After the Clearing
At the edge of the cleared battlefield,
Park Seong-jin washed the blood from his hands in the river.
More vivid than the warmth fading from his fingers
was the sensation that remained.
He rinsed the blood from his sword, then wiped it clean and dried it carefully to keep rust from forming.
The moment when red energy had surged from his lower dantian and pierced deep into his head—
that sensation lingered far more strongly than any joy of victory.
…I am changing.
It felt as though someone who was not quite himself had brushed past.
It was not fear, nor excitement.
Just difference.
A strangeness that felt unfamiliar, yet not alien—like an old memory resurfacing.
It was during breakfast that one of Chen Youliang's officials came running up, breathing hard.
"Congratulations, General. Their provocation had been troubling us, but you've resolved it completely."
Relief and forced familiarity mixed on the man's face.
But the moment Seong-jin saw him, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Forgive me. And you are…?"
"I'm afraid my memory isn't quite—"
The air froze.
Not far away, Song Yi-sul pressed a hand to the ground and rose carefully.
His expression signaled trouble.
The official laughed awkwardly.
"I am Zhang Hui (張徽), one who served at His Majesty's side."
"Ah…"
Seong-jin's response was less recovery of memory than reflexive politeness.
Inside his mind, he felt something unmistakable—
the strand of time he had shared with Zhang Hui had been severed.
Half a beat late.
Position, canon, seat—all collapsed at once,
and the thread of memory snapped.
(位·經·座: rank and office, canon and learning, one's proper place.)
…Why can't I recall it?
As the thought formed, a pulse of red energy lightly stabbed his head again.
A brief blank.
A moment of silence.
It felt as though he had stepped half a pace away from his own body.
As if the time he had shared with the man had been cleanly removed.
Song Yi-sul stepped in at exactly the right moment.
"Think back to when you first came as an envoy," he said calmly.
"You spoke of an invisible 'line.'"
"And this gentleman dismissed it outright."
The word line caught in Seong-jin's awareness—
a term that brushed against martial theory.
"…Ah. Yes."
"That, I remember."
The words came out, but it was not recollection—only reaction.
Zhang Hui seemed to take it as jest and lowered his posture slightly, smiling.
Seong-jin rose slowly and brought his fists together in a formal salute.
"During today's battle, this junior gained a minor realization."
"But the red energy surged upward into my head…"
He paused to steady his breath.
Anyone knowledgeable would have flinched at the phrase.
Red energy rising into the head—Red Serpent Piercing the Gate.
"For a moment, reality overlapped like an illusion.
I ask for your understanding."
There was no embellishment in his tone.
Zhang Hui's expression stiffened.
He unconsciously took two steps back.
Song Yi-sul spoke in his place, smoothing the moment.
"He entered a brief seated state. Similar to a cultivator entering meditative absorption."
"…I see."
Zhang Hui did not press further.
Song Yi-sul summarized the battle's outcome concisely,
and Jong-hui followed, reporting the flow of combat in the precise language of soldiers,
including the changes within the enemy camp.
When the report ended, Zhang Hui exhaled in relief and withdrew.
As soon as he disappeared from sight,
two gazes settled on Seong-jin at once—Song Yi-sul and Jong-hui.
They examined him in silence.
Breathing: deep, long.
Eyes: faint red afterglow remains.
Responses to sound and qi: overly sharp.
Speech: polite, but emotional temperature low.
They understood at once.
Seong-jin has gone too deep inside himself.
The tension of battle had eased,
yet Seong-jin still looked like a man standing on the battlefield—
slightly out of step with reality.
When qi opens and the senses surge,
a person can drift sideways from the world.
Song Yi-sul knew that danger well.
He spoke quietly.
"…A major threshold has arrived, Seong-jin."
Park Seong-jin lowered his gaze for a moment.
The noise of the battlefield receded.
The movement of people, the flow of the river, even the grain of the wind
folded inward, layer by layer.
The expanded senses contracted.
Energy that had spread outward gathered back within the outline of his body.
Fingertips returned to fingertips.
The soles of his feet settled once more on the earth.
"…I'm coming back."
His awareness sank inward.
The two overlapping worlds fused into one.
Only what needed to remain stayed.
Everything else fell away.
He inhaled.
Long.
Low.
This time, the energy did not surge ahead.
Breath took its place first.
Park Seong-jin slowly opened his eyes.
The battlefield was still there.
And he was once again standing within it.
"It isn't over yet."
That was all he thought.