357.Only those who know fear wield the blade correctly.
Night had deepened, and even the lights of the camp had begun to fade.
Behind the tents, in a small clearing where triangular banners hung slack,
Park Seong-jin sat alone.
With his fingertips, he traced circles and lines in the dirt—
feeling his way through the threads of fate spreading outward from Zhu Yuanzhang's main camp.
Clumsiness caught at his wrist.
The awareness that he was a martial man always held him back.
When his master had taught such matters, he had dismissed them as the domain of scholars—
things for scribes to debate, not warriors to grasp.
War, blade practice, blood, supply lines, and orders had overlapped until the gaps for learning dried up.
Still, if he had to understand it,
it was better to touch it with his own hands
than to rely on fortune-tellers telling him do this or do not do that.
"If I raise my blade," he murmured,
"what exactly is shaken?"
He could sense it faintly now.
Zhu Yuanzhang did not stand merely as a general commanding troops.
He stood at the center of a massive current—
woven from tens of thousands of wills, hopes, fears, and hatreds.
If such a man were cut down,
the recoil could be far greater than the blade itself.
Trying to reduce bloodshed might instead summon a river of blood.
If I kill that one man, the balance of Jiangnan flips.
Jin Yuliang's blade slices empty air, and Zhang Shicheng gains.
The flow of heaven twists in an entirely different direction.
For a moment, the thought crossed his mind
that Zhu Yuanzhang might ultimately win this war.
Perhaps that was why Song Yi-sul had stopped him.
Why he had spoken of heaven's current.
Park Seong-jin erased one line and drew another.
When he brushed away the dirt with his palm,
a pattern remained beneath it, as if the earth itself remembered.
"If that place is emptied," he asked quietly,
"what kind of force will rush in to fill it?"
At that moment, soft footsteps approached.
Park Seong-jin turned, eyes widening.
"Yoon Dam… sir?"
Yoon Dam stood upright.
A faint scent of horses lingered about him—
he had clearly just returned from the direction of Zhang Shicheng's camp.
These days, Yoon Dam ran constantly to maintain the alliance.
Supreme General Lee In-jung considered it the most critical task.
Yoon Dam glanced once at the clearing,
then again at the circles and lines drawn in the dirt.
"What is this, at such an hour?" he asked.
Park Seong-jin hesitated and brushed at the lines.
Too late.
Yoon Dam had already seen it.
At the center, one name was written.
Zhu Yuanzhang.
Yoon Dam's gaze sharpened instantly.
Recognition flashed in his eyes.
After a brief pause, he spoke in a low voice.
"…Were you considering assassination?"
Park Seong-jin drew a deep breath.
In that instant, he knew concealment was over.
"Yes. General Jin Yuliang asked me directly."
Yoon Dam closed his eyes and exhaled—
the same long breath Park Seong-jin had taken earlier.
"…So the impatience we only heard rumors of has finally surfaced."
Park Seong-jin explained everything, step by step.
How Jin Yuliang had approached him under the guise of familiarity.
How he had casually said, Just fly in and cut him down.
How he had offered the shallow justification that killing Zhu Yuanzhang would save soldiers' lives.
He spoke of Song Yi-sul's warning—
of the danger in defying the flow of heaven.
And of the discomfort he felt in his body,
as if the world's grain itself twisted when he imagined agreeing.
Yoon Dam did not interrupt.
He studied Park Seong-jin's face closely—
not for lies, not for fear, but for alignment.
Finally, he spoke softly.
"That you felt discomfort upon hearing it…
that is truly fortunate."
When Park Seong-jin looked puzzled,
Yoon Dam bent his knees and sat beside him.
With his finger, he redrew a circle in the dirt
where Park Seong-jin had wiped it clean.
At its center, he wrote once more:
주원장 朱元璋
The name looked as if it remained even when erased.
"Zhu Yuanzhang appears to be one man," Yoon Dam said,
"but in truth, he is a pillar of Jiangnan's world."
One by one, he redrew the lines—
his fingers delicate like a scholar's,
yet his strokes decisive like a general's.
"If he collapses, countless forces will rush to fill that void.
Forces beyond what we can bear."
He drew a vertical line.
"The people of Jiangnan will be shaken."
A horizontal line.
"Zhang Shicheng gains without effort."
Another line.
"Jin Yuliang will be gripped by fear and lose control of the battlefield."
One final line.
"The remnants of the Yuan will stir again."
As he finished, Yoon Dam frowned slightly.
"And that recoil," he said quietly,
"will fall upon you.
You are not yet prepared to receive it."
Park Seong-jin swallowed.
It sounded like he himself would bear the retribution.
Song Yi-sul's words and Yoon Dam's words met on the same grain—
the language of the Way and the language of politics arriving at one conclusion.
That realization was both embarrassing and relieving.
Yoon Dam spoke again.
"Therefore, sheathe your blade."
Then he cut cleanly.
"If you are to kill Zhu Yuanzhang, Commander Park—
it must be on the battlefield.
Not through assassination."
Park Seong-jin lowered his head.
"That was what frightened me as well."
Yoon Dam smiled briefly.
It was not a smile of joy,
but one that carried it is good you felt fear.
"Only those who know fear wield the blade correctly."
Rising to his feet, Yoon Dam said,
"This matter will remain known only to you, me, and Song Yi-sul."
"I will provide Jin Yuliang with a reason for refusal."
Park Seong-jin bowed quietly.
Within him, a conclusion settled.
A blade lives when it follows the flow.
When forced against it, the blade breaks first—
and the man breaks with it.
Some called it law.
Some called it natural order.
Others called it heaven's current.
Different words.
One destination.
A truth that twists when grasped by words,
and stands only beyond them.
Park Seong-jin released a long breath.
The night deepened further,
and his understanding of heaven's flow sharpened by another layer.