217.
Night by the Tumen River — The Choice of Assassination
The night along the Tumen River was cold.
The water flowed in ashen currents, giving off a low metallic murmur, and the shadows of the forest layered themselves over the ripples like black bands.
At the foot of a barren hillside without a single light, four men gathered.
Itak raised the wick of a small oil lamp.
As the glow spread, faces appeared briefly, then sank back into darkness.
He drew a breath and went straight to the point.
"The reason for our defeat is clear.
The one who turned the tide of the battlefield was a single man—Park Seong-jin.
An exceptional warrior. A true master."
A brief silence followed.
Without shifting his gaze, Itak continued.
"He judges quickly.
And he lifts the morale of his soldiers.
In mobile warfare with superior numbers, he is not an opponent we can bear."
Jang Heon-yu chewed on a strip of dried meat and nodded.
"Even if we gather more troops and meet him head-on, the result will be the same.
Shaking supply lines and harassing him would take too long and cost too much.
More importantly—he becomes sharper the fewer men he has.
That is the nature of a master."
He swallowed and went on.
"The compatibility of forces.
Unit cohesion. Tactical proficiency.
He has gone beyond the range we can follow."
Yerek gestured toward the river and spoke in a low voice.
"To be precise, we lack the power to break his army.
Mercenaries have clear limits.
Terrain, weapon matchups, overwhelming numbers—he cuts through all of it."
He paused, then added,
"So I changed my thinking.
Not head-on. Another way."
Bayanbu struck his palm once.
"Good. Let's abandon the idea of ending this by battle.
Instead, find a move that finishes it in one stroke."
His eyes sank like darkness.
"Silent. Certain.
Like a shadow spoken of only in rumors."
Itak nodded, summarizing.
"Direct engagement costs men, time, money—and loyalty is thin.
Worse, it turns opinion against us.
Assassination is brief. The result is clear.
The cost is high, but the success rate is higher."
Jang Heon-yu muttered as if tallying accounts.
"Let's start with silver.
We can make at least one collaborator inside Hwaju.
After so much war, there will be openings."
Yerek let out a low laugh.
"I know some people.
Shadows that move in and out of Hwaju.
Not famed masters of the martial world, but men accustomed to ending lives with a single edge."
Bayanbu concluded.
"Good. The plan is simple.
Plant informants. Track Park Seong-jin's movements.
Wait for a gap—meals, rest, gate rotations.
The most ordinary moments are the most vulnerable.
Approach at night.
Use only assassins proven in both infiltration and escape."
Resolve settled over their faces, harder than the darkness itself.
Itak took out a small slip of paper and wrote beneath the lamp:
a few conditions, a single target, and the reward.
On the folded page, one word remained.
Hwaju.
"Who do we call?" Jang Heon-yu asked.
Yerek clicked his tongue.
"I'll find them.
But the price won't be light."
They moved swiftly into practical matters.
Erasing one war hero was no longer a fight—it was a business.
As the night deepened, their movements grew quieter.
One by one they vanished into the mist of the Tumen River.
Hwaju was preparing to receive an unseen blade.
And already, in the dark,
one man had set out on the road—
a bearer of vengeance's price, following a single shadow toward Hwaju.
The Omen of the Shadow
There was a sense of being followed.
At some point, his awareness had sharpened.
Without effort, he could see it, feel it.
The wind was still, yet the air behind his back stirred faintly.
Whoever it was—trained.
No footsteps. No breath.
Only the certainty of a gaze fixed from a constant distance.
Like the feeling that someone is staring at you as you walk.
Park Seong-jin slowed his steps.
Holding the reins, he deliberately turned down a side path.
Each time he tried to look back, the presence vanished.
With every disappearance, suspicion deepened.
Quietly, he slipped into a narrow alley.
By day, peddlers passed through it;
after sunset, it emptied completely.
As he waited, a man passed the mouth of the alley.
He wore a shabby robe, his hair bound tight with a cloth, a sack slung over his shoulder.
At a glance, a market hawker.
But the walk was wrong.
Like wind brushing grass.
His gaze flicked back too often.
The spacing of his steps was too even.
A trained man.
Park Seong-jin waited behind the wall.
The instant the man turned the corner, he reached out and pressed a hand onto his shoulder.
"Stop."
The man spun in shock.
Too late.
His body stiffened as pressure sealed his vital points.
Park Seong-jin's gaze pierced him first.
"Whose errand are you on?"
The man stayed silent for a moment.
The sack slipped from his shoulder.
Inside were a few lumps of dried ginseng, scraps of red silk, and a bundle of thin letters.
"I'm a peddler from the Hwaju market.
I was only told to watch."
"By whom?"
"A man named Itak.
He said he came from Liaodong.
Asked me to help carry goods, so I followed."
Park Seong-jin tilted his head.
An unfamiliar name.
"And if you had reported what you saw?"
"I would only deliver it. That's all."
After studying him, Park Seong-jin called Do-hyeon.
"Don't seize him. Take him with you.
His words lack artifice—but we must see what follows."
The man bowed deeply.
"I didn't know it would be a crime."
"Not knowing doesn't make it harmless.
It runs against the affairs of the state."
Do-hyeon led him away.
Park Seong-jin looked again down the alley.
The darkness deepened.
A thin wind stirred.
The presence was gone, yet its afterimage clung to his shoulders.
A Name Revealed
Back at the camp, Park Seong-jin passed on the name—Itak.
Nangjang Jong-hui nodded.
"I know him.
He served under the Pyeongjangjeongsa of the Zhengdong Branch Secretariat."
"What is a Pyeongjangjeongsa?"
"A senior post under the Secretariat.
When Gi Cheol served as Pyeongjangjeongsa of the Liaoyang Branch and became Duke Deokseong, Itak was one of the aides at his side."
Park Seong-jin's eyes narrowed.
"If he's Gi Cheol's man, the reason for tracking my movements is clear."
Jong-hui added lightly,
"Seems you're popular."
It was a common saying in the camp—
when superiors kept assigning work, one joked like this,
covering an uncomfortable truth with humor.
"At times like this, I feel my lack of experience," Park Seong-jin said.
Jong-hui tapped the table lightly, armor still on.
"Surveillance is the prelude to the next strike.
Once they know your movements, the next step is assassination.
When military attack fails, this is the usual choice.
They'll hire it—there's money."
"Assassination?"
Park Seong-jin asked quietly.
"Am I worth that?"
"You already are.
Many saw you open the gates with a small force and bring Gi Cheol down.
Some may even believe he died."
"He didn't," Park Seong-jin said, exhaling slowly.
"Assassination…"
Jong-hui's face hardened.
"Even if individual skill is low, it's dangerous.
This isn't a duel.
Poison. Hidden weapons. Traps.
Even masters die that way.
A blade slips in from the dark—how do you fight that?"
Park Seong-jin asked,
"You said Zhengdong Branch Secretariat earlier."
"Yes.
It was created by Yuan to subjugate Japan.
Goryeo has no office called Pyeongjangjeongsa—we call it Pyeongjangsa."
"Close enough," Park Seong-jin said.
"One character's difference."
Jong-hui continued calmly.
"Pyeongjangjeongsa controls Yuan's administrative operations.
Even as remnants, they retain fragments of intelligence networks, funds, and ties to officials."
"So not mere bandits."
"Exactly.
They must have received orders."
Park Seong-jin's expression sharpened.
"Revenge mixed with political calculation.
Then the source is Empress Gi."
"That's the problem," Jong-hui said quietly.
"It never ends."
He lowered his voice.
"We must separate the actor from the aim.
If the target is only Nangjang Park, it may be manageable.
If the backing is guilds and officials, the fight moves off the battlefield."
"Then what do we do?"
Jong-hui laid it out.
"First, trace Itak's links to Liaodong—every guild and smuggling route.
Second, find collaborators inside Hwaju. It cannot happen without them.
Third, strengthen defenses, but prevent harm to the people."
He paused, looking directly at Park Seong-jin.
"And do not go alone."
Park Seong-jin slowly touched his sword hilt.
"So this cannot be ended by battle alone."
"It's a different fight now," Jong-hui said, without humor.
"In the end, though, it still comes to the blade."
"Yes."
"Beware poison, hidden weapons, traps.
And don't go out after dark."
Park Seong-jin looked beyond the ramparts into the night.
A single light flickered faintly outside the walls.
"A blade alone is not enough.
Information is sharper than steel."
He bowed.
"I understand."
That night, beneath the lights of Hwaju, a new struggle began.
Yet what Park Seong-jin held was little—
only plausibility, like ripples left after a boat has passed.