the whole world had become a battlefield.
In the Goryeo camp, the wind blowing up from the south was heavy with moisture.
It went beyond the mere scent of the season, soaking the very air itself.
Each morning mist rose from the ground, and at the slightest change a fine drizzle fell.
What lay ahead was often veiled by something that was neither cloud nor fog, cutting off distant sight.
And the whole world had become a battlefield.
Unlike before, this was a bloodshed that overturned the age itself.
Where earlier wars had risen as righteous revolts against tyranny,
now men openly proclaimed kingship and spoke of founding states.
As ambition laid itself bare, the nature of war changed.
It was no longer resistance to Yuan oppression, but war among rival lords without hesitation.
Enemies were everywhere.
Only by crushing others could one become king, build a realm, seize the world.
This was what they called an age of chaos.
Yi In-jung stood quietly before a map spread across a low table.
The farther south it went, the more the lines tangled like waves.
Huguang (湖廣).
Zhejiang (浙江).
Pingjiang (平江).
And Jinling (南京).
Three flags, darkened by brush strokes, faced one another.
"The three heroes of Jiangnan have divided the land among themselves,"
the courier said, presenting a sealed report.
"Chen Youliang has proclaimed Han, Zhang Shicheng has established Wu, and Zhu Yuanzhang calls himself Western Wu. None will yield. They stand opposed like the three legs of a cauldron."
Yi In-jung nodded slowly.
"The Han in the west has the largest army. It holds the Yuan in check to the north."
His fingertip rested near Poyang Lake (鄱陽湖).
"Chen Youliang controls the waterways and lakes of Huguang. A master of battle. His rule is rough, but he carries the force of a true hero. He recalls Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Chu."
His finger moved east.
"Zhang Shicheng of Pingjiang comes from the local magnates. He holds the arteries of commerce and turns wealth into grain. His finances are deep. We have fought him before, and he once sent an envoy of peace to Goryeo. His forces are smaller than Chen Youliang's, but their texture is even and their supply steady. He understands endurance more than combat. He lasts."
Finally, he pointed south, to Jinling.
"Zhu Yuanzhang. He rose from a mendicant monk and built his army with writing and strategy. He gathered the poor and made them soldiers, washed away the blood of bandits, and bound them with order. His territory is not yet vast, but his system is heavy with weight. He is the one to fear most. Heroes have gathered under him—swift, fierce commanders."
Park Seong-jin lifted his head.
"So in the end, three men of distinct strengths divide the world."
Yi In-jung folded the map and murmured,
"Yes. Three states stand like the legs of a cauldron. If one breaks, the cauldron tilts, and the world atop it will spill again."
He looked out beyond the tent.
Under the early summer sky, the banners of Goryeo hung heavy.
"The King has ordered us to take part in this chaos. Our road leads to the Jiangnan front. In truth, we are stepping into the heart of this three-king war."
Park Seong-jin drew a slow breath.
Emotions too large for words stirred in his chest.
He felt that this was more than battle—it was a contest for the mastery of the age itself.
"General, which side do we support?"
Yi In-jung looked at him.
"That has not yet been decided. We came at the Yuan's request, but the sword of Goryeo judges for itself. That is Goryeo's will. Our role is not to fight all three rebels, but to lend strength to one, pacify Jiangnan, and tip the balance."
"The court at Dadu will not like that."
"Neither the Yuan nor we have the strength to crush all three."
His gaze turned northward,
beyond which lay the King and the court.
"Remember this, Seong-jin."
"Yes."
"This is not merely a war of blades. It is a struggle over who can read the age—and bear its weight."
"You mean we must choose well."
Yi In-jung smiled faintly.
There was a fresh sharpness in Park Seong-jin's thinking, unpolished by courtly phrasing.
"Yes. A choice."
"Hm. Zhang Shicheng, Zhu Yuanzhang, Chen Youliang—deciding which of them is our ally…"
No matter how much one thought with a young mind, it could not surpass experience.
Yi In-jung offered a clue.
"Who would be satisfied with ruling Jiangnan alone? That is the key."
"Oh—then Zhang Shicheng, perhaps? He even maintained diplomatic ties with Goryeo."
Yi In-jung slowly shook his head.
"I doubt Zhang Shicheng can subdue the other two. He is the weakest. In fact, this may well be the height of his power."
"Then it narrows to two. The earnest Zhu Yuanzhang, and the bold Chen Youliang."
"Which of them would be content with Jiangnan?"
"Zhu Yuanzhang, I think. He's earnest, serious, values his men—his reputation is good."
"Think deeper. Chen Youliang in the west, and Zhu Yuanzhang… His Majesty has granted us full authority."
A sudden gust struck the tent, shaking it hard.
The flapping cloth sounded like splitting wood.
That wind had blown from far to the south—from the three powers of Jiangnan.
Three flags.
Three kings.
And one world.
The world balanced on the cauldron's legs had begun to boil.
And into its very center, the army of Goryeo stepped forward.