
"We made the gunpowder."
"…Ah."
He asked about the amount.
"How much."
"Enough for one battle."
The craftsmen carefully brought out jars.
Inside the small jars was black powder, increased to a few handfuls.
Park Seong-jin swallowed the sensation of emptiness and awe surging together.
"Without principle or path, you carved a way with your fingertips."
From waste, bean husks, rice straw, and long-rotted soil, salt-like white crystals had been drawn out little by little.
From the foul-smelling refuse behind kitchens and beneath floors, saltpeter had risen.
The craftsmen scooped the powder with their fingertips, unable to hide their wonder and caution.
Excitement was clearly written on their faces.
Park Seong-jin smiled roughly.
"They say in Jiangnan, you dig anywhere and it comes out."
As his words trailed off, a thought lodged itself in his mind.
He wanted to confirm with his own body what lay beneath the soil of Jiangnan.
He wanted to see with his own eyes why saltpeter overflowed from that land.
That thought soon transferred itself to the changes taking place in Jinju.
The atmosphere of Jinju was changing.
Only days earlier, orders had settled slowly, and work slid backward.
When tasks were mentioned, people hesitated, pulling out reasons from every direction.
The world is full of difficulties, and there are always more people who speak of those difficulties first.
Now the words were different.
"General, just give the order."
"We will handle it immediately."
"Even if difficulties block the way, we will set a course."
Watching this sudden change, Park Seong-jin thought calmly.
It was the result of hearts moving after witnessing that display beneath the walls.
"So this is how the force of arms shakes people's hearts."
When he first entered Jinju, work was often blocked, and responsibility scattered in all directions.
Even the movements of low-rank guards were rough, and frustration accumulated.
When word spread of the battle in which he alone had repelled thousands, the grain flipped.
The gaze of the people changed.
The posture of the magistrates lowered.
The craftsmen took on eyes that would carve paths even through desperate tasks.
Force produces brutal results.
In chaotic times, it operates as a primal trust that moves the public heart.
Park Seong-jin bound that power to work.
He immediately divided the tasks.
"Secure saltpeter."
"At the current pace, the path to increasing gunpowder is narrow."
The work of digging through all nearby soil began.
The craftsmen, together with Jinju officials, tore through nearby house sites, collecting earth.
If the soil looked even slightly different, they scooped it up on the spot.
They searched old pits in the mountains and even the backyards of abandoned houses.
Able-bodied men carried sacks of soil.
Women drew water and stoked the fires.
Beside them, the craftsmen sifted the soil again and again.
Even under moonlight through the night, steam rose from cauldrons.
Each time white powder revealed itself within, exclamations burst out.
"It's coming out."
"A little more is gathering."
Watching the scene, Song I-sul spoke quietly.
"Now it looks like an army that truly moves."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
"War needs force."
"And the hearts that uphold that force have deeper roots."
---*
There was a clear limit to the speed at which gunpowder could be increased.
Saltpeter was the result of carving a path by hand, and even that was only possible where such soil existed.
Melting it in fire and boiling it into salt-like form could be filled by effort alone.
That too only applied when the soil itself contained it.
Days passed when digging and sifting from dawn to dusk still failed to fill even a single jar.
As the hours spent tending fires and waiting for cooling increased, human stamina wore down first.
Park Seong-jin accepted that pace as calculation.
One craftsman spoke cautiously.
"General, the soil is different."
"In this district it comes quickly, over there it comes slowly."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
"So it yields only as much as the land permits."
Gunpowder was the force that opened the door to battle.
Yet it did not last long.
The phrase "enough for one battle" kept circling his mind with lingering regret.
Time was thin to build strength for another.
The defeated raiders had scattered, and as much as they scattered, they also gained time to regroup.
That time was not on Park Seong-jin's side.
The speed at which they caught their breath and set direction was always fast.
The gunpowder of Jinju found it difficult to overtake that speed.
Park Seong-jin gathered the people.
The craftsmen stopped speaking of quantity and refined quality instead.
If even a trace of impurity was mixed in, they filtered it again, enduring the time.