How will this resolve…
When the fighting stops and one is left alone, thoughts grow sharper.
Park Seong-jin sat before his quarters on the high ridge, looking down below.
The sea was calm.
He knew it would not remain so.
"Your mind is troubled."
Song Yi-sul approached quietly and sat beside him.
"There is little gunpowder left."
The words were short.
The breath that followed was long.
"It is powerful, but it consumes far too much."
"Yes."
"They shout for faster loading."
"They shout because we cannot fire more."
"Will it last?"
Song Yi-sul hesitated before speaking.
"Let me go to the mainland."
"At what pace?"
Park's reply was dry.
"I heard in Hirado."
"There is a direct sea route to Zhongyuan."
"I confirmed it with Yan."
"If one sails to Ryukyu, enters Anping, then proceeds to Fujian in Jiangnan."
"They say Yang used that route as well."
"The war will end before you return."
"No."
Song's voice lowered.
"These men are not simple."
"They cling to the end."
"At the western edge of Hirado lies an island called Goto."
"They say if one sails west from there, Hangzhou lies ahead."
"They also say many who sought that route never returned."
"Let me go."
Park did not answer.
It was not a matter he could permit.
He kept his eyes on the dark sea below.
Song Yi-jeong.
A relative of Song Yi-sul.
Among the twenty elite warriors, he ranked among the foremost.
Because of men like him, the warrior unit functioned as true strength.
Because of them, Park could leave the formation at its most dangerous hour.
"How will this resolve…"
Park exhaled slowly.
"I know this is struggling without an answer."
"But now, waiting is the correct course."
Even as he spoke, certainty did not fully settle.
"We have sent requests to Gaegyeong several times."
"They must know that supply ships came once from Jiangnan."
"We have placed Jiangnan in great debt."
"If they have strength left, they will send aid again."
He knew it was hope more than confidence.
Gaegyeong itself would not be at ease.
The night deepened in the sound of wind.
The canvas stirred.
A night bird cried in the distance.
Tonight the sound felt especially thin.
Because war had begun again,
the surrender documents and promises sent before were rendered false.
Explaining that war had restarted would itself be difficult.
And yet, he must ask for more powder.
He had already asked.
He asked again when none came.
Park lowered his head in silence.
Under the quiet night, war was already preparing its next step.
He remained seated on the high ground through the night.
His thoughts deepened like the wind.
Spring had not yet reached this place.
The season held still, while the wind grew harsher.
Far below, lights flickered where men celebrated victory.
Laughter, shouting, cups striking together.
The sounds were distant to him.
His mind stood elsewhere.
Snow began to fall.
At first only scattered flakes.
Then the sky committed itself.
Snow thickened, covering the scene as though smothering sound.
Below, soldiers hurried across decks.
They covered cannon with cloth.
Secured ropes.
Shielded what could be shielded.
Park watched their quiet diligence.
Hands unnoticed.
Work without expectation of praise.
Such things had sustained his life.
"Commander."
Song Yi-jeong spoke carefully.
"Where does such loyalty come from, when support is cut?"
Park did not answer immediately.
"If it were us," Song continued,
"without support, we would turn away."
"We do not fight for their glory."
Park smiled faintly.
"My father died fighting for the state."
He paused.
"My elder brother fell on the battlefield."
"I find little reason to live differently."
Song Yi-jeong had no words.
The simplicity of it held greater weight than any argument.
A subordinate approached with a paper umbrella coated in oil.
"Allow me to hold this above you."
"Leave it."
"I stand here to feel it."
Snow drifted around him.
The flakes bent and slid past his body,
as water parts around stone.
"Even so, thank you."
The umbrella was opened above him at last.
Red, patterned in yellow.
"Where did you find such a thing?"
"There are many inside."
"The culture here favors bright colors."
"Only among nobles."
"Goryeo and Wa differ little."
Snow continued to fall.
The wind did not stop.
The night deepened.
After defeat at Shimonoseki,
the soldiers in the harbor vanished like ebb tide.
Not orderly retreat.
Not controlled movement.
They were gone before night fell.
Gone before dawn revealed their absence.
Park did not read it as surrender.
War on this land always returned.
"Find where they gather."
Nabeshima Motonari bowed.
Spies scattered.
Reports flowed in.
Some said they had divided into Ouchi's castles.
Others said they moved toward Nagato.
Some hid in smaller ports.
Some retreated to mountain fortresses.
Rumor overlapped rumor.
Truth would require time.
The day after the snow stopped,
Park boarded a small boat.
He chose his own eyes over reports.
As they crossed the strait,
wreckage floated upon the water.
Fragments of hull.
Bodies rising and sinking near the harbor edge.
Armor without men.
Helmets drifting alone.
The harbor stood empty.
Ropes severed.
Warehouse doors left half open.
No human presence.
Only the marks of hurried departure.
"Closer."
The oars slowed.
Before reaching shore, Park raised his hand.
"We signal from here."
The boat cut across the current before the silent harbor.