662.I understand what the word 'invincible' truly means.
After bowing in silence for a long time, Yoshitoshi opened his mouth carefully.
His voice was lower than before, and the question was cautious as a sword tip.
"...It is a force no one can stop.
Neither men nor armies can block it, and neither spells nor stratagems can break it.
So we call it transcendent.
Only now do I understand what the word 'invincible' truly means."
Park Seong-jin did not answer.
It was a silence that neither denied nor affirmed.
Yoshitoshi continued.
"When it was only rumor, I thought it exaggerated.
But now… I dare say it.
I believe you, Commander, are truly the greatest under heaven."
At that, Park Seong-jin tilted his head slightly.
"You flatter me."
"No."
Yoshitoshi said it plainly.
"Even as I bow like this, I think: to make a man like you our enemy is ruin—
and if we could make you ours…"
He stopped.
Because he knew how heavy the next words were.
"Then perhaps even the dream of permanence the Shimazu have long desired…
might be within reach."
Park Seong-jin slowly set his teacup down.
"So that is what you want to ask?"
Yoshitoshi drew a breath and bowed deeper.
"How… does one become a master of Hwagyeong?"
The air in the room seemed to stop for a moment.
The weight of the question pressed into the dull, black corners.
To ask such a thing meant he loved his clan that much.
Park Seong-jin did not answer at once.
It was as though he had placed the question on his palm and stared at it for a long time.
Only after a long while did he speak, with difficulty.
"That… is hard for me to put into words."
Yoshitoshi's eyes widened a little as he waited.
Park Seong-jin listed what came to mind.
"You have to work hard.
You have to meet good people.
You need an excellent teacher."
He folded his fingers one by one.
As if counting old memories.
"It won't work with theory alone, and it won't work with practice alone.
They have to go together.
And you need the conditions to sink deep."
Without realizing it, Yoshitoshi was nodding.
"And…"
Park Seong-jin paused, then added,
"You need someone you can trust like a brother.
Someone you can follow like a shadow."
"Ah…"
"And above all,"
Park Seong-jin's voice dropped very low,
"you need a high purpose."
Yoshitoshi swallowed.
So he had had such a thing.
"Words that look empty from the outside—
for the people, for peace.
A grand ideal, perhaps.
A life whose value is filled with meanings so heavy they look foolish."
Park Seong-jin's gaze turned toward the window.
"When those slogans wave like banners,
a person becomes strangely brave.
Even if the road has no answer,
even if each step is a swamp of death,
you can still keep moving forward."
Hearing that, Yoshitoshi felt for the first time that he was seeing not a 'warrior,' but a 'person.'
"You need time.
You need silence.
And then…"
Park Seong-jin did not finish.
Instead he slowly, slowly shook his head.
"If you have all of that, can you become a master of Hwagyeong?"
He spoke as if asking himself.
"No.
Even if I were made to walk that path again, I would not become what I am now."
Yoshitoshi asked carefully.
"Then… is there no answer?"
Park Seong-jin replied without a smile.
"That is why I say I don't know."
A path through the dark hours
When the darkness thickened, the air outside changed.
The flow of the wind shifted, and the air grew strangely heavy.
These were presences that did not try to hide.
Not one or two.
Dozens of footsteps spread out as if encircling the inn.
Park Seong-jin let out a breath like a sigh.
"…They've come."
Footsteps stopped outside the door.
At the front stood Irikiin Fukushige.
He was not alone.
Samurai with scabbards at their waists lined up in a long row.
There were many.
It was less like tension, more like resolve.
Park Seong-jin thought for a moment, then opened the door and stepped out.
Behind him, Shimazu Yoshitoshi tried to follow.
Park Seong-jin raised a hand and stopped him quietly.
"Stay inside."
In the front yard, dozens of grim warriors stood in a half circle.
As if they would surge forward with a single step.
Hands on sword hilts trembled faintly.
Park Seong-jin looked at Fukushige and asked.
"So. Have you changed your mind?"
Fukushige folded almost by reflex.
"No. Never."
His voice was fast and low.
"I heard Shimazu warriors have come here."
Park Seong-jin nodded and asked,
"Are you enemies? Bad blood?"
"…It isn't good."
The kind of relationship where you see blood if you meet on a single-log bridge.
If Yoshitoshi had entered another lord's land this boldly,
it was not hard to guess Irikiin had been the one pushed into the corner.
Park Seong-jin summarized the situation simply.
He added no unnecessary explanation.
"I came to accept your surrender.
If you hadn't, I was going to strike tomorrow."
A sound of swallowed breath ran through the samurai around them.
"They came because of business with me.
So allow it."
He continued evenly.
"If you refuse my request, I may have to use my own hand."
Fukushige's lips trembled.
"…They are our sworn enemies."
Park Seong-jin asked,
"Do you have to settle that grudge—right here, right now?"
It sounded like a lightly thrown question.
But Fukushige's body shook.
His short, solid frame staggered as if it might collapse.
Only then did he understand.
This was not a question demanding a choice.
It was a sentence announcing an ending.
Then Shimazu Yoshitoshi stepped forward.
"It is our matter. We will handle it."
His voice was low, but there was no retreat in it.
Even if they fought, he meant to stand his ground.
No matter how strong Park Seong-jin was, this was Fukushige's territory.
Perhaps Yoshitoshi did not want to burden Park Seong-jin—
or perhaps he also looked down on Fukushige.
Park Seong-jin looked at him for a moment, then shook his head.
"Handle it separately—when I'm not here."
He drew a clear line.
"If what we agreed here becomes an issue,
I will ask for Commander's indulgence."
Fukushige could not speak further.
It was a land where grudges tangled like vines.
What was wrong, who drew first—none of that mattered anymore.
The problem of Wa was always the same.
They tried to solve, with spear and sword,
what could be solved by law and speech.
Park Seong-jin signaled that the matter was over and saw Yoshitoshi off.
About twenty Shimazu warriors passed in front of Fukushige
and walked toward the road that led south.
Their footsteps stayed even.
No one looked back.
Park Seong-jin followed them out to the edge of the village.
That was when he felt it—
several threads of presence cautiously sticking close from behind.
He did not need to turn to know.
He stopped, drew in a short breath,
and roared into the darkness behind him.
"Go back!"
The shout carried inner force and tore through the night air.
An unseen wave swept across the ground.
The Irikiin scholars and warriors who had followed
collapsed where they stood.
Their legs gave out.
Their breath jammed.
They tried to rise, but their bodies would not listen.
They had no strength to grip a sword—
sitting upright itself was too much.
Park Seong-jin looked over the fools sagging on the ground, then turned back.
He did not look behind again.
The darkness was recovering its silence.