359.To the front.
The Awakening of the Martial Unit — The Arrival of New Prey
As the night air settled,
Park Seong-jin sensed a clear, unfamiliar grain within the field his perception swept across.
It was killing intent sharpened like a blade's tip.
A breath tempered over long years.
Even within natural concealment, the karmic stain of bloodshed clung to it.
He slowly exhaled.
"External experts. Not soldiers."
The words made his chest thrum.
The resonance was too great to keep to himself.
Park Seong-jin turned toward the camp.
His steps were light and composed.
Excitement layered itself over his usual calm.
Reaching the tents where the martial unit slept, he spoke softly.
"Wake up. They've arrived."
At first, not everyone grasped the situation.
Peace had lingered too long.
Dream and reality overlapped.
But once Park Seong-jin's face entered their vision,
their eyes sharpened one by one.
A man who had slept hugging his axe rose first.
"Is it real?"
"Their presence isn't that of ordinary martial men.
They're beyond the local level.
Masters have come."
That single line became the spark.
Some kicked aside blankets.
Some wiped their blades with bare palms.
Others tightened the straps of their armor.
Normally relaxed, joking men now focused their gazes.
They had enjoyed enough peace.
They had waited long enough.
They were men who had forged their lives with blades.
Time spent idle on the battlefield only suppressed their momentum.
Park Seong-jin said,
"To the front."
That was the signal.
The entire unit rose like wind, bursting from the tents.
They grabbed weapons and ran into the wide, empty yard.
Their steps were light and firm—
the stride of those whose momentum had awakened.
"Let's finally see some real masters."
"Feels good to get moving again."
"Let's see what kind of bastards they are."
"That killing intent reeks of the Jianghu."
Behind them, the crescent moon shone strangely.
Hearts pounding with anticipation and tension hastened their pace.
Park Seong-jin glanced back at the tents and smiled faintly.
"Yes. This is how our unit lives."
Watching the martial men running ahead,
he felt their momentum reshape the air of the battlefield in an instant.
The wind at the front shifted.
Beasts withdrew into the forest.
Through that wind, unfamiliar killing currents cut sharply inward.
"It fits perfectly."
Park Seong-jin adjusted his scabbard.
"At last, opponents worth crossing blades with."
*Just before the front lines met,
all sound sank at once.
Even the rustle of grass grew quiet.
Breath folded deep into each body.
The momentum of the martial unit and the foreign killing winds
locked together—neither repelling nor drawing closer.
No blade had been drawn.
No step taken.
Yet who would fall first hung clearly in the air.
It was the boundary between night and dawn,
the hour when the moon waned.
In the border zone ahead, weeds suddenly bent without wind.
At first, it looked like the trace of a passing bird.
Park Seong-jin caught it instantly.
Not wind—pressure.
Momentum was rolling forward like a wave.
Invisible, yet keen as countless blades slicing through layered space.
This was not the approach of several people,
but a single presence advancing like an army.
Masters.
The First Momentum — The Footsteps of Death
Far away, within the black shadows of the battlefield,
the shape of a man emerged.
Or rather—
the darkness itself seemed pressed down, revealing him.
Though dozens of steps away, grass split before his arrival.
He had not stepped on it—
the grass fell first, as if cut by an unseen blade.
Darkness peeled away around him.
Where he walked did not feel like a path,
but like scars already carved.
A martial man behind Park Seong-jin swallowed.
"…That's not human presence."
Park Seong-jin narrowed his eyes.
"He is human.
Just someone who's cut with a blade for a very long time."
The Second Momentum — Breath of the Dead in Shadow
Behind the first man clung a figure like a soundless shadow.
Even the shadow was indistinct.
His feet seemed not to touch the ground.
Grass did not stir.
Dust did not rise.
Yet a heavy pressure spread low, like oil poured over the earth.
Simply breathing felt as if one's lungs were being crushed.
Park Seong-jin spoke quietly.
"He's mastered his breath. An assassin."
A martial man beside him added immediately,
"Not just mastered—it's dead, Commander.
His breath is completely extinguished."
The assessment was precise.
Alive, yet perceived like a corpse.
Such movement rarely gave warning.
Watching from the side, Song Yi-sul muttered,
"If a bastard like that strikes from hiding, what do you do?"
Someone replied dryly,
"What else?
You either throw yourself away dodging, or offer your body to block it."
The corner of Park Seong-jin's mouth lifted slightly.
Interest seeped in.
After all, he too was a martial man.
The Third Momentum — Killing Wind Itself
At last, the third presence arrived.
Even from afar, the battlefield air grew hot.
A man walked forward slowly.
His steps were unhurried, yet utterly steady.
He seemed to float while simultaneously pressing down upon the earth—
a layered sensation.
The air around him was heavy, suffocating, like the inside of a coffin.
Without swinging his blade, leaves dropped in a rush.
Killing intent damaged the stems before steel ever touched them.
A martial man behind Park Seong-jin murmured,
"He's shaking the boundary with killing intent alone."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
"The most dangerous one."
He could already smell it—
the stench of long-standing karmic slaughter.
This man lived by killing.
And it did not end there.
Figures from across Jiangnan's martial world were entangled in this game.
Those chasing Zhu Yuanzhang's promised gold and offices
were gathering at the front.
The battlefield trembled like a living creature.
Beasts in the forest hid all at once.
Dozens of crows burst skyward.
Grass quivered without wind.
Momentum moved nature first.
Park Seong-jin saw it clearly.
Three distinct forces,
each shaking the battlefield in different ways.
Three alien currents stood in sharp relief.
He spoke toward them.
"So you've finally come."
The voice was small,
but carried inner force, spreading far.
It left another ripple across the battlefield.
All three masters turned their gazes to Park Seong-jin at once.
They must have heard him.
No words were exchanged,
but the same understanding filled their eyes.
This battlefield existed for one reason—
Park Seong-jin.
His composure.
His complete lack of tension.
The way his gaze swept over even those hidden from sight.
Park Seong-jin pressed one hand lightly against his scabbard.
Click.
The safety catch released.
Then, very slowly, he smiled—relaxed and unhurried.
"Come as you like."