The matter had grown larger than anyone expected.
Invisible threads stretched outward in every direction, and at the end of each thread hung a different hand.No one could honestly say that a single person held the whole thing.
The original plan had been simple.
Respond to the Yuan request with a small force, display formal "support," and conclude the matter without unnecessary collision—just enough to establish justification, just enough to avoid a greater disturbance.That was all the Goryeo king had intended.
But too many hands had reached into the current now called Goryeo's assistance.
Merchants sought profit.Politicians sought the removal of rivals.The king sought recognition of his hold over Liaodong in exchange for that support.And those on the receiving end—those meant to be "assisted"—were forced to face an unforeseen concentration of Goryeo firepower.
The flow shifted.
Someone began calculating merit.Someone saw opportunity.Someone measured the gaps in power.
Each small judgment tangled with others, overlapping and tightening—until, at some point, the whole thing hardened into a direction no one could reverse.
In the end, Goryeo's main commanders were summoned one after another.
Veterans who had fought in Liaodong mounted their horses again.Warriors from Heunghwajin, Gaegyeong, and Seogyeong—men of the blade and the bow—began moving south.They were joined by Goryeo people who had remained in Liaodong and Yanjing, men who knew the land and had survived the northern frontier.
They became the bones of the swelling host.
The numbers grew rapidly.Greater than during the assault on Liaoyang.Cavalry alone had already surpassed ten thousand.With infantry, crossbowmen, and incendiary units added, the force exceeded twenty thousand with ease.
This could no longer be called merely an "expedition."It looked closer to an entire country uprooting itself and moving.
Beneath banners marked with Goryeo's emblem, the Yuan command, courtly calculations, and the ambitions of generals mixed into one.It was an army whose owner could not be clearly named.
The justification was clear:
"Support for the Yuan Empire."¹
But the reality was different.
No one could be seen who could fully control this force.No one clearly stood forth who could stop it.No one appeared who could bear responsibility to the end.
They were heading for Jiangnan—under the name of the Khagan Toghon Temür²—joining with Toqto's army³ to strike Zhang Shicheng⁴.
Yet even on the road itself, the "will of the empire" and the "will of Goryeo" were already slipping out of alignment.
The Goryeo king had never wanted such an army.He had only meant to display formal loyalty and avoid major shock.
But the army had already left his hands.
A vast host bound for Jiangnan filled the plains.
Each time cavalry hooves struck the earth, dust rose in waves, and above it thousands of flags tangled and thrashed in the wind.Red streamers, black banners, blue banners—among them, here and there, the blue dragon emblem of Goryeo flashed into view.
It was magnificent.And yet, somewhere within it, ominous.
Yi In-jung halted his horse atop a rise and looked down.
The procession had no visible end, swelling and rolling beneath the sunlight.Reflections from blades and helmets formed a continuous band, flowing like a river.
From a distance it looked like a single living creature—a massive body with only its direction decided, pressing forward simply because it could.
Yun Gyeong-bok spoke beside him.
"With a force like this, even the empire can no longer ignore us. It has been a long time since troops gathered in such numbers."
Yi In-jung did not answer.He turned his mount slightly, looking toward units still not fully aligned, tangled in dust.
In that moment, the host looked less like manpower and more like something spreading—a momentum.
A Strange Calm
Seong-jin stood far from such entangled affairs.
In times like these, low rank could be a kind of mercy.No councils.No reports.No calculations.
All he needed to know was how far they marched today, and where they slept tonight.
That was enough.
As the numbers increased, his mind loosened.There were companions to talk with.There were more things to see along the road.
Each village spoke differently—cadence, accent, the taste of words.He found those differences strangely engaging.
Unlike the hard ground of Liaodong, the southern soil yielded softly underfoot.The air carried a sweetness he did not recognize.People's clothing was noticeably more colorful.
Children did not hide at the sight of soldiers.They watched from the roadside, smiled, and waved.
"Perhaps this is why they call it a wealthy land," he said without thinking."There's room to breathe."
There was no sign of scarcity.Pay money, and what you needed appeared.No need to scour wastelands for something usable.
Wherever they went, there were houses.From each house rose smoke.
The world was functioning normally.
That normalcy felt unfamiliar.
Everything could be solved with money.The presence of merchants mattered—they handled provisions, and when the army needed something, it was enough to extend silver.
For the first time in war, Seong-jin tasted something like living as a person.
Even the sounds of camp were different.Instead of drums, bargaining.At night, the smell of grilling meat drifted through the lines.
Exhausted soldiers lay staring at the stars and fell asleep where they were.Even the sound of snoring loosened something inside him.
Maybe, at this rate, even if it lasts a long time, it will be all right.
But another air lingered nearby.
The newly formed special unit—warriors who had come down from the mountains.Men of few words, with deep eyes.
They did not chatter.They did not seek to blend in.Even if they spoke not a single word all day, they seemed at ease.
Their silence was familiar.And firm.
Their camp lay apart from the main body, in a quiet place.They lacked nothing, yet took nothing beyond necessity.
By day they moved their bodies.By night they kept their fires low.
Under the dim light, someone polished a blade.Someone else sat with eyes closed, settling the breath.
Seong-jin sat nearby and watched—and felt an inexplicable reassurance.
This is a good place to study.
He did not yet understand.
This quiet was not peace.It was the stillness before a storm.
Night Lessons — Yi In-jung and Seong-jin
Whenever there was an opening, Yi In-jung would call Seong-jin out.
"Tonight as well. Let's do it once."
That was enough.
When the moon rose, the camp naturally sank into itself.Tents drowned in silver.Firepits flickered like breathing things.
Without words, the two stepped aside.
Even the sound of drawing steel was subdued.
In the firelight, two swords faced each other.
It was different from the first time they crossed blades.
Seong-jin's body had shed excess.His shoulders were lighter.His fingertips were not late.
Breath opened the way first, and the sword followed.
Steel met steel.Footwork brushed the ground.Cloth whispered through air.
All of it bound into a single rhythm.
"Yes. Use your hands first."
Yi In-jung's words were not command, but direction.
He did not force correction.He did not hurry him.
He waited—watching for the moment Seong-jin's body found its own flow.
This was not combat.It was study.
Living lines drawn by the sword.
Each time Seong-jin's blade traced air and touched wind, Yi In-jung nodded.
"Good. Now the sword moves from inside the body."
From that night on, sparring continued nightly.
Short exchanges of steel.When fatigue surged, they sat where they were and regained breath.
Few words.Teaching kept spare.
Starlight drifted down slowly.
People began to gather—first curiosity, then silence.No one joked.No one stepped close.
The two swords spoke in sound alone.
Seong-jin was changing.
The boy who once held a wooden sword now wielded steel, dividing space by breath alone.The force spreading from him was not loud—but unmistakable.
Old warriors murmured low.
"That child's grain is different.""He doesn't learn by speed. He links the path himself.""The line is clear."
They were not generous men.Praise came rarely.
But before skill, they did not hide recognition.One who truly studied would soon be a comrade.
That night, Yi In-jung sheathed first.
"He is young. But the root runs deep. He can reach farther."
After a pause, he added—
"From here on, even ordinary winds will not shake his center."
Seong-jin bowed, catching his breath.
And in that moment, he understood.
The breath-study learned from Iwol-gun and the sword-study learned from Yi In-jung were joined beneath one sky.
They stood in different places.But they looked in the same direction.
And beneath that sky, he was learning the road of war.
Notes for English Readers
Yuan Empire — The Mongol-led empire ruling China at the time, politically unstable in its final decades.
Khagan Toghon Temür — The last Yuan emperor, whose reign was marked by internal conspiracies and regional rebellions.
Toqto (Tokto'a) — A powerful Yuan statesman and general who led major suppression campaigns against southern rebellions.
Zhang Shicheng — A former salt merchant who became a major rebel leader in Jiangnan, widely supported by local populations and remembered as a just ruler by many civilians.