609.
The bombardment did not cease.
Half the harbor was covered in ashen smoke and shattered hulls.
Near the shoreline, fragments of sunk Japanese ships and pieces of floating armor tangled together and drifted.
Some of the Japanese, driven into a dead end, gathered what remained of their momentum.
Dozens shoved the surviving boats off a shallow sandbar and dragged them into open water.
There was no time to raise sails.
It was a desperate struggle—gripping a few oars and forcing themselves onto the surface.
"Come—!"
"Come onnn—!"
From the gunwales they slashed at the sea with swords,
a final gesture of setting posture.
A few ships broke free and pushed forward, splitting the surface.
Their last charge was nothing but spirit.
Soldiers leaned out over the rails, swords clenched, eyes bloodshot as they fixed on the Goryeo warships.
"Close in!"
"Latch on and die—latch on and cut!"
Goryeo held the grain of the formation.
The fifteen artillery warships had already locked their gunports at regulated intervals.
Park Seong-jin raised a hand low.
"Hold aim."
"Fire."
Kwaaaang—!!
The first shot struck the enemy prow, wood bursting apart like paper scraps.
The second split beneath the stern, snapping the hull sideways.
Even so, two ships punched through the barrage and drew near.
Dozens of raiders launched themselves at once from the rails—
throwing their whole bodies as barnacles make one last shift of place.
Long blades cut the wind.
Before their feet could touch water, the grain of violence leapt first.
In that instant, from the port side of the Goryeo warship,
hundreds of arrows hissed out in a single sheet.
The first line pierced gaps in armor.
The second punched into the chests of those mid-leap.
The third drove down again into bodies already falling into the sea.
The water widened its dark crimson stains, one after another.
The final two ships, still clinging on, ignited beneath the prow.
Over the whirlpool, one side lifted slowly.
On the tilted deck, men lost balance and spilled into the water.
Gurururu—
a dull sound of splitting timbers spread.
Both ships were swallowed with flame.
When the cannonfire stopped and the smoke sank,
Izuhara Harbor began to regain silence—
a silence laid down with the stink of burning oil.
The sound of collapsed beams knocking beneath the surface remained.
The ragged breathing of soldiers remained.
A trembling sentry's cry atop a palisade remained, like a sob.
The enemy's last resistance broke there.
Park Seong-jin said,
"We land."
"Build a beachhead at the port."
"An unbreakable beachhead."
The battle at Izuhara was shifting—
from sea to ground.
Song Yi-jeong asked,
"And Kaneishi Castle?"
Without taking his eyes away, Park Seong-jin answered,
"Crush the counterattack first."
"Do not rush."
As the sea's thunder faded, Park Seong-jin issued orders at once.
"We land."
"Left, right, vanguard—deploy in sequence."
"Secure the beachhead to a forward line thirty paces in."
The Goryeo warships were already prepared.
Ladders were thrown down.
White foam rose under the rails.
The first to step into the water were the assault swimmers.
They waded forward, thighs submerged.
Shieldmen raised broad pavise-shields in a half-moon,
seizing a strip of shoreline in one sweep.
They were flat Goryeo shields reinforced with iron edging—
taller than a man, built to bear arrows, spears, and blades.
"Port-side shield wall complete!"
"Starboard line finished!"
The shoreline gained a crescent of shields.
Spearmen took position.
Behind them, archers formed ranks.
Further back, oarsmen and engineers began hauling loads.
A few Japanese came running out in disarray through the alleys—
a group with defeat already smeared across their faces.
They were poorly armed, the grain of half-soldiers and militia.
"Lower firing angle."
"No ammunition waste."
Archers lifted bows in unison.
As the enemy closed—
Thudududok—
arrows struck down, raising small spirals of sand.
The first wave broke before it even reached the shoreline.
Engineers moved.
Palisade frames, bundled ropes, and stakes were dragged behind the beach line.
Stakes were driven into sand.
Sacks were piled.
A makeshift embankment rose.
Bows and quivers were distributed.
Space was cleared to lay the wounded.
Narrow lanes were cut for advancing troops.
All of it happened without shouting.
Familiar hands moved as if aligning grain.
From deeper in Izuhara, about fifty Japanese soldiers emerged, equipped and ordered, aligning at the mouth of an alley.
They wore armor and carried long spears.
In the middle rank stood elites holding swords in both hands.
"They're preparing to charge."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
"Crossbow line—aim high."
"Middle rank, nock arrows."
The enemy roared and rushed the beach.
Sand flew.
Long spears tore the air.
"Fire!"
Sswaek! Sswaeaek! Sswaek!
The first volley dropped the spear line.
The second pierced moving shadows.
Even so, some broke through the grain of arrows and reached the shield wall.
Park Seong-jin said,
"Spears forward."
"Hold the line."
From behind the shields, long-spearmen thrust through gaps between boards.
The raiders ran onto spearheads.
Armor split.
The dull sound of bone breaking followed, one after another.
The second counterattack stopped on the shield wall.
The beachhead drove its grain into the ground.
"General, the thirty-pace line is secured!"
"Left wing fully taken!"
"Corridor secured for the center rank!"
Park Seong-jin replied,
"Good."
"From here—attack."
The shoreline became a foothold.
Park Seong-jin pointed out a location for the main command.
"That will do."
Yun Dam's station was set.
Protection was assigned around him.
Liaison officers and signal officers flowed in and took their places around the tents.
Park Seong-jin confirmed the beachhead's grain.
He checked the anchored ships.
Five fast vessels were selected.
Scouting orders went out.
Less than half a watch after landing,
enemies who had been hiding in woods and alleys behind the shore began to show themselves.
A sentry ran in, shouting.
"Enemy!"
"Two hundred coming down from the castle side!"
A soldier from another direction arrived, gasping.
"Three hundred from the eastern ravine—
no, closer to four hundred!"
Another pointed to dark rocks.
"A mass is descending from the right hillside!"
"We can't even count them!"
From the low grassland opposite the beachhead, numbers swelled further.
Park Seong-jin swept all directions coldly.
The Japanese were pouring in—down mountain paths, out of alleys, along the forest edge.
Weapons were mixed.
Long spears.
Rusty swords.
Flails lashed to poles.
Narrow-bladed knives.
There were many.
Their momentum pressed in like a wave.
Park Seong-jin checked the lines of approach and nodded.
"Expected distance."
"Expected numbers."
"They haven't scattered."
In front, broad shields painted with demon faces stood in a half-moon.
Their dark, vicious visages pressed down on the onrushing mass first.
Behind them, long spears rose like a forest.
Each spear tip held taut, catching dust.
Behind the spear line, long-sword men and archers with wooden shields stood in disciplined order.
Shield—spear—sword—archer: layers covering each other within a short span.
Park Seong-jin took the formation in at a glance.
The beachhead was taking the shape of a fortress.
The grain carried from the sea was being driven into the earth.
War cries thundered from every side.
From the west, spear troops descended in a line.
From the east, bowmen spread as they approached.
From the northern hillside, a mixed mass shoved forward on sheer force.
Sand dust rose hot.
The smell of charred wood from the village mixed in.
The air was kneaded with hot iron stink and mud.
The faces of the Goryeo troops did not move.
Park Seong-jin read the formation's tiny tremors—
the vibration in the left shield wall,
the spacing of the right archer ranks,
the angle at which spear tips opened,
the risk of rear-line disruption.
All points connected into a single line.
Park Seong-jin said,
"Maintain formation."
"There is nothing to break."
The enemy's gathering was less an "army" than survivors from scattered points flowing into one place by instinct.
Their ranks had never been aligned from the start.
Their structure was crude.
Even so, the threat was sufficient.
Approach from multiple directions, and even a ragged mass becomes pressure.
Park Seong-jin checked the beachhead again.
The shoreline already held a crescent of broad shields—
rectangular wooden pavises.
The demon faces painted on their fronts were meant to intimidate.
But the more important thing was function.
The first wall that deflected arrows and short blades.
Behind the shield wall, long-spearmen stood packed tight.
Spears measured about three and a half meters.
Two lines, three lines overlapped—
and close approach was stopped almost by "shape" alone.
Behind the spearmen, long-sword men and archers were interlaced.
Archers drew arrows from quivers and waited with strings taut.
The sword men still did not draw—
breathing carefully for the moment the spear wall might be pierced.
Oarsmen and engineers continued redistributing ammunition and fixing stakes behind the beach.
The defense line still did not shake.
Even if the enemy's movement was dispersed, its direction was clear.
The group descending from the castle side tightened distance, gradually taking a single frontal shape—
spears in front, heavy-armed fighters pressing behind:
the raiders' characteristic forward-crush formation.
The eastern group formed a long column due to the ravine,
but their numbers were enough to spread shoulder-to-shoulder in the end.
The mass from the right hillside lacked uniform equipment.
Some carried shovels and flails,
some wore only deer-hide armor.
The problem was terrain—
a position able to press the beachhead's right flank,
and an approach path narrowing toward it.
A small group on the opposite rise moved to disrupt the rear.
It was weak for now, but could not be ignored.
Park Seong-jin reached conclusions quickly.
Two hundred from the castle side—attempt a frontal collision.
Three to four hundred from the east—seek a flanking join.
Right hillside—risk of piercing the outside edge of the right spear wall.
Opposite rise—aim to disturb the rear.
He did not raise his voice.
"All units maintain line."
"Shield wall does not yield."
"Keep spear length."
"Archers confirm range."
Orders were short and exact.
There was no exaggerated roar.
Yet the army moved for one reason:
the soldiers understood why this formation had to stand.
A soldier who understands tactics knows how to endure.
A soldier who knows how to endure does not shake.
When the enemy closed to one hundred fifty paces, one hundred, eighty,
their war cries began to take on a grim regularity.
The castle-side force lowered spears and took the posture just before a sprint.
The eastern force spread left and right to widen targets.
The right hillside force was slower due to the slope,
but their trajectory toward the shore had fixed.
Sand before the shield wall shivered at their feet as if pushed by wind.
Bowstrings trembled minutely under tension.
Spear tips shook lightly in dust—yet held direction exactly.
For an instant, everything seemed to go quiet.
It was the stillness of a world waiting for "the next moment."