resistance erupted fiercely.
When the abolition of private armies was proclaimed, resistance erupted fiercely.
It was not limited to Gaegyeong alone.
For great noble houses, the private soldiers they had raised over generations were the foundation of their armed power.
To disband them was to cut out the roots of authority itself.
As a result, the clashes were more violent and spread wider than expected.
The prestigious Baek clan of Hwangju had long operated martial training grounds, cultivating elite private soldiers.
When the "Order to Disband Private Armies" was issued, dozens of Baek clan soldiers seized the center of the training ground and formed ranks.
"What crime have we committed?
Is mastering martial skill a crime?"
The Hwangju region was thrown into turmoil for several days.
In the end, all of the Baek clan's private soldiers were subdued.
In Jangdan, about forty private soldiers crossed behind the government office at night and launched a surprise attack.
They cut down soldiers, seized weapons, killed the local magistrate, and resisted in an organized manner while holding the walled town.
The initial clash was brutal.
Their objective was unclear.
The resistance did not last long, and it collapsed as soon as the suppression force arrived.
Private soldiers rose up in many places.
Most were spontaneous and individual acts of defiance.
When one noble house collapsed, the private soldiers belonging to it often went so far as to restrain further fighting themselves.
As land, slaves, and private armies were dismantled in sequence, the soldiers lost any reason to hold out.
The real problem lay elsewhere.
Some families pretended to disband while secretly continuing to operate their private soldiers.
They carried no swords and wandered like slaves, yet they were trained warriors.
They were men who did no labor.
These were deeply rooted clan structures, and cutting them out took time.
The abolition of private armies was not something that ended with battle.
Disbanding them, reorganizing new troops, and incorporating them into the state military required a long process.
The edge of the blade shifted from the battlefield to documents and registries.
On the ground, conditions grew harsher with each passing day.
*Amid the whirlwind of reform, Park Seong-jin naturally stepped back.
The principal actors were Yun-dam and the Jeonmin Byeonjeongdogaem.
He defined himself only as a tool of combat, and did not reach beyond that.
"When someone who holds force also claims the right to judge, that becomes violence."
This iron rule was both his justification and the final teaching left by his master.
In life, his master had always said:
"Do not stand at the front.
Know the difference between when you must draw the sword and when you merely can.
The day your blade turns toward the people, you become a bandit."
Park Seong-jin never forgot those words.
Even when exercising force on the battlefield, he tried to draw a clear line for himself.
His master had not taught him martial skill alone; he had planted within him a psychological restraint on the use of violence.
For that reason, before this vast political reform, Park Seong-jin withdrew even further.
The moment he intervened, the reform would be read as the result of force alone.
That interpretation would only further shake the court's reform.
Park Seong-jin understood this structure.
"They must do it.
I only need to move at the moments they cannot bear."
Thus, while the miscellaneous work of dismantling private armies continued, he deliberately erased his presence.
He did not take up his sword again until the necessary moment arrived.
He retreated to the northern garden of the palace and spent his days in quiet.
The sound of falling leaves, the murmur of a small stream, the footsteps of patrolling guards—these filled most of his days.
The northern garden was a place rarely visited even within the palace.
There, Park Seong-jin sat quietly, like a sword that did not move.
He issued no orders.
He did not interfere.
He merely watched the situation.
Yet within that silence, sharper awareness than anyone else remained awake.
If they took up swords again and shook the country, then the last disciple would draw his blade to uphold his master's final teaching.
Until then, he would retreat, and retreat again.
That was his path.
*Scattered skirmishes broke out across the land, but Park Seong-jin never stepped in.
He knew clearly that this was not his role.
Just as one distinguishes a knife for slaughtering chickens from one for slaughtering cattle, he regarded the forefront of reform as the domain of politics and administration.
"If possible, the world must purify itself by its own strength."
This simple truth was not learned on the battlefield, but through time and from his master.
If something could not be helped by the sword, then the sword should not be drawn.
Once the abolition of private armies began, problems burst forth throughout Goryeo society like ruptured rot.
Some tried to conceal illegal land accumulation.
Some fabricated reasons for having turned family members into slaves.
Others hid private soldiers and forced loyalty for the sake of their clans.
Reform was the process of pus bursting open.
The stench that flowed out the moment one touched it exhausted people.
"There are too many places that must be cut away cleanly."
This reality wore down Yun-dam and the officials leading the reform.
Park Seong-jin knew this as well.
If he stepped in, matters would be resolved quickly.
But an excessive blade would wound many.
From that moment on, reform would become something driven by force, and when force replaces reform, reform loses its footing.
Because of that, he understood precisely where he could help—and where he must not touch.
The more clearly he understood it, the more deeply he concealed himself.
He minimized the use of his hand.
Deep within the northern garden, he lived like a shadow.
Park Seong-jin was not passing his time idly.
Each day, he compared the currents of the silent forest with the energies of the palace.
He sensed waves of unease spreading like vibrations.
Through this process, he realized something.
Just as the Yuan dynasty had attempted countless reforms to preserve its state, Goryeo too was deeply diseased.
The reform was late.
The sickness was deep.
"This country must be reborn."
That rebirth must be achieved not by the sword, but by the hands of the people.
Only then would it endure.
And so, he did not move.
He did not draw his blade.
He simply waited.
The painful years were time that Goryeo had to pass through in order to stand anew.
He, too, was in pain.
But the country was in greater pain.
It pained him that there was nothing he could do for the nation and its people at that moment.
It had to be allowed to heal itself.