610."Spears!"
As the enemy entered effective range, Park Seong-jin lifted his hand lightly.
That single signal turned the tension of the formation into execution.
The two hundred Japanese coming down from the castle side finally broke into a run.
The front line charged with long spears held at waist height,
the rear-line warriors clinging close so no gaps would open.
It was a rush meant to force close combat.
Thirty paces.
Twenty.
Ten.
The long-spear captain lowered his hand without a word.
"Spears."
The Goryeo spear wall, arrayed in three ranks, tilted forward almost as one.
Spearheads collided with the speed of the charge—
Thuduk— thuduk—
the sounds of tearing and snapping rang out in succession.
The spears were long.
The contact was not a single line of defense,
but three stages of filtration.
The first rank stopped most of the charge.
The second covered the gaps and drove deeper.
The third pierced again through those blocked by armor or shields.
This was not swordplay.
It was combat born of speed and length, gravity and alignment.
The Japanese vanguard lost momentum where they stood and collapsed in rows.
Those leaping from behind crashed into the blockage, twisting their own ranks.
As the spear wall absorbed the first shock, the firing signal rose.
"Upper volley."
Bowstrings sang in a single instant.
Arrows launched at a high angle, drawing arcs over the heads of the collapsing front line,
and dropped into the middle and rear ranks.
It was not direct fire.
So the disruption was greater than the instant kills.
Instinctively, the Japanese ducked and lowered their bodies, losing speed.
Into that opening, a second archer unit loosed at a lower angle—
direct fire aimed at enemies now fully within range.
With ranks already tangled, the direct shots halted the advance completely.
The three to four hundred coming down from the eastern ravine
dared not smash into the frontal spear wall
and instead tried to burrow in from the flank.
But there, shield–spear units were already in place.
"Deploy left flank formation."
The junior commander on the left bent his troops into an L-shape.
The eastern force was compelled to collide head-on with the beachhead's side.
Because the Japanese formation was scattered, their charge did not erupt at once.
Those who arrived first made uneven contact.
At that moment, crossbows spat fire—
not arrows, but steel-bolted quarrels.
Short flight.
Violent impact.
Their penetration was beyond comparison with ordinary bows.
Lower abdomen, thigh, collarbone—
the bolts punched through and carried on into the men behind.
Despite their numbers, the eastern force could not absorb the shock without formation.
They were shoved back in a zigzag, forced into lateral movement.
The most dangerous sector was the irregular mass on the right hillside.
Untrained and overexcited, they could not hold formation.
Yet their downhill momentum gave them speed.
If they struck the right shield wall as a lump,
one point could buckle.
In fact, the right shield line was pushed back slightly—
more than the left.
Too weak.
Park Seong-jin spoke at once.
"Right spear unit, two steps back."
"Flank defense, half-step forward."
A simple adjustment.
Its effect was immediate.
The pressure point on the right shifted
from a hard straight line into a gentle curve.
Load dispersed.
Breakthrough became difficult.
Spear tips thrust together.
The greater the downhill momentum,
the more lethal the penetration into stationary spears.
After two collisions,
the right formation no longer yielded.
Park Seong-jin swept the field without taking his hand from his sword hilt.
The front held on the spear wall.
The east could be handled by angled crossbow fire.
The right had stabilized.
The small group at the rear was not yet at striking distance.
The place his gaze lingered longest
was beneath the right hillside—
the second line of warriors still waiting.
Their armor and weapons were different.
Elite.
When the current wave broke,
they would become the second.
Park Seong-jin took one breath, then said low,
"…It will be my turn to move soon."
It was not resolve.
It was the identification of a remaining gap
within a battlefield already drawn.
The elite warriors waiting beneath the right hillside finally moved.
Their armor was properly fitted, their weapons keen.
When the apparent leader raised his blade,
a hundred men surged down the slope, roaring.
Their roar was different from that of the rabble before—
the pitch, the rhythm, the unity of footfalls.
It meant experience.
"Right wing! Hold formation!"
The right spear captain shouted.
But the elites' weight, combined with downhill inertia,
pressed hard on a single point of the spear wall.
The spear tips wavered once or twice.
That point visibly sagged.
"There!"
Park Seong-jin was already turning that way.
About thirty elite warriors slammed into one spot,
and the spear wall was pushed back several spans
with a blunt, grinding sound.
Through the opening, two—three men forced their way in.
A spearman was struck head-on and sent tumbling back.
Blood and sand sprayed together.
Two shieldmen rushed to plug the gap,
but Japanese blades were already slipping between the shields.
"Engage! Long swords forward!"
Long-sword troops surged out, drawing blades.
A short, sharp metallic sound tore through the entire beachhead.
The first clash was brutal.
One Japanese warrior deflected a long-sword strike
and carved deep into the left shoulder.
As the Goryeo swordsman fell,
another seized the attacker's arm and took his head in a single stroke.
Blood poured onto the sand, steam rising hot.
The second and third elites drove in,
their blades caught by shields,
while spearmen thrust again through the gaps.
Even in close combat,
the reach of the spear remained alive.
Park Seong-jin did not wait any longer.
He cut in diagonally toward the breach.
Five steps, six—
cleaving through the surf washing to his ankles.
The sound of his sword leaving the scabbard rang short and clear.
A Japanese warrior spotted him and charged.
Park Seong-jin tilted his body and cut from the side.
The man collapsed onto the sand, dropping his sword.
The tip stuck into the ground with a light thuk.
It was that fast, that precise.
A second warrior swung a horizontal cut.
Park Seong-jin dropped his center, twisted,
and drove a rising counter at waist height.
The sound of flesh tearing.
The man crumpled where he stood.
As Park Seong-jin began fighting at the very front,
the right wing's momentum returned.
"Spears, press!"
The right spear wall surged forward again.
The elites who had sought a breakthrough were forced back instead.
Pressed by Park Seong-jin at the front
and caught by spears on the flank,
their formation could not hold.
Shieldmen advanced step by step, sealing the breach.
Long-sword troops began clearing intruders at close range.
Behind them, rear-line archers had already acquired targets.
"Right wing, point seven!
Angle secured—fire!"
Dozens of arrows flew in from the side,
biting into shoulders and flanks.
There was risk of friendly entanglement in such proximity,
but the archers struck precisely into the gaps where spear and sword left space.
They fired only at those openings.
Close combat under archer cover
was entirely in Goryeo's favor.
When the elites' first assault was checked,
the rabble behind them joined late.
They carried all manner of weapons.
Less control than the elites, but greater density.
Pressure rose again.
Park Seong-jin did not hesitate.
With the long sword in hand, he spoke briefly to the line captain.
"Switch to the attack."
It did not mean holding.
It meant pushing in and widening.
It was the signal that changed the battle's nature—
from defending a beachhead
to expanding it.
Park Seong-jin turned and plunged back
into the chaos on the right flank.