713.
A few days later, the port of Byeongnandoopened.
The anchors dropped.
The oars were drawn in.
Murmurs spread across the docks.
More warships remained than expected.
Many had already been sent back, yet the fleet was still formidable.
"Commander Park!"
The first to rush forward was Lee In-jung.
He had not even finished adjusting his armor.
He stood there catching his breath, the strain still visible on his face.
"We still haven't secured enough gunpowder.
Jiangnan is slow to respond, and the Central Plains are in turmoil…"
His voice trailed off.
Park Seong-jin nodded.
"It's over now.
You've done well."
At that single sentence, Lee In-jung's shoulders visibly lowered.
"You held the line."
They entered Gaegyeongimmediately.
The main hall was quiet.
Sunlight lay long between the pillars.
Park reported the campaign in order.
Which seas had seen battle.
Which ports had fallen.
What had been taken.
What had been left behind.
His words were concise.
He reduced his own merits.
A prepared document listed the achievements and named every officer who had distinguished himself.
At the end, he presented the bu-wol—the crescent war axe symbolizing delegated command.
He held it with both hands and stepped forward.
It was the moment when military authority, once entrusted, was formally returned.
The king rose from his seat.
"You have labored greatly."
Then came the reward.
A golden blossom, shining in the sunlight.
A jade baton, cold and weighty in the hand—
a symbol of endurance that would not easily break.
"What you have given for the realm, the realm acknowledges."
With that, the ceremony ended.
The walk home felt lighter.
Passing through the gate and into the alleyways, he smelled something familiar.
Wood.
Earth.
People.
He opened the door.
The wooden floor was unchanged.
Park stood there for a moment, steadying his breath.
The war had ended.
He had returned.
The house remained where it always had.
And he returned to the place of an ordinary man.
On his way out of court, he called for Song Yi-sul.
Song now served in the royal guard.
The warrior corps and palace guard had merged again into their former structure.
The sun was low, casting long shadows from the palace walls.
When foot traffic thinned, Song finally spoke.
"Land reform… it's distant.
Unlikely."
The aristocratic families had resisted more fiercely than expected.
Now their resistance had become open.
"If this continues, the reform will fail.
His Majesty's will is strong, but reality is harsher."
Park's brow tightened.
He did not argue.
He already knew.
If reform failed, Goryeo's lifespan would shorten with it.
The great currents he had witnessed in Jiangnan rose in his mind—
the patterns of rising and falling states.
Time was not generous.
"Any armed provocation?"
"Almost none."
"That's fortunate."
He meant it.
The dismantling of private armies had begun to show effect.
Not complete, but enough to prevent lords from using personal troops to challenge royal authority.
It was the reason the Japanese expedition had even been possible.
Park calculated silently.
Reform was blocked.
Time was shrinking.
Yet blood had not begun to flow again.
The balance was fragile.
No one knew how long it would last.
After that, he moved quickly.
He transferred full command of the returning troops to Lee In-jung—authority equal to a field commander.
He formally petitioned for proper compensation for the soldiers.
The war had ended.
Now came reward.
Ranks were raised.
Those who had distinguished themselves were promoted to officers and commanders.
Silver and cloth were distributed according to merit.
Some received reclaimed lands.
Loyalty was not secured with words, but with livelihood.
Every gift brought back from Japan—
blades, silk, jewels—
was sent directly to the national treasury.
Some showed regret.
Park did not look back.
In his possession remained only one thing:
The horse he had ridden to war.
Even that no longer felt like a war mount,
but like a creature that had endured beside him.
He set everything down.
And returned once more
to being a single soldier.