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The Muster Grounds — Back to a Soldier's Time
The muster ground lay, as before, in the open plain before Botongwon.From the moment it came into view, its air was different from the mountain's.The energy here did not rise upward.It pressed firmly against the earth, anchoring the feet of men and horses alike.
The banners caught the eye first.They snapped in the wind, yet never scattered—always moving in a single direction.The wind here chose a course.It was a wind that carried orders.
As Park Seong-jin rode closer to the camp, sound reached him first.Metal striking metal.The cries of horses, mixed with curses, laughter, and shouts.The coarse, unmistakable sound of life that only exists where people are densely gathered.
A sentry raised his hand."Affiliation!"
"Bowman Park Seong-jin. Departed from Gaegyeong."
The sentry scanned him as if skimming a page.He checked the condition of the sword.Noted the wear on the axe and the gear.Eyes trained to judge a man.
"Over there."
The words were brief.They were enough.
The moment he stepped inside the camp, his body responded first.His back straightened.His steps became even.The long, flowing breath he had carried in the mountains naturally shortened here.A breath suited to receiving orders.A posture made for waiting.
Tents were arranged in clean rows.Stacks of supplies were visible.Feed troughs lined up for the horses.Bundles of firewood and arrows were sorted by unit and number.
Seong-jin dismounted.Tied the reins.Adjusted his gear.
Then someone struck his back lightly."Hey. You're still alive."
It was Hwang Hyun-pil.His beard was rougher now, the hollows beneath his eyes deeper.
"Brother."
"They say you went to the mountains. Your face looks cleaner."
"I did, for a bit."
Hwang asked no more.Here, not asking was the custom of those who survived.
"This one's big. We head straight to Liaoyang."
"Understood."
Seong-jin nodded.
He knew the difference between leaving something behind and throwing it away.He kept his breath as breath,and wore the outward form of a soldier.
As the sun tilted westward, the assembly horn sounded.Short. Sharp.A sound that straightened the air of the camp.
Commanders gathered.Soldiers formed ranks.Voices sank.Laughter disappeared.
One man stepped forward.His armor was new.His movements held no hesitation.
His voice was low, yet silence spread across the camp.
"This campaign will be long."
With that single sentence, the density of the air changed.
"The number who leave may not equal the number who return."
No one lifted their head.
The words are always the same.Stay sharp.As if staying sharp means there will be no battle.As if someone won't die—and as if that someone might not be me.
Seong-jin felt his lower abdomen.The faint warmth awakened in the mountains rested quietly there.It did not show itself.Like a sword kept sheathed.
He lightly clenched his hand, then released it.His breath was short, but the flow remained unbroken.
He had entered a soldier's time again,yet what he learned in the mountains had sunk deep into his body,remaining as a breath that knew how to wait.
That night, lights lined the camp.Horses stood, settling their breathing.Men prepared for tomorrow in silence.
Seong-jin looked up at the sky.The stars were in the same places they had been above the mountain.
Standing beneath them, he had returned to the place of a soldier—a soldier before drawing his sword,one who guarded his breath and waited for orders.
And he understood.From here on, the fight would be about when, how much,and how quietly he used what he had learned in the mountains.
* The First Night of Camp — Holding the Inner Blade in Check
The assembly ended quickly.It flowed without pause into the next phase.
It was explained that this campaign was not marching into foreign lands.No borders would be crossed.This was a movement for internal reorganization.
Supplies were issued the moment the muster ended.Once the rolls were confirmed, the departure order followed immediately.There was no time to change horses.
Dried rations, arrows, and spare cloaks were placed into waiting hands.The explanation was brief.
"We go to Liaoyang."
The march continued at speed.The boundary between afternoon and evening blurred.
As the sun dipped, the first campsite was chosen—a field edge, below a gentle rise where wind did not gather.
Fires were kept small.Only embers were maintained, so smoke would not carry far.There was one shared pot.The rest was each man's responsibility.
Seong-jin dismounted.Tied his reins.Unloaded his gear.
His hands moved naturally.His mind was empty.A soldier's body responded on its own.
The moment he sat down, his breath began to deepen on its own.The remembered rhythm from the mountains.A flow that continued without effort.
Then a faint tremor stirred inside his chest.The presence of the inner blade.
It had no shape yet.Only direction.A sensation that followed the breath, reading the grain of the world before it moved.
Seong-jin recognized it instantly.Leaving this sensation as it was would be wrong.
This was not the mountain.
Here, a revealed awakening would not be insight—it would be difference.
He shortened his breath.Inhaled, but limited its depth.Exhaled, but restrained its length.
The warmth that sought to descend into the lower abdomen was held near the chest.Like half-drawing a sword, then returning it to the sheath.
Yi-wol-gun's warning surfaced in his mind.Many had lost themselves at this stage.Those who could not endure their own change.Those who failed to match the world's pace.
Seong-jin lowered his head.He watched only the ember of the fire.
The flame was small.The power within it, minimal.That was what made it harder.
In the mountains, loosening the breath had caused no harm.Here, he was required to fold it away.
Hwang Hyun-pil sat beside him.
"Tired?"
"I'm fine."
"The ones who say that go down first."
The words carried humor.The eyes were firm.
"Don't sink too deep tonight. Tomorrow comes fast."
"Yes."
Hwang studied him again.
"Your eyes have changed."
Seong-jin gathered his breath, then let it out slowly.
"How so?"
"Eyes that see farther."He smiled, then clarified."A soldier looks ahead. If your distance is wrong, you die."
It was not a joke.
Night deepened.The camp settled.Even the horses lowered their breathing.
Seong-jin lay down.The cold of the ground climbed up his back.Yet deep in his lower abdomen, warmth remained.
He let it stay unmoving.Flowing, but unrevealed.Alive, but unused.
This, too, was study.A kind the mountain had never required.
The art of hiding one's breath among people.
That night, the inner blade remained awake—held down.
And Seong-jin understood.A harder trial lay ahead.
Harder than growing strong.The choice to not appear strong.
The first night of the campaign carved that truth clearly into him.