The aura was completely different
When Jiho first saw the general, his body stiffened without warning.
The way the man approached was complete in itself, a single, unified presence.
Before a breath could even be drawn, a pressure reached him first, as if the scent of blood might seep out at any moment.
His spine chilled before a word was spoken.
—So this is my sister's younger brother.
—The general the world fears.
As he walked alongside him for a short while, Jiho realized how unusually quiet the general's footsteps were.
He felt like a great shadow, and even without a single movement of a fingertip, the tension around them reacted first.
Jiho muttered inwardly.
(He's like a monster.)
(How can a man like this become family.)
The aura was completely different from when he had seen him before in Gaegyeong.
If then he had felt like a broad plain lying flat and still, now he was like a jagged mountain range thrust sharply upward.
Yet when they sat facing each other at close range, Jiho's thoughts wavered.
In the general's eyes lay a deep, unmistakable exhaustion, the trace of long nights without sleep.
They were the eyes of someone silently bearing another's worries.
He did not layer his words with grand prayers.
He did not speak to assert authority.
He simply asked,
"Is my sister… doing well."
The faint tremor clinging to the end of the sentence rang strangely loud in Jiho's ears.
In that moment, Jiho understood.
No matter how the rumors of the battlefield surrounded him, the man before him now was simply a younger brother who cherished his sister.
A little later, the general spoke calmly.
"I will not be able to return for a long time."
"Please reassure Mother."
In that voice lay the grain of an eldest son who had taken the family's burden upon himself.
It was a tone in which sorrow lingered longer than warmth.
It was then that Jiho first saw the "weight" in the general's back.
Without thinking, Jiho let a line slip out.
"Everyone worries that you might be hurt."
The general lifted his head.
He smiled silently.
That smile carried exhaustion deep within it.
"The battlefield does not turn on my caution alone."
At that instant, Jiho knew.
This man did not make himself into a monster.
He lived by holding himself to a single sentence: do what must be done.
That was why he was heavier,
and that was why he was sadder.
Deep in Jiho's heart, fear, respect, and a compassion that defied naming rose together.
When Jiho rose to leave, the general quietly offered him the remaining tea.
Then he added one more line.
"My sister… says she has always trusted you."
At those words, Jiho paused to steady his breath and bowed deeply.
---*
The sound of the door closing faded into the distance, and as Jiho's footsteps sank down along the stone paths of Jinju, the air inside the tent suddenly felt wide and empty.
Park Seong-jin silently set down the teacup he had been holding.
Cold tea remained inside, and he left its warmth there in the cup.
As he had sat facing Jiho, the words that had caught at the edge of his lips slowly came back to life.
Jiho had worn a gentle expression.
There was a look that tried to put others at ease, a heart that thought first of his sister, and a careful restraint when speaking of his mother's worries.
As Seong-jin watched him, he felt something inside his chest gradually crumble.
(What kind of man did I seem to him.)
A monster.
A demon of the battlefield.
A burdensome presence simply for being his sister's brother.
That image rose first.
Seong-jin stared at his hands for a long while.
Hands that, when gripping a sword, could cut down thousands.
Easing even one of his sister's worries lay far beyond his fingertips.
The wind brushed past outside the tent.
Seong-jin inhaled slowly, and exhaled even more slowly.
Jiho's words returned to him.
"Mother worries greatly."
"I hope you are not hurt."
There was no resentment in those words.
No reproach.
Only the unvarnished heart of a family member.
That simple sincerity pierced his chest more deeply than the battlefield ever had.
Seong-jin rested his hands on his knees and closed his eyes.
Where was his sister now, and with what heart was she living.
Did his mother, night after night, grope toward the direction from which news might come as she tried to sleep.
Jiho, newly married, what words did he fold away in his heart as he looked upon a brother-in-law wandering the fields of war.
Park Seong-jin had long known what it meant to protect one's family.
In the past, it had meant taking his father's and brother's share upon himself, keeping the family's lifeline intact.
Marching to war, fighting, holding his post.
Now, many things were different.
And yet the task was always unfamiliar.
How to do it—he still fumbled like a man learning for the first time.
He already knew that offering a word here and there, showing concern, was never enough to put hearts at ease.
That was why, at times, being the one who caused them worry became unbearable.
Footsteps of a sentry passed outside the tent.
Soft dawn light seeped through the gaps in the canvas.
At last, Seong-jin murmured in a very small voice,
"…I'm sorry."
To his sister.
To his mother.
And to Jiho.
The words touched only the breath of the tent.
That sincerity cut deeper into him than the moment he had taken thousands of lives on the battlefield.
He rose again and, by habit, checked his sword.
The war continued.
And so the path he could hold onto was clear.
To step aside from the direction of death and return.
To guard that path to the very end.
That was the way this solitary love for family had chosen.
I will return.
Not a road for me alone.
I will bring everyone back alive.
---*
After Jiho left, Park Seong-jin respectfully composed a memorial to the throne.
Your servant, Jungnangjang Park Seong-jin, humbly reports from the front lines of battle, stationed at the far edge of the sea, and now seeks permission to advance and strike the enemy's point of origin. I beg that Your Majesty look with mercy upon this foolish sincerity.
("Foolish sincerity": a humble devotion offered in deference.)
Since I arrived in the southern seas, the Japanese raiders have retreated in fragments, only to gather again as the winds carry them, seeking grain, seizing people, and plunging the populace ever deeper into suffering with each passing year.
Though I am neither true cavalry nor navy, with the few vessels and scant strength granted to me I have guarded the sea gates and driven the enemy away. Yet this is no more than crossing a single ridge. Unless the root is struck, even a hundred battles will not bring an end in sight.
I humbly observe that our dynasty has recently reformed the military system and abolished private armies, leaving elite forces insufficient. Such troops as remain are scattered to urgent fronts in all directions, making it difficult to fully mobilize the central army for this expedition—a reality I have taken deeply to heart.
Accordingly, I have gathered local warriors bound by righteousness, sought provisions and arms from the gentry of the coastal and southern regions, and even, beyond my proper station, reached out to secure artillery, saltpeter, and sulfur through outside assistance. All of this was done for the sole purpose of easing Your Majesty's worries.
I humbly believe that now is the time granted by Heaven to strike the enemy's origin. If this chance is let pass, the raiders will again seize upon the autumn harvest and spread along the sea routes, and then even with greater forces it will be difficult to bind the knot of the seas in one stroke.
("Autumn harvest": the season of abundance.)
Thus I dare to prepare fifteen war junks, thirty military vessels, and twenty supply ships, and to set out forthwith. I ask that Your Majesty, rather than rebuking my bluntness, look kindly upon this small sincerity and issue a single royal command to the prefectures and counties of Honam and Yeongnam.
If this is done, the local warriors will gather with greater resolve, the people will be moved to offer provisions, and this expedition will reach an inevitable success, cutting off the root of trouble at sea.
("Inevitable success": a situation that must be achieved.)
My entire life is indebted to the state, and all that I have learned belongs to the state as well. On this campaign I will not look back upon life or death; even should my body be buried in the sea, I will take it as righteousness.
I beg that Your Majesty hold firm in resolve and do not abandon far-sighted judgment, so that this single stroke may put an end to the calamity in the eastern seas.
Your servant Park Seong-jin bows twice and petitions to set forth.
When he finished and let out a breath, his officers were lingering outside the tent.
Because the command tent had been set near the western gate in the cold, they were careful not to come too close.
After waiting for the ink to dry, he summoned a clerk.
The clerk examined the document line by line and, finding nothing to amend, bowed quietly.
Park Seong-jin folded the letter neatly and placed it in its wrapper.
A messenger tucked it into his robes and ran off along the eastern road.