607.he mouth of Izuhara Bay.
At the hour when the first light of dawn had only just begun to open, the fleet cut through the cold sea fog and curved in along Tsushima's western side.
The first thing that came into view was the mouth of Izuhara Bay.
Low hills on both sides opened like arms held close, and beneath them the sea lay in a calm grain.
Waves struck the reefs and raised only shallow white foam.
The farther they entered the bay, the more the surf sank into short, quiet breaths.
The water's color shifted from a deep indigo to a paler, shallower hue mixed with gray-brown.
It was shallow enough that the sand and gravel bottom showed through.
When the fog split, Izuhara's coastline emerged sharply.
Izuhara harbor was modest in form.
The hills on both sides pressed down and narrowed the shore.
Between them, a small strip of flat land stretched long.
On that flat land, wooden houses stood low in a row.
They had their backs to the wind and clung along the coast in a single line.
It was an arrangement of lives aligned toward the sea.
Farther inside the bay, there was a narrow channel where river water and seawater mixed.
Along that channel, a few small boats were moored.
Having taken shelter from the winter wind, their masts sat low.
On the sand, light Japanese boats lay scattered at irregular intervals.
It looked less like a battle line and more like the placement of working boats.
They had been hauled up here and there along the beach.
Even within disorder, Park Seong-jin read the grain.
Behind the shore ran a low earthen embankment.
Sparse palisade stakes were planted atop it.
Behind them, sentries holding spears and axes paced back and forth.
The defense had been laid on thinly.
It felt as though news from outside had already seeped into the village.
As the fleet drew closer, smoke rose from Izuhara.
The bright flames of cooking fires hid, and instead low, dense columns of smoke rose in several places.
It could be household smoke.
It could also be signal smoke from the sentries.
Seen from the sea, Izuhara was a harbor where the path lay open and plain.
The coastline lay low.
There was no structure that could truly be called a wall.
Hills and houses were the entirety of its defense.
Behind it, however, the mountains rose abruptly.
After landing, the shape of a fight that seized terrain and endured came naturally to mind.
When the fog fully cleared, the whole of Izuhara sat beneath the morning light.
A quiet bay.
A low beach.
Unsorted Japanese boats.
Sparse palisades.
Small shadows of sentries standing against the wind.
At a glance, it was a harbor where a surprise strike would bite cleanly.
And behind that harbor, a narrow road ran upward into the mountains.
The path toward Kaneishi-jō branched into several routes.
At that moment, from the edge of the fog, the silhouettes of moored Japanese ships rose with sharp clarity.
Black shadows stood still on the water in a line.
---*
They called it the point of origin, so he had expected the smell of blood to seep even over the waves.
A den of demons, a nest of raiders—everyone had spoken of it that way.
Yet the Izuhara before his eyes carried the grain of a peaceful fishing village.
It was a harbor with many boats.
The surf broke gently.
Shells and seaweed lay scattered along the beach.
Small houses stood shoulder to shoulder, trying to block the sea wind.
Many ships were at anchor.
Japanese soldiers with spears and swords moved along the shore.
Those two scenes laid a pattern of war atop the harbor's ordinary life.
It was the sort of place where, if you stepped into a house at the village edge and asked for a bowl of cloudy liquor, the owner might grumble and pour you a thick cup of freshly made brew.
Nowhere did it look like land meant for men to stake their lives on battle.
That was why this calm weighed heavier as it settled in.
Park Seong-jin knew that the battlefield wore its most peaceful face just before fighting began.
Beneath that faint smoke, someone's child would be eating breakfast.
Beside that narrow channel, an old man would be mending nets.
War would soon descend upon that daily life.
And the hand that brought that war to this land was Park Seong-jin's hand.
The point of origin did not wear a savage face.
A nest always held the breath of living.
That fact laid a deeper weight upon the hand that gripped the sword.
Park Seong-jin kept walking.
They had burned homes.
They had carried people off.
Those who were no longer useful had collapsed near the ashes.
What would be broken here today were ships and weapons.
What would be severed here today was the source-path that made plunder possible.
The peace of this place made what had to be done even clearer.
---*
Before the order to attack fell, Park Seong-jin first commanded every warship to lower its sails.
As the lines were loosened, the canvas that had been battered all night by the northwesterly wind sagged—phu-deul, phu-deul—and sank down, releasing its strength.
The sailors let out long breaths.
From now on, the warships would move by human force.
By the force of oars.
They cut the grain of being pushed along by wind.
They gripped the grain of being bent by current.
Oarsmen—two or three to a bench—began to pull in unison.
Left and right locked into one rhythm.
Including the supply ships behind them, the number neared a hundred.
Formation was the army's breath.
The clack—clack—of oar tips tearing the sea built a steady rhythm across the line.
The movement of matching distance—pressing forward, easing back—was smooth and clean.
Inside Izuhara harbor, where Park Seong-jin looked down, more than a hundred Japanese vessels of all sizes lay at anchor.
Rumor became substance before his eyes.
This was the source of plunder and invasion.
Most of the hulls matched the bones of the pirate ships that had crossed into Goryeo.
Park Seong-jin's gaze narrowed.
"Strike the moored enemy ships first."
The order dropped.
"Prepare to attack."
A horn blared—buuu-uuu-uuu—cutting through the sea.
Then drums followed, a thunder-like pulse shaking the warships.
Goryeo vessels aligned their spacing and closed the harbor mouth from left and right.
The line that sealed retreat snapped into place at once.
Goryeo handled speed as they entered.
Having arrived after a full day and night of avoiding notice, they had already taken half the victory.
A few quick-witted Japanese ships tried to slip out along the harbor's axis, lurching forward as if crawling.
On the bows, Japanese soldiers shouted as they forced sails up.
They grabbed the north wind and rowed without mercy.
Park Seong-jin received that movement as the grain of a test shot.
"Fix firing angle."
"Thirty degrees diagonal."
"Fire."
The cannon on the lead warships spat flame at the same time.
KWA—AAAAAAANG—!!!
A roar exploded as if mountain and sea had sounded together.
With the first volley, two Japanese ships trying to flee shattered where they stood.
Men on deck were snapped up and flung into the air.
A second shot punched through the middle of a hull, spearing the frame and tearing out the other side.
The ship listed as if screaming, then—shwaa——was sucked beneath the sea.
A third volley followed.
One ship erupted, its bow lifting as if the whole vessel had leapt into the air.
The keel snapped through, and dozens poured into the water.
Seeing it, Japanese soldiers inside the harbor screamed and jumped from their ships.
They ran for land and scattered into alleys.
Even the Gyeongsang troops who had come with them went rigid.
A sound they had never heard in their lives struck their ears.
A great ship breaking apart before their eyes.
A few groups reacted fast, scrambling up onto ships from the shore side.
They seized long swords and spears and formed ranks.
They came pushing out onto the water in ordered lines.
Along the rails, Japanese soldiers clung like barnacles, leaning forward with killing eyes.
"Strike them!"
"Kill!"
"Bakayaro!"
As the harsh shouts rose, the bombardment resumed.
"Align aim."
"Fire."
KWA-GWA-GWA-GWA—AANG—!!!
Enemy ships that had entered range rocked in succession.
One, two, five—sank in a chain.
Ships that took dozens of flaming arrows went up in a whooshof fire.
The scene of Japanese soldiers bursting out and throwing themselves into the water looked slow, like a painting.
Men who had been charging the warships with long blades were knocked into the sea by the shock of blasts.
On ships where shells punched through the bottom and detonated, soldiers spun in midair and vanished into the black waves.
Blue eddies swallowed all traces.
"Seal the retreat."
"Northern line, hold left-flank placement!"
With Park Seong-jin's shout, the Goryeo fleet spread like two wings and completely barred the harbor mouth.
As fleeing Japanese vessels turned back like bodies striking a wall, the guns spoke again.
KWA—AAAAANG—!
KWA-GWA—AANG—!
The sea was choked with smoke and splinters.
The entire Izuhara coast trembled like a massive gong.
A ship with its bow torn clean away spun like a pinwheel, flipped, and sank.
The blast covered every other sound.
Black dots on the surface appeared and vanished one by one.
In an instant, the harbor's grain flipped over.
Out of more than a hundred, dozens were sunk in a breath.
The harbor filled with the wreckage of submerged hulls and drifting bodies.
With every shot, Park Seong-jin clenched his fist.
He remembered in his palm what road that gunpowder had traveled to reach this place.
The harbor that had been peaceful took on the shape of a battlefield in a single moment.
Park Seong-jin did not blink as he accepted the change.
"Next gun position.
Prepare."