226.
〈Hwaju Small Retreat, Dawn〉
The moon had vanished, and the wind had stilled.
The poisonous mist that had burned through the night had already dispersed.
In the courtyard, only shattered vials and fallen bodies remained, and even these were losing their scent as the dew washed over them.
Park Seongjin sat motionless on the wooden floor.
The battles of the night were over, yet not even the shadow of fatigue touched his face.
His fingertips were steady, his breath calm.
He lifted his gaze briefly toward the sky.
Into the cleared air seeped the blue vitality of dawn.
"…To be alive and breathing—was it always this rare a thing?"
He murmured softly, sensing his own breath at his fingertips as he circulated his qi.
As the energy turned, the currents within his body slowly aligned,
the disordered channels of the night refined once more.
When he closed his eyes, the scenes returned.
Deaths without killing intent.
Poisons without scent.
Men without names.
Their master had not revealed himself.
Yet the aura they carried bore unmistakably the smell of the imperial court.
Wiping the blood from his hands, he spoke to no one.
"Yeongwi.
An unseen blade.
A guard of shadows…"
With those words, he seated himself again.
By the time the first light of morning reached the courtyard, he had already entered the realm of samādhi.
〈Liaodong, A Nocturnal Gathering〉
It was an underground stone chamber in Liaoyang.
Three lamps flickered faintly.
In the damp air, anger and despair clung together.
Itak, Yerek, and Bayanbuqa were gathered once more.
"All of them—gone?"
Bayanbuqa ground his teeth.
"Were the Yeongwi truly so weak?"
"They were not weak," one voice answered.
"The mission was carried out.
Only the opponent was extraordinary."
Itak's voice was cold.
Yerek drained his cup.
"That man sees the wind. He senses poison.
I saw it on the battlefield—his body moved before the arrow ever flew."
Bayanbuqa slammed his fist on the table.
"If he is human, he can be killed.
If imperial techniques fail, then we use the northern arts."
Itak looked at him quietly.
"Those arts are forbidden."
"Then they are the only option left."
Bayanbuqa smiled thinly.
"The poisons of the southern tribes, the arrows of the Jurchen, the empire's shadows—none of them worked.
Then this time, we borrow the hands of ghosts."
Yerek nodded slowly.
"If it is the taboo rites used by the shamans north of the Black Water, it can be done."
"That is to erase the boundary between the living and the dead."
Itak clenched his jaw.
"If Gi Cheol could see this, his rage would know no end."
"All the better," Bayanbuqa chuckled low.
"This time, we do not even borrow her name.
With our own hands, we will kill Park Seongjin."
The eyes of the three men glinted ominously.
The lamplight wavered, and as it brushed Itak's face, a chill smile formed on his lips.
"Very well," he said.
"This time, not by human hands.
We proceed with the final measure—leaving not even a shadow behind."
With those words, one lamp went out.
The remaining two flickered, then vanished as well.
The stone chamber sank into complete darkness.
〈Hwaju, At the Same Hour〉
Dawn had fully broken.
Drops of water clung to the eaves of Hwaju Small Retreat.
Park Seongjin sat on the floor, slowly pouring tea.
Beside him lay a single arrow.
At the tip of its head, a small engraved mark was visible.
影.
Shadow.
He gazed at the mark for a long time, then quietly closed his eyes.
"The wind has stilled.
But the vortex has not yet ended."
In the distance, a lone crow took flight.
Its wings cut across the morning sky, disappearing toward the darkness of Liaodong.