94
Final Chapter — What Remains
The departure was quieter than expected.There were no trumpets, no shouted slogans.Horses moved, and wagons creaked as they rolled forward.
The camp was being emptied in a restless hush.As the returning column formed, people began to count without thinking.
Places that had always been filled now stood empty.Where a horse once stood.Where laughter had stopped.Where faces remained whose names had never even been fully learned.
From horseback, Park Seong-jin looked back at the camp.Only half the tents remained.The fire pits were cold, reduced to ash.
The snow had nearly melted,yet the scent of winter was deeply embedded in the ground.
"We're leaving."
Someone said it softly.It was neither farewell nor resolve—just a fact.
The column began to move,turning its back on Yoyang Fortress and flowing south.
Park Seong-jin did not tighten his grip on the reins.The horse knew the road well.
His body was leaving the war.His mind was still standing before the South Gate.
That was when he turned around.
Some soldiers remained.Those not included in the return.Those simply left behind.
They did not salute.They did not wave.They only stood there, watching—with eyes that imagined a return whose date they did not know.
Regret.Envy.
That is why, in the army, one must stand in line correctly.
Had they stood in the right line?The losses had been heavy.Was returning first meant to be the compensation for that?
Had the world's law of balancing weights truly worked this time?
Unable to endure their gaze for long,Park Seong-jin turned his head away.
The procession grew more distant.The shape of the camp shrank,faces dissolving into dots.
At that moment, the scabbard at his waist trembled slightly.The sword was not drawn, yet its presence was unmistakable.
He lifted his eyes to the sky one last time.It was clear—so clear it was hard to believe a war had passed beneath it.
Yet he knew.
The war was over,and his own struggle was now standing at the threshold.
Mount Guwol.
The name of the unseen mountain echoed quietly inside his chest.
Park Seong-jin raised his head and looked forward.The horse stepped on, and the column flowed south.
The road before him had already split in two.One was the return decreed by the court—back to ordinary life.The other was a path no one had yet permitted.
To study anew.To become strong.To never again wither like grass on a battlefield.
That fork was invisible,yet undeniably present.
The war was over,but the boy had not yet left the battlefield.
Baegin-gun's gaze lingered on Park Seong-jin.It was only a brief pause.
Yet that pause was not light.
It was the wordless stillness of someone who had crossed old battlefields many times—neither heavy nor sharp.
"That boy…Isn't he the heavy crossbowman who shot so well?"
Hwang Hyeon-pil immediately bowed.
"Yes, General."
"Hmm. What was his name again?"
"Second Detachment, crossbowman—Park Seong-jin."
Baegin-gun looked at him once more.Not for long.But neither did he avert his eyes.
After a moment, he slowly nodded.
"He's young…but his eyes are different."
He paused, as if weighing the words.
The surroundings fell silent.Only the sound of flags brushing the wind remained.
Park Seong-jin did not answer.He simply bowed his head.
The words were neither rebuke nor praise.They were a calm observation—one soldier seen by another.
Or perhaps the gaze of someone who recognized a manwho had lived with death close at hand.
Baegin-gun spoke again.
"They say the war is over.I don't quite believe it yet.As long as people remain, fighting can always return."
He paused, then added quietly,
"You've already learned that with your bodies.That's why you return first—your losses were the greatest."
A subtle tension rippled through the ranks.
"Your fight is not finished.This is preparation for the next one.Once you reach Gaegyeong, you will be discharged.Rest."
Then—
"And… be ready."
Those words carried an unusual resonance.
Some bowed their heads.Others bent at the waist in silence.
Hwang Hyeon-pil shouted,
"Loyalty!"
Park Seong-jin straightened his shoulders and echoed,
"Loyalty!"
Baegin-gun closed his eyes briefly, then mounted his horse.A white banner fluttered in the wind.
Turning his horse, he spoke one final time:
"We depart for Gaegyeong this afternoon.The road back may be harder than the war itself."
With that, he rode away.
A moment later, breath returned to the camp.Murmurs rose.Some packed their belongings.Others stared up at the sky with dry eyes.
Park Seong-jin stood there for a long while.
The unreality of going back threatened to bring tears.Fragments of a world already ended still remained within him.
The sense that once divided good from bad,necessary from unnecessary,had grown dull.
Everything in the world now appeared flat,as if seen from the same height.
Then, from afar, a bell rang.
A short, heavy sound announcing return.
The soldiers began to move.
Park Seong-jin secured his swordand slung his bow over his shoulder.
It was time to go back.
Yet he knew—
This return was not a road leading home,but a journey in which he would ask himselfwhat kind of person he would remain.
And so the war ended,while the boy had not yet left the battlefield.