Retreat and the One Who Held the Line
Park Seong-jin dashed toward the center of the retreating enemy, as if flying.
A single arc of swordlight cut through the night fog and carved away the first wave.
A second, then a third group surged in.
At the point where several spears stabbed in at once, Park Seong-jin's body lifted as if drawn upward.
He twisted through the air in a half-circle, cutting through the wind.
Tak.
At that moment, a faint crimson pulse trembled at the tip of his blade.
His inner force rose, and his perception expanded.
The weight carried on his toes became distinct.
Breathing split into layers.
The tremor of spearpoints and the hesitation of enemy officers unfolded clearly before his eyes.
Five steps behind, when Park Seong-jin stepped forward, the enemy vanguard split like a breaking wave.
The entire front line halted—stopped by a single man.
As the clash subsided and the enemy began to pull back again, a soldier approached.
"The King requests your presence, General Seong-jin."
Park Seong-jin wiped the blood from his sword and shook it clean.
There was no need to ask who the King was.
A man who had ascended, yet had not fully secured the imperial throne—Chen Youliang.
Inside the tent, Chen Youliang sat alone before a wine table.
Without rising, he spoke.
"Commander Park."
"Yes, General."
Park Seong-jin still called him General.
Chen Youliang asked quietly,
"Was my judgment mistaken?"
The arrogance had fallen away.
What remained on his face was the hollow emptiness of a defeated commander.
Park Seong-jin lowered his head.
"You have lost the flow, General. But it can still be recovered. You must ride the flow again."
Chen Youliang's hand trembled.
"I have lost everything."
"There is still something left."
Park Seong-jin bent one knee and moved closer.
"If you collapse, General, the alignment of the army, the state, and the people collapses with you."
Chen Youliang's eyes wavered.
"Can I truly stand again?"
Park Seong-jin paused, recalling Song Yisul's voice.
"…If you follow the flow, you can. First retreat. Gather the army. Draw the enemy deep, then sever them."
Chen Youliang seized his shoulder.
"Teach me."
Park Seong-jin's reply was short and firm.
"Withdraw first. Restore formation during the retreat. Regroup scattered forces.
Then establish the next decisive turn.
A final great engagement awaits—one that cannot be compared to these smaller victories or defeats."
Silence followed.
Then a light like dawn flickered in Chen Youliang's eyes.
"…Very well. I will withdraw, and stand again."
Park Seong-jin clasped his fists.
"That is enough, General."
The defeat at Yongman marked the beginning of Chen Youliang's downfall.
For Park Seong-jin, it was the moment another door opened.
The stench of blood, the despair of defeat, and human folly all seeped into him.
Each became material for understanding, settling into place.
And he felt it clearly—
the shadow of the Dao, once just beyond reach, was now beside him.
Chen Youliang added in a low voice,
"We may have lost… but it does not feel like the end."
Park Seong-jin raised his head.
"Of course not.
Retreat is also a tactic.
What matters is surviving to fight again."
Chen Youliang smiled faintly.
"You always say what I do not wish to hear…
and yet you are always right."
For the first time, the words carried trust.
"I am glad you are by my side."
Park Seong-jin answered simply,
"There is still work to be done."
They stood side by side, facing the battlefield.
One had dreamed of ruling the realm and fallen.
The other had crossed the threshold of momentum.
For this moment, their shadows lay on the same road.
Orders soon spread through the army.
Lower the banners.
Bind the wounded horses.
Organize the soldiers by tens and hundreds.
Move the injured first.
Withdraw slowly, maintaining formation.
The smell of defeat lingered—but order remained alive.
Chen Youliang turned back.
"Today… you showed me clearly what I must not lose."
Park Seong-jin sheathed his sword.
"Not a pillar—
only the flow."
Chen Youliang nodded.
"Yes.
That alone is precious."
"There will be another chance," Park Seong-jin said quietly.
Retreat always carried fear before defeat itself.
The dawn fields were still damp, and behind them came the thunder of hooves and drums—the Ming pursuit had begun.
Chen Youliang's army stretched northward along a narrow road like a long serpent.
The soldiers were exhausted, defeat pressing on their backs.
But something moved faster.
Like cloud and blade at once—it was Park Seong-jin.
A sudden shout erupted from the center of the pursuit.
"Enemy cavalry!"
"From the left ravine!"
The roar of hooves tore across the plain.
A thousand elite Ming cavalry charged, spearpoints aligned, aiming to sever the retreating army's waist.
Officers cried out in panic.
"Stop them!"
"If they break through, it's over!"
"We can't stop cavalry!"
At that instant, a strip of gray cloth passed through the front line like wind.
Steel flashed.
First, the wind trembled.
Then the cavalry split.
Finally, blood bloomed like flowers.
The Ming commander at the front was cut deep at the neck and fell from his horse.
It was Park Seong-jin.
He had already arrived, flowing into the battlefield.
With a single strike, the vanguard was cleaved in two.
A Ming officer shouted,
"That's the Goryeo Commander we heard about!"
"Archers!"
"Fire!"
The cavalry halted and raised bows.
An arrow storm fell like hail.
Park Seong-jin tilted his head slightly.
The world unraveled into slowness.
The inner method Song Yisul had spoken of resonated softly within his chest.
He stepped forward and traced a small circle in the air with his sword.
In that instant, the air within twenty paces twisted like a mirror.
Hundreds of arrows lost direction—deflecting sideways or rebounding outright.
The Ming vanguard collapsed.
Their own arrows pierced them.
Horses panicked.
The formation shattered.
Ming soldiers screamed.
"What… what kind of art is that?!"
Park Seong-jin advanced another step.
He did not turn his body, nor swing wide.
Small movements followed—each one striking precisely at a knot in the flow.
Swordlight split into dozens of strands, brushing knees, wrists, and necks.
Cavalry fell one after another.
Hundreds were broken in moments, tearing a massive gap in the pursuit line.
Yet more cavalry surged to fill it.
"Push through!"
"Kill that one man and it's over!"
They pressed recklessly, convinced he stood alone.
For a moment, Park Seong-jin was compressed from all sides.
Behind him, the retreating army.
Before him, the Ming advance.
No one could come to his aid.
At the peak of the enemy's momentum, the earth shook from the Ming left flank.
"Goryeo forces!"
"Goryeo cavalry from the left!"
It sounded like a mountain collapsing.
Steel clashed.
Banners tore.
Riders roared like waves.
The Ming turned as one.
Goryeo heavy cavalry tore into their flank.
At the forefront was Song Yisul, shouting as he charged.
"So this is Zhu Yuanzhang's famed general?"
"Good."
"Taste my spear!"
His spear pierced straight through the chest of Ming champion Xu Yancheng.
Xu fell without a sound.
The entire Ming force froze.
A name that alone had raised morale—felled in a single strike.
Then Goryeo crossbows roared.
Chain armor was pierced clean through.
From the rear, Ming officers shouted in unison.
"Cease pursuit!"
"Withdraw!"
"Turn back!"
"Advance further and we're surrounded!"
Moments ago they had charged to kill.
Now they scattered in retreat.
Fear of Park Seong-jin.
Shock at Goryeo's sudden strike.
Zhu Yuanzhang arrived on horseback, seeing the scene.
His face flushed as he roared,
"Why have you stopped!"
"Why can you not press forward!"
No one answered.
Xu Yancheng's body lay where it fell.
With the pursuit broken, Chen Youliang's army finally turned and drew breath.
A murmur spread among the soldiers.
"The Commander… stopped them…"
Some wept.
From afar, Chen Youliang watched in silence, then murmured,
"…That young general has saved my army once again."
Using the opening Goryeo had carved, the Han army passed safely through the narrow routes, moving west—then north.