Permission is granted to temporarily unify and command regional forces for the suppression of sea raiders.
A long table was set in the eastern hall of Jinju Fortress.
Maps, ledgers, bamboo slips, and seals were laid out in neat order atop it.
Those who bore weapons and those who held brushes sat at the same table.
The leaders of the private troops did not remove their armor.
The representatives of the village warriors straightened the hems of their robes.
Silence filled the room first, as if measuring one another's breath.
Breaking that silence, Yun Dam rose from his seat.
"This gathering today is not a meeting," he said.
His voice stayed low, its grain even.
"It is an integration.
A place where we lay down our individual names and circumstances, and stand as a single army."
An elderly village leader seated at the end of the table spoke cautiously.
"Has the royal command truly been issued."
Without hesitation, Yun Dam broke the seal and spread the document open.
The red imprint of the royal seal stood out clearly.
"Permission is granted to temporarily unify and command regional forces for the suppression of sea raiders."
A murmur rippled through the room.
One private-troop chief leaned forward.
"We are private forces.
Our rosters and our codes differ.
After the fighting ends, what assurance is there that we will be sent back."
This time Park Seong-jin stepped forward.
He did not sit at the head seat.
Standing beside the table, he spoke at the same eye level as everyone else.
"You will be sent back.
When the fighting ends, completely."
There was no explanation in his words.
No conditions.
No ornament.
Yet that very decisiveness became the weight of a promise.
It carried more force than any other person's words.
Because of what had happened days before.
There was no one who did not know the sight of that brave figure, walking straight into hundreds and thousands of enemy soldiers alone.
A representative of the village warriors asked,
"Who will command."
Yun Dam answered at once.
"Overall command goes to Jungnangjang Park Seong-jin."
"Organization, supply, and military discipline are my charge."
Ledgers were opened on the table.
Yun Dam traced the entries with his fingertips.
"Private troops will maintain their clan-based formations, but in battle, mixed formations will be applied."
"Village warriors will be placed in an intermediate formation between naval and land forces."
"All units will receive orders only under the general's official title."
One private-troop chief gave a low chuckle.
"That sounds like telling us to watch one another."
Yun Dam nodded.
"That is correct."
"That is how it lasts."
Silence fell again.
This time it was a heavy silence.
It was the time for each man to finish his calculations.
Park Seong-jin spoke last.
"Striking the Japanese is not a matter of honor."
"It is a matter of survival."
"It is so that your villages and children may return to tilling their fields."
He bowed his head.
Not as a general, but as one man.
"As one of this nation's people, I ask you to stand with us."
After a moment, one private-troop chief placed his scabbard on the table.
Next, a village-warrior representative set down his seal.
One by one, weapons and marks gathered on the tabletop.
Yun Dam wrote the first line into the ledger.
"Draft organization of the Jinju Sea-Raider Expeditionary Force."
From that moment on, they were no longer separate armies.
The ships had not yet sailed, but the war had already begun.
---*
Dawn mist lay low over the surface of the Sacheon shoreline.
The water barely moved, and the ships rested on their mooring ropes, catching their breath.
There were three warships assigned for reconnaissance.
They were lightly modified panokseon, with reduced oars and lowered sails.
They were not ships going to fight, but ships meant to return with information.
Park Seong-jin stood at the end of the pier.
He wore no armor.
Only a dark outer coat over his battle clothes.
His sword was at his waist, but his hands were away from the hilt.
Yun Dam approached, holding the final ledger.
"The wind is northeast."
"In two days it will shift again."
"If they do not return within two days, the passage will turn rough."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
"Two days will be enough."
The man chosen as reconnaissance leader was an old sailor who had spent his life at the Nam River estuary.
His face was darkened by wind, his eyes low and deep like water.
He asked,
"General, how far should we scout."
Park Seong-jin looked toward the sea for a moment.
The horizon before sunrise blurred the boundary between darkness and water.
"The harbor."
"The ships."
"The people."
"And—the way in."
The old sailor nodded.
"We will not avoid contact."
Park Seong-jin answered at once.
"Avoid it."
"This time is not for fighting."
Several warriors nearby swallowed their breath.
Park Seong-jin sensed it.
He turned his head and looked at them.
"This voyage is not the work of the sword.
Returning alive is what matters most.
You must return alive and bring back what you have seen."
His voice was low, but steady.
It was not an order, but the setting of a standard.
Yun Dam stepped closer.
"General. If the reconnaissance results are less favorable than expected—"
Park Seong-jin finished the sentence.
"Then we do not strike.
We prepare again and reset the board."
Only then did Yun Dam let out a breath of relief.
The Park Seong-jin of this moment knew how to avoid the most dangerous decisions.
The private troops and village warriors gathered at the pier stood quietly.
No one cheered.
No one prayed aloud.
The sea disliked such sounds.
Park Seong-jin called the reconnaissance leader one last time.
"Remember one thing.
Tsushima is not an island.
It is a road.
Just as it was a road for them, it is also a road for us.
The road to Japan—the Conquest-of-Wa Street."
"Loyalty."
"Loyalty."
The sails were raised.
The oars pressed into the water.
The ships cut through the current and moved forward slowly.
At that moment, Park Seong-jin knew it.
He had crossed a line from which there was no return.
The reconnaissance force departed.
Yet there was no hesitation on his face.
Even before lifting the sword, he had already accepted that this decision weighed heavier than steel.