606.How long will it take?
When the wind off the waters before Geoje finally eased, the provincial commanders of Gyeongsang, having returned to their respective warships, gathered beneath the decks or in the shade of the bows and began to speak in low voices.
No one raised their voice.
The scene of the inspection they had just witnessed was still echoing in their chests.
"…Did you see him?"
The Manho of Happo spoke first.
"That face standing atop the flagship."
"I did. No matter how you look at it, he's a child—still a child."
The Magistrate of Goseong shook his head slowly.
After a brief silence, he continued quietly.
"War isn't fought with age. His eyes were already different."
"Heh. They call him the Southern Sea's demon."
The Magistrate of Sacheon chuckled under his breath.
"I imagined someone with bulging eyes and nothing but murderous glare."
"Then how does a face like that cut down men?"
"They say he charges alone into thousands and carves a path."
The Magistrate of Geochang cleared his throat, lowering his voice further.
"To be honest, I thought it was all boasting."
A brief stillness followed.
Breaking it, the Manho of Tongyeong shrugged slightly and spoke.
"If it were boasting, that'd be better."
"You saw how he aligned the formation just now."
"That was the movement of someone who knows war. His hands were practiced."
"Indeed."
"To move not a single ship, but an entire fleet at once—
that's not something learned late."
"He can't be more than twenty."
"They say not even that."
"I've heard nineteen."
A short breath escaped among the commanders.
"Nineteen…"
"What were we doing at that age?"
The Manho of Happo spoke again.
"One thing is certain."
"What is it."
"This was a fight we were already half-losing."
"And yet, the moment that man came aboard, I thought—
we might actually win."
The others nodded silently.
"I felt the same."
"Every night, the small numbers weighed on me.
Today, it simply lifted."
"So it wasn't just me."
"It was all of us."
"They called him the Southern Sea's demon,"
the Magistrate of Sacheon murmured, gazing out over the water.
"I won't use that name anymore."
"Why not."
"Demon or master—it doesn't matter."
"Those eyes belonged to a man trying to save the country."
"How could one call such a man a demon."
As they whispered, the sea far off drew another long breath.
The flag atop the flagship fluttered slowly.
The commanders said nothing, only watched that flag.
Upon the black sea, the weight of the name Park Seong-jin
settled into their hearts—
slowly, yet irrevocably.
"How long will it take?"
Old Man Im stood beside him like a chief aide.
The winter wind sliced across their backs like needles,
yet the old body seemed not to care at all.
The moment he heard Park Seong-jin was sailing to strike the Japanese,
he had boarded the ship.
"What does a child like that know of the sea…"
he had muttered, and followed along anyway.
The years spent shadowing him—
chasing Japanese ships alone in those past days—
had hardened into something like affection.
Old Man Im moistened his fingertip with spit,
lifted it into the air, and let it go with the wind.
The moisture was pulled toward the southeast.
The motion was precise and natural,
like an old sundial reading sunlight.
A northwesterly wind.
Sharp, dry winter air surged together,
pushing the sails wide.
"With this wind, we reach within two days."
"If fortune favors us, a day and a half."
Park Seong-jin's eyes widened.
"That fast?"
"Closer than I thought."
Old Man Im rubbed the back of his neck and grinned.
"The distance from Sacheon to here
is about the same as from here to Tsushima."
"We didn't catch the wind when we set out."
"It's because it's this close that they use Tsushima as a stepping stone."
"I see."
"You brought me along to see that, didn't you."
Old Man Im nearly slipped into familiar speech,
then stopped himself, remembering
the man beside him now commanded the entire expedition.
The memories of his devotion at sea crossed his mind.
"…Yes."
"As you said, General."
Park Seong-jin smiled wryly.
"Ha.
There's no need for formality between us."
A light laugh passed between them like the wind.
"And the return?"
Old Man Im wiped his nose with a cloth.
"With this wind, we should plan on five days."
"Going against it, we can't sail straight."
"We'll have to zigzag—could take ten."
"The currents also flow toward the Japanese side."
Park Seong-jin gripped the gunwale and looked down at the winter sea.
The waves rose and broke at will.
He could not tell where they flowed.
Old Man Im clicked his tongue.
"You think you can see it just by looking?"
"All I see is rolling water."
Old Man Im picked up an empty gourd by the ship's side.
"Watch."
He tossed it into the sea.
The gourd twitched once, then slid smoothly toward the southeast—
faster than the ship itself.
"That's how it flows."
Park Seong-jin let out a long breath.
"The sea isn't something learned from books."
Old Man Im chuckled and nodded.
"You can walk it your whole life and still never know all its paths."
"It changes without warning."
Park Seong-jin lifted his face into the wind.
The sails swelled taut.
The fleet gained speed, driving toward Tsushima.
Old Man Im murmured softly into the wind.
"With weather like this…"
"The Japanese will never imagine…"
"a Goryeo army riding the winter wind,
descending on them overnight."
Sailing in formation was never simple.
Each ship's captain, helmsman, oarsmen, and signal officers
had to read the wind's grain and the rhythm of the currents together.
Too close, and collision loomed.
Too far, and the line loosened, command slipping out of reach.
Flags snapped in the wind, carrying signals.
Horns cut through the cold air, spreading orders.
Only when all that focus and movement aligned
could the fleet finally draw breath.
It became clear, then,
that only atop someone's devotion
could others stand at ease.
The wind was fierce.
Yet not a single ship fell behind.
At dawn the next day, as darkness lifted, they arrived—
not at the island itself, but at the sea where Tsushima could be seen.
Old Man Im muttered in the pale light.
"General, that's Tsushima."
"We came straight across—this should be the western flank."
"Izuhara lies on the far side."
"So it truly took only a day."
Old Man Im swept the sea with his gaze.
"If we circle north, today will be slow,
but afterward we'll be faster."
"If we go south, today is smooth,
but climbing toward Izuhara we'll face headwinds and currents together."
"It will cost us dearly in time."
Park Seong-jin asked,
"And if enemy ships appear?"
Old Man Im answered at once.
"North is right."
"Do so."
Park Seong-jin raised the signal.
A deep horn blast rolled across the sea.
The Choyogi—the summoning banner—shot skyward.
Small boats were lowered between the ships.
Commanders from each warship transferred to the flagship.
The Choyogiwas the banner raised when the supreme commander summoned his generals.
Often marked with the Big Dipper, it was also called the Seven Stars Banner.
Most boarded by bringing ships together at the stern.
Only Song Yi-jeong, light as a bird, crossed as if flying over the waves.
Park Seong-jin brought them into the cabin.
As bodies clad in heavy armor entered, the space tightened quickly.
Park Seong-jin spoke.
"The plan is simple."
"We circle the island and enter the waters before Izuhara."
"We destroy the enemy ships anchored at the harbor first."
"Then we land and secure a beachhead."
"Once secured, we advance immediately on Kaneishi Castle."
"Loyalty!"
"Use powder in the prescribed ratios."
"Do not waste it."
"Loyalty!"
"Counterattack will come immediately after landing."
"Do not waver."
"Crush the first counterattack completely."
"That moment decides the operation."
"Fortify the beachhead in your assigned sectors."
"Loyalty!"
They had heard it many times before.
But for the Gyeongsang troops, this was their first expedition.
Park Seong-jin made them confirm roles and routes aloud once more.
On deck, sailors fought wind and waves to correct course.
The ship tilted hard, then regained balance.
The fleet slowly turned northeast.
Park Seong-jin said quietly,
"May fortune favor you."
The generals answered solemnly.
"May fortune favor us."
No matter the preparation, victory in war rests at last upon fate.
That weight pressed heavily upon the air in the cabin.
Park Seong-jin raised his hand.
"Return to your posts."
"To posts!"
"To posts!"
"To posts!"
The generals went out at once.
Even as they returned to their ships, each stopped,
placing a fist to his chest.
(They had fought with barely a thousand men.)
(They had won.)
(They had done the impossible.)
In an age when victories over the raiders were rare,
he appeared like the wind, shattered the enemy,
and moved on to the next battlefield—
not fleeing, but advancing.
The fleet zigzagged against the wind, rounding Tsushima's northern corner.
Old Man Im said,
"This is the northern tip."
Park Seong-jin smiled.
"You've done well."
Old Man Im added,
"Once we enter Izuhara, we'll need to lower the sails."
"Leave them up and…"
"they'll fly straight to Japan."
Park Seong-jin burst into laughter.
"Haha.
Make sure you pass that along."