The First Spear
Jin Seoryeong first grasped a spear around the age of five. Calling it a spear was generous. It was nothing more than a dry branch she had picked up from the yard, its tip roughly whittled with a kitchen knife. The length barely reached past her height. The handle was uneven, the point crooked, and the whole thing looked ready to snap with the slightest misuse. Just a flimsy wooden stick.
Yet the moment Seoryeong held it, something inside her settled. As if she had recovered something lost. As if an object that had always belonged in her hands had finally returned.
That day, she swung the wooden spear in the yard until sunset. She ignored her mother calling her for dinner. She gave no answer when her father returned from the fields and asked what she was doing. Blisters formed on her small palms. Her shoulders ached, her waist throbbed. Still, she did not want to stop.
Thrust. Pull. Swing. Thrust again.
Her movements were clumsy. No one had taught her, and her posture was all wrong. Yet her body seemed to know. Where her feet should land. At what angle her arms should extend. Where to strike if an opponent charged. Though no one had ever told her, fragments of it surfaced from somewhere in her mind.
It was less memory than instinct. Shattered pieces like a hazy dream. The smell of blood. The neighing of horses. Burning walls. Black armor. And a massive spear cleaving the sky.
Seoryeong did not understand what it was. She only knew that holding the spear made her heart race. That was all.
“Seoryeong, your hands are all scraped up.”
When her mother rushed over with a worried face and grabbed her hands, Seoryeong simply stared at her palms. The blisters had burst; blood welled up. It was an injury that would have made most children cry. Seoryeong looked at the blood for a moment, then tilted her head.
“Is it supposed to hurt?”
Her mother’s face stiffened. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“It does, but…” Seoryeong flexed her fingers slightly. “I don’t mind.”
Her mother could not find words.
That night, her mother whispered to her father for a long time. Seoryeong lay in bed pretending to sleep, but she heard everything. The child is strange. She likes fighting. She is different from other children. We are worried.
Seoryeong blinked as she listened. Was it strange? Wanting to clash with something strong. Wanting to test herself against anything larger. Wanting to swing whatever she held. To her, it all felt natural. She could not understand why the adults worried.
The next day, Seoryeong picked up the spear again. And the day after. And the day after that.
At first she swung it only in the yard. When the yard felt too small, she moved to the hill behind the house. When the hill grew cramped, she ran along the rice paddies. When the paddies became familiar, she climbed toward the mountain’s edge.
Her father scolded her several times. “You must not go into the mountains alone.”
“Why?”
“It is dangerous.”
“What is?”
“There are beasts. You could lose your way. One wrong step and you could be badly hurt.”
“How strong are the beasts?”
Her father froze for a moment. Seoryeong had asked out of pure curiosity, not fear. Seeing the look in his daughter’s eyes, he sighed.
“Strong beasts can kill people.”
“Even people?”
“Yes.”
In that instant, Seoryeong’s eyes brightened ever so slightly. Her father did not miss it.
“Seoryeong.”
“Yeah.”
“You were not thinking it would be fun, were you?”
Seoryeong did not answer. Her father sighed again, louder this time. But scolding would not change anything. Seoryeong went into the mountains. First in secret, then openly.
The villagers laughed at first. Children will be children, they thought. Just playing at being a general with a stick. But as time passed, the laughter faded.
Seoryeong brought something back from the mountains every day. First a rabbit. Then a pheasant. Then a roe deer. One day she dragged down a fairly large wild dog. All of them were dead, pierced through the neck, eye, or heart with clean precision.
“You caught this?” asked the village hunter, Jo.
Seoryeong nodded. She was eight years old that day.
Jo examined the dog’s corpse and frowned. The wounds were too neat. This was no child’s play. The creature had been struck in the throat while charging, dodged with a single sidestep, and finished in one blow.
“Who taught you?”
“No one.”
“Do not lie.”
“It is true.”
Seoryeong answered as if it were nothing. Then she looked down at the dog and added, “It was a little fun because it was fast.”
That was the first time Jo felt afraid of Seoryeong. The child’s tone was calm, but the words were not. “A little fun.” What kind of child spoke that way about a living beast baring its teeth and charging?
The village sat on the outskirts, far from famous sects and great estates. Most people farmed, cut wood, and worried about taxes with the seasons. Wandering merchants and herbalists passed through occasionally, but martial artists were rare. So the villagers could not precisely name what was wrong with Seoryeong. Calling it talent felt too crude. Calling it monstrous strength felt wrong because her body was small. Calling it possession felt wrong because she listened well and ate properly. She was simply a strange child.
Normally she was quiet. She spoke little and did as she was told. When her mother asked for water, she fetched it. When her father asked her to pull weeds, she pulled them. If an old neighbor struggled with heavy firewood, she carried it without a word. When children cried, she stared for a moment, then offered dried fruit from her pocket. Seen that way, she was merely a blunt but kind girl.
But when fighting was involved, her eyes changed.
When the village boys played at combat with sticks, Seoryeong watched silently, then joined in. She knocked them down one by one. At first the boys cried. Then they grew angry. Finally they ran. Seoryeong could not understand.
“Why are you running?”
“It hurts when we fight you!”
“Of course it hurts if you get hit.”
“You are weird!”
Seoryeong thought for a moment, then answered, “I see.”
She did not look hurt. She looked as if she truly had not known.
Time passed. Seoryeong grew taller, and her wooden spear grew longer with her. The stick she had wielded at five now seemed like a toy. By age ten it had taken on the proper shape of a spear. She chose straight, sturdy wood, stripped the bark, smoothed the handle, and sharpened the tip. At first her father took the knife away, fearing she would hurt herself, but he soon gave up. If Seoryeong lost one knife she found another. If there were no knives she used stones. If there were no stones she tore the bark away with her teeth. She crafted spears like a child possessed, then ran the mountains with them every day until her breath burned in her throat, her legs trembled, and her palms bled. Still she did not stop.
One day her mother asked, “Seoryeong, why do you want to become so strong?”
Seoryeong looked up from her meal. “I do not want to become strong.”
“Then what?”
“I want to fight stronger things.”
Her mother’s hand, holding the chopsticks, froze. Seoryeong continued while chewing her rice.
“If I am weak, I cannot fight.”
The words were childishly simple, and therefore all the more frightening. She did not want strength to survive, to protect her family, or to make a name. She simply wanted to fight. To clash with something stronger. That was all.
That autumn, trouble came to the mountains. Villagers began avoiding the paths. First a goat disappeared. Then an herbalist tumbled down the slope with an injured leg. Days later a woodcutter was found covered in blood. He lived, but could barely speak. Trembling, he pointed toward the upper slopes.
“A wild boar… no…”
That was all he said.
Fear swept the village. Rumors spread of a monster in the mountains. People blocked the paths and warned their children never to go up. Seoryeong heard, and only heard.
That night she could not sleep. The room was dark; wind blew outside the window. She lay under the blanket, but her mind was already in the mountains. The woodcutter had said it was not a boar. He had been terrified. Was it strong? Truly strong? The thought made her heart pound.
Seoryeong slowly sat up. From the next room came the sound of her parents breathing in sleep. She opened the door carefully and stepped outside. Moonlight lay across the yard. The wooden spear leaning against the wall glowed faintly. She picked it up and headed for the mountains.
Her steps were light. There was no fear. Only the impatience of someone who had waited too long.
The mountain path was dark. Moonlight fractured through the branches. Almost no animal sounds could be heard. The mountain, usually filled with insects and birds, was unnaturally silent. In that silence Seoryeong smelled blood. The stench of rotting flesh. And a thick, wild animal musk.
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
“There it is.”
She moved deeper into the mountains. After a long walk she found broken trees and deeply gouged earth. Footprints larger than her face marked the ground. Far too large for an ordinary boar. She crouched and touched one. The soil was still damp. It had not been long.
Just then, a heavy breath sounded behind her.
Seoryeong did not turn her head. Her body reacted first. She rolled aside.
BOOM!
The spot where she had stood exploded. Dirt and stones flew. Seoryeong rose, spear raised, and saw it for the first time.
A massive boar. But no ordinary boar. It was larger than two grown men combined, its shoulders covered in old, crusted wounds. Its tusks were as long as a forearm. One eye was clouded white, long blind. The remaining eye glowed red.
It snorted. Dust rose.
Seoryeong tightened her grip on the spear. Her palm was slick with sweat. Not from fear. From joy.
“Good.”
Seoryeong smiled. Small, pointed fangs peeked out.
“You look strong.”
The boar charged. Its speed was far greater than expected. Seoryeong dodged sideways but could not fully escape. A tusk grazed her side. Cloth tore; flesh split. Hot pain spread, yet Seoryeong laughed.
“Fast.”
The beast did not stop. Its enormous body turned. Seoryeong lowered the spear tip. Meeting it head-on would kill her; she knew that much. But merely dodging would be boring. She stepped forward. As the boar charged, she twisted her body and drove the spear into the inside of its foreleg.
Thud!
The tip pierced flesh, but only shallowly. The boar’s hide was thicker than she had thought. When it twisted, Seoryeong was flung away.
Crash!
Her back slammed into a tree. Breath caught in her throat. Vision blurred. The boar charged again. Seoryeong barely rolled aside.
Crack!
A tree shattered. Seoryeong spat blood-tinged saliva. Her body hurt. Breathing was difficult. But it was fun. Truly, unbearably fun.
“Ha.”
A laugh escaped her.
The boar charged once more. This time Seoryeong did not dodge. She dropped to one knee, gripping the spear with both hands. Her mind cleared strangely. In that moment, an unfamiliar scene overlaid her vision.
A crimson plain. Arrows raining down. Soldiers falling. Someone wielding a colossal spear. That person was laughing. Even as hundreds charged, they did not retreat. They advanced.
Seoryeong felt she knew that scene. Though she did not, she knew. Do not run. Clash. Crush. Break. That was right.
Seoryeong’s feet dug into the earth. The boar was almost upon her. Its tusks were about to pierce her stomach. She thrust the spear tip into its open mouth.
Thud!
The wooden spear drove through the roof of its mouth. An enormous impact slammed into her body. Her arms shook as if they would break. Her palms tore. But Seoryeong did not let go.
“Deeper.”
She pushed the shaft in.
“Go in deeper.”
Crunch!
The tip sank deep. The boar screamed. Its massive body thrashed. Seoryeong’s body shook with it. She gritted her teeth and clung on. One arm had already gone numb. She was swung so hard her feet left the ground, yet she did not release her grip. Letting go would end it. So she held on. It was simple.
Seoryeong wrapped both arms around the shaft, put her full weight into it, and twisted.
Crack.
A sickening sound rang out. The boar’s body lurched violently. In that instant Seoryeong released the spear and leapt onto its neck. She seized the broken shaft with both hands and brought it down.
Thud!
Once.
Thud!
Twice.
Thud!
Three times.
The boar thrashed. Seoryeong’s body was nearly thrown into the air, yet she did not stop.
“Die.”
Thud!
“Die.”
Thud!
“Die already.”
The final blow landed. The boar’s body slowly collapsed.
Thud.
The ground shook. Seoryeong lay atop it, breathing raggedly. She was covered in blood, hers or the beast’s, she could not tell. Her side burned. Her arms trembled. But she was smiling. Beneath the moonlight, drenched in blood, with a face of pure happiness.
“That was good.”
She murmured softly.
Just then, voices called from afar.
“Seoryeong!”
Torches swayed. The village hunters had come. Her parents, realizing she was missing, had woken everyone. The hunters ran, panting, then stopped at the sight before them. Torchlight illuminated the massive boar corpse and the small girl sitting atop it, covered in blood. No one could speak. None of them had believed they could kill this monster alone. Even three together would likely have died. Yet this child had done it. A ten-year-old girl. And she had been smiling.
Jo asked in a trembling voice, “Seoryeong… are you all right?”
Seoryeong nodded, blood on her face. “Yeah.”
“You are badly hurt.”
“I am fine.”
“Does this look fine to you?”
Seoryeong glanced at her body. Blood flowed from her side. Her arm was not unscathed. Her legs bore several wounds. It hurt, of course. But she did not feel it was serious.
“I am not dead.”
Jo was speechless.
Seoryeong nudged the boar’s corpse with her foot. “Is there anything stronger than this in the mountains?”
The hunters’ faces turned white.
After that day, the villagers looked at Jin Seoryeong differently. Before, she had been a strange child. A little frightening, but still one of their own. Now she was something else. That child was truly different, they thought.
Seoryeong’s parents kept her inside for several days. Her wounds were severe. She was deeply dissatisfied. The injuries were healing, but her body itched to move. She wanted to swing the spear. She wanted to go to the mountains. But when her mother’s eyes filled with tears and begged her to stay, Seoryeong endured. Instead she spent her time inside repairing the spear. Staring at the broken shaft, she thought. It is too weak. It snaps too easily. The tip is too soft. It cannot pierce hide. It needs to be heavier. Stronger. Longer.
As she thought, another hazy image rose in her mind. Not wood, but iron. A weapon that was both spear and axe, axe and blade. Blades extending from both sides. A dark-red tip. The hands of someone wielding it.
Seoryeong murmured without realizing, “That would be good.”
Her mother, grinding medicine, asked, “What would?”
“Something that is a spear but not a spear.”
“What do you mean?”
“I do not know.” Seoryeong traced a shape in the air with her finger. “It has a blade at the end, and blades on the sides too. You can thrust, cut, and hook to pull.”
Her mother did not understand. But her father, hearing it, thought for a moment.
“Like a halberd, perhaps.”
“Halberd?”
“I saw a wandering warrior carrying one at the market once. It was more complicated than a spear.”
Seoryeong’s eyes lit up. “Where is one?”
“There is none. This village has no such weapon.”
“Can we make one?”
“That would require a blacksmith.”
“Where is a blacksmith?”
Her father sighed. “Seoryeong.”
“Yeah.”
“You need to rest now.”
Seoryeong closed her mouth. But her eyes were already elsewhere. Blacksmith. Iron spear. Halberd. Those words lodged in her mind.
That night Seoryeong dreamed again. This time it was clearer. A crimson battlefield. Countless soldiers. Horses screaming. And a massive weapon. It resembled what she had imagined. Long like a spear, its blades savage. Every swing sent men flying. Those with swords. Those with shields. Those in armor. All were the same before it. Broken. Crushed. Fallen.
The man in the dream was laughing. Covered in blood. As if doing the most enjoyable thing in the world.
“Is there no one stronger?”
The voice echoed in Seoryeong’s ears. In the dream she looked at him. His face was invisible, yet strangely familiar. A stranger who did not feel like one. Not herself, yet like herself. Seoryeong reached out. She wanted to touch that weapon. But just before her fingertips reached it, the dream scattered.
Awake, Seoryeong stared at the ceiling for a long time. Her heart was pounding. That weapon. That battle. That laughter. None of it faded. She quietly pushed off the blanket. Her wounds were not fully healed; every movement pulled at her side. But it did not matter. She went into the yard. Beneath the moonlight she picked up the broken shaft and swung it slowly. Not thrusting. Cutting, striking, hooking. Movements she had never seen. Yet her body remembered. At first they felt awkward. After several repetitions they grew natural. Seoryeong exhaled softly. Something hot stirred deep inside her. As if something long asleep had opened its eyes.
“Good.”
Smiling faintly, Seoryeong swung the spear until dawn.
Days later, strangers arrived in the village. A merchant caravan carrying salt, cloth, and medicine on their way over the mountain paths. The villagers welcomed the rare visitors. Seoryeong’s mother went to buy cloth; her father had tools repaired. Seoryeong sat in a corner of the market with little interest. Then she saw a man. A swordsman with a blade at his waist. Likely a guard for the caravan. His steps were different from ordinary people. Light and stable. His hand rested naturally near his sword; his eyes scanned the surroundings. Seoryeong knew at once. That man knew how to fight. Whether he was strong, she could not tell. But he was different from the villagers.
Seoryeong’s gaze changed. The swordsman felt the stare and turned. His eyes met those of a small silver-haired girl. At first he thought little of it. Then his brows furrowed. The child’s eyes were strange. Not fearful. Not merely curious. Like a beast that had found prey. The swordsman felt displeasure.
“What are you looking at?”
Seoryeong answered, “Are you strong, mister?”
The people around laughed. The swordsman chuckled as well. “Little one, you should not ask such things so casually.”
“Why?”
“Because many who challenge the strong end up dead.”
“Then if I challenge you, will I die?”
The laughter faded. The swordsman’s expression hardened. The child’s tone held no jest. Seoryeong was genuinely curious. The swordsman studied her for a moment, then said, “Where are your parents?”
“Over there.”
“Go play.”
Seoryeong tilted her head. “No.”
She picked up the wooden spear she had left on the ground. The caravan members stirred. Villagers tried to stop her. But Seoryeong was already standing before the swordsman.
“Just once.”
“What?”
“Let me clash with you just once.”
The swordsman gave a hollow laugh. “Crazy child.”
He did not draw his sword. He intended only to push her over lightly with his palm. There was no reason to injure a child. But the next moment that thought vanished. Seoryeong lunged. Her small body stayed low and slipped inside his guard in an instant. The spear tip aimed for his thigh. The swordsman reflexively stepped back. A moment later and he would have been struck.
“Well now.”
His eyes narrowed. Seoryeong did not stop. When the first thrust missed, she immediately spun the shaft and struck at his side. The swordsman blocked with his arm.
Thud!
Though it was only a light wooden spear, the impact was solid. The swordsman’s face hardened. That was not a child’s strength. He finally raised his sheathed sword. He did not draw the blade, but his stance changed. The surroundings grew quiet. Seoryeong smiled.
“Now it is a little better.”
The swordsman’s expression turned grim. “Little one, do not cry when you get hurt.”
“I will not cry.”
Seoryeong charged again.
Thud! Thud! Crack!
Spear and scabbard clashed. For the first few exchanges the swordsman fended her off with ease. But soon he sensed something wrong. The child’s movements were changing. At first they were rough, all power and full of openings. But after one block the angle shifted. After two the timing changed. After three she aimed somewhere else entirely. She was learning. In the middle of combat. A chill ran down the swordsman’s spine. What kind of child is this?
Seoryeong did not know his thoughts. She was simply enjoying herself. People truly were different from beasts. They moved unpredictably. They deceived the eyes, hid their steps, diverted force. That was good. Breathing hard, Seoryeong laughed louder. Her fangs showed. For a moment the swordsman was overwhelmed by that smile. It did not suit a child’s face. It was not beautiful. It was dangerous. The kind of madness that appeared only in moments when death was near. Instinctively, the swordsman took a step back. Seoryeong slipped in. The spear came low. The swordsman tried to block, but it was a feint. Seoryeong twisted the shaft, hooked the scabbard, and pulled with her whole body. The swordsman’s center collapsed.
“Huh?”
A small foot kicked his ankle. His body fell backward.
Thud!
The market fell silent. A caravan guard had been knocked down by the village’s strange girl. Seoryeong pointed the spear at the fallen man’s throat. She was breathing hard. Her arms ached. But a satisfied smile rested on her face.
“That was fun.”
The swordsman looked up at her, sweating. Surprise outweighed anger in his eyes. She had meant it. This child truly enjoyed fighting. Then her mother rushed over and grabbed Seoryeong’s ear.
“Jin Seoryeong!”
“Ow.”
“What do you think you are doing again!”
“I fought.”
“Do you think I do not know that!”
Her mother’s face was bright red. Seoryeong let herself be dragged away, ear firmly in hand. The sight of the child who had just defeated a swordsman now meekly pulled along by her mother was somewhat comical. But no one laughed. The swordsman slowly stood and watched Seoryeong’s retreating back.
“What did you say her name was?”
Jo answered, “Jin Seoryeong.”
“She has never learned martial arts?”
“Who would teach such things in this mountain village?”
The swordsman fell silent. A child who had never learned martial arts had reached this level. Then if she learned… if she held a proper weapon… He stopped thinking. A chill ran down his spine for no reason.
That evening Seoryeong was scolded severely. Her mother lectured at the dinner table for a long time. Do not attack people carelessly. The other person could be hurt. You could be badly hurt yourself. Seoryeong ate quietly. She listened, but did not fully understand. The other person getting hurt was natural in a fight. Getting hurt herself was natural too. If you disliked that, why fight at all? But she disliked making her mother sad. So she nodded.
“Next time I will ask permission before fighting.”
Her mother pressed a hand to her forehead. “That is not the point…”
Her father, eating quietly beside them, gave a low chuckle. Her mother glared. He hurriedly hid behind his rice bowl. Seoryeong smiled faintly at the sight. The house was ordinary. The smell of warm rice. Her mother’s scolding. Her father’s awkward laugh. The yellow light of the oil lamp. These things felt unfamiliar yet comforting to Seoryeong. Far quieter than dreams of battlefields and blood. Yet sometimes she wondered. Why, even in this quiet, did she seek a spear? Why, even while eating, did she turn at the presence of someone strong? Why did the smell of blood in her dreams not horrify her? There was no answer. Seoryeong was not troubled by the lack of one. She simply accepted that she was such a person.
Days later the caravan left the village. Before departing, the guard swordsman sought Seoryeong out. He handed her a short piece of metal. An old spearhead. It had likely broken off from a weapon he once used; rust clung to it slightly.
“Why are you giving me this?” Seoryeong asked.
The swordsman answered gruffly, “If you keep thrusting with a wooden tip, your hands will be ruined someday.”
“Will this let me thrust better?”
“Of course.”
Seoryeong’s eyes sparkled. Seeing that look, the swordsman regretted it. He felt as if he had fed something dangerous. Looking down at her, he said, “Little one.”
“Yeah.”
“If you ever enter the martial world, be careful.”
“Why?”
“There are many people stronger than you.”
Seoryeong paused at those words. Then she smiled brightly.
“Really?”
The swordsman could not answer. Seoryeong’s expression was not that of a frightened child. It was the face of a child who had received a gift. And one she liked very much. The swordsman shook his head and turned away. “Crazy child.”
Seoryeong took the words as praise. After the caravan left, she ran straight behind the house and began tying the old spearhead to her wooden shaft. When the cord proved insufficient she tore strips from her clothes. Her father would scold her, but it did not matter. The spearhead sat crooked. The craftsmanship was poor. Yet it was different from before. Instead of wood, metal gleamed at the tip. Seoryeong lifted it. It was heavy. The feel was different. Her heart raced.
“Good.”
She swung the spear. Air split with a sound she had never heard. Seoryeong laughed at that sound.
After that day, the mountain beasts began avoiding Seoryeong. More precisely, they fled the moment she approached. They smelled her and hid. They heard her footsteps and vanished. Seoryeong found it dissatisfying. Hunting had become too easy.
“Why does everyone run?” she muttered discontentedly.
Jo, hearing her, answered with a pale face, “Would you not run if you were them?”
“I would not run.”
“That is why you are strange.”
Seoryeong tilted her head. Being called strange had become familiar. But she still did not know exactly what was strange about her.
More years passed. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Seoryeong grew faster and stronger. The villagers no longer tried to stop her from entering the mountains. They knew it was useless. Instead they asked favors. Bring back some herbs. Find a lost goat. Drive away a pack of wild dogs. Seoryeong usually obliged. She was content with meat or dumplings as payment. Surprisingly, she enjoyed eating. Especially meat and dumplings. Food after a fight tasted even better. When her body was hungry and the smell of blood had faded, drinking hot soup strangely lifted her mood. Seoryeong gradually learned these ordinary pleasures as well.
The village children no longer feared her as much. Of course, they never played fight games with her. But they did other things. They asked her where to find wild strawberries, to retrieve kites caught in high trees, to chase away vicious dogs. Seoryeong grumbled but helped. Once a young boy cried and said, “Big sister, our puppy is gone.”
Seoryeong set down her chopsticks mid-meal. “Where did you lose it?”
“By the stream…”
“Wait.”
Seoryeong left at once. Less than an hour later she returned with a mud-covered puppy in her arms. The puppy whimpered and wagged its tail in her embrace. The boy hugged it, crying. Seoryeong watched for a moment, then said, “Put a leash on it next time.”
“Okay!”
“If you lose it again, it is not the dog that is stupid, it is you.”
“Okay…”
The boy’s face fell. Seoryeong thought for a moment, then took dried fruit from her pocket and tossed it to him. “Do not cry.”
The boy smiled quickly. After that the children followed Seoryeong a little more. She found it bothersome but did not chase them away. Even small animals strangely took to her. Birds perched on her shoulder. Cats climbed into her lap. Puppies lay at her feet. Seoryeong did not push them away. It was a completely different sensation from fighting. Warm, soft, slightly ticklish. Not unpleasant.
Whenever her mother saw Seoryeong like this, she felt relieved. No matter how strange her daughter was, perhaps she was not completely mad for the smell of blood. But that relief did not last.
The year Seoryeong turned fifteen, martial artists came to the village. Not caravan guards this time. People who had truly trained in martial arts. Three of them. They wore blue robes and carried swords at their waists. They had stopped by while passing the nearby mountain path, asking to stay the night. The villagers grew tense. Martial artists were not to be trifled with. Whether they were righteous or unorthodox, good or bad, no one knew. Caution was the only option.
Seoryeong knew the moment she saw them. They were strong. Far stronger than the caravan guard she had met before. Especially the young man standing in the center. His body was slender, but his presence was sharp. He tried to hide it, yet Seoryeong’s senses caught it. A man like a blade sleeping in its sheath. Seoryeong’s heart raced. The young man also saw Seoryeong. His eyes wavered for the briefest instant. Perhaps because of her silver hair and red eyes, or perhaps because of the blatant curiosity she showed. He soon looked away. But Seoryeong kept staring. What would it be like to fight him? How long could she last? Would her spear reach him? How fast was that sword? The thought alone made the corner of her mouth rise.
That night the village elders brought out drink and food for the martial artists. Seoryeong sat at a distance watching them. Her mother poked her side. “Do not stare like that.”
“Why?”
“It is rude.”
“I want to fight them.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I have not said anything yet.”
“You were going to.”
Seoryeong closed her mouth. Her mother now knew her daughter’s thoughts too well. But the world did not always bend to restraint.
As the night deepened, one of the martial artists, drunk, began arm-wrestling with the village youths. At first it was playful. Then the atmosphere heated. The martial artist easily defeated the young men, and the onlookers marveled.
“As expected, those who train in martial arts are different.”
“This is nothing.”
The martial artist laughed and raised his cup. Seoryeong watched, then quietly stood. Her mother immediately grabbed her.
“Seoryeong.”
“Arm wrestling is not fighting.”
“If you do it, it becomes fighting.”
“I will go easy.”
“And I am supposed to believe that?”
Seoryeong thought for a moment, then spoke honestly. “I will only use a little strength.”
Her mother clutched her head. But it was already too late. The drunk martial artist spotted Seoryeong and laughed. “Oh, there is a silver-haired girl in this village too. Would you like to try?”
The people around tried to stop her. But Seoryeong had already sat down. The martial artist laughed and placed his elbow on the table. “I will go easy so you do not get hurt.”
“Yeah.”
Seoryeong placed her hand as well. Their hands clasped. In that instant the martial artist’s expression shifted subtly. Her hand was solid. Not a child’s hand. Not even a woman’s hand, in a strange way. Slender, yet the tendons stood out, and calluses covered the palm.
“Begin!” someone shouted.
The martial artist applied light force at first. Then immediately regretted it. Seoryeong’s hand did not budge. He furrowed his brows and pushed harder. Still she did not move. Seoryeong stared at him expressionlessly.
“Are you not going to try harder?”
The martial artist’s face reddened. Fueled by drink, he poured all his strength into it. The table creaked. The onlookers stepped back in surprise. At that moment Seoryeong smiled.
“Now we are getting somewhere.”
Crash!
The back of the martial artist’s hand slammed into the table. The table cracked halfway. Silence fell. The martial artist’s eyes widened. The villagers’ mouths fell open. Seoryeong released his hand and said, “Want to try with swords too?”
The air turned cold. The drunken flush left the martial artist’s face. The young man beside him slowly turned his head. His gaze landed on Seoryeong. Seoryeong met it. Her heart pounded. Yes. That man was stronger. The young man spoke quietly.
“What is your name?”
“Jin Seoryeong.”
“Where did you learn martial arts?”
“I did not.”
The young man’s eyes narrowed. “Lying is not good.”
“It is true.”
Seoryeong stood. She picked up the spear leaning against the wall. Her father gave a low groan. Her mother squeezed her eyes shut. The villagers held their breath. Seoryeong looked at the young man and asked, “Are you strong?”
The young man stared at her for a long time. Then he gave a small smile. “Do you want to find out?”
Seoryeong’s mouth curved upward. “Yeah.”
They moved to the yard. The moon was out. People formed a circle. The young man held his sword in its scabbard. “I do not want to cut a child.”
“You can cut me.”
“What?”
“As long as I do not die, it is fine.”
For a moment the young man was speechless. Seoryeong had already raised her spear. Her eyes were different from daytime. The languid, indifferent red had sharpened. As if a spark had ignited in the darkness. Only then did the young man correct his posture. He must not underestimate this child. He felt it instinctively.
Seoryeong moved first. She kicked off the ground. Her long silver hair streamed in the moonlight. The spear tip flew toward the young man’s chest. He deflected it lightly with the scabbard. But a second attack followed immediately. The shaft spun and aimed at his side. The young man twisted away. The third targeted his knee. The fourth his throat. The fifth his wrist. The young man’s expression grew increasingly serious. Fast. It was not merely strength. Her movements were rough, but instinct lived in them. She watched his reactions and changed the next attack instantly. If her claim of never having learned martial arts was true, it made even less sense.
Seoryeong grew more delighted with each exchange. Every time the scabbard blocked her spear, shock traveled up her wrist. The young man’s movements were smooth and sharp. Different from mountain beasts. Different from villagers. Different from the caravan guard. Real. This man was truly strong.
“Ha.”
Seoryeong laughed. Her small fangs gleamed in the moonlight. The young man’s gaze wavered. That smile looked far too joyful. And far too dangerous. He decided he could no longer hold back. He stepped forward. The scabbard pressed down on Seoryeong’s shaft. At the same time he drove his shoulder into her center. Seoryeong’s body shook. He seized the opening and struck her wrist.
Thud!
The spear flew into the air. The villagers gasped. It was over. Everyone thought so. But Seoryeong was smiling. The moment she lost the spear, she instead dove into the young man’s embrace. Her small hand seized his collar. Her foot hooked behind his ankle. The young man’s eyes widened. At this distance? Seoryeong pushed with her whole body.
Thud!
The young man’s body swayed halfway. He did not fall, but his center collapsed. In that instant Seoryeong caught the flying spear with her left hand and stopped it at his throat.
It was not a perfect victory. If the young man had been serious, he could have counterattacked. But the fact remained that a spear tip rested at his throat. Silence. Beneath the moonlight the two stood frozen. Seoryeong breathed hard and smiled.
“That was fun.”
The young man looked at her. After a long moment he spoke quietly. “You… are dangerous.”
“Does that mean I am strong?”
“Not yet.”
Seoryeong’s eyes sparkled. “Then what if I become stronger?”
The young man did not answer. He lowered the scabbard and said, “Do not come to the martial world.”
“Why?”
“Children like you will only bring blood to the martial world.”
Seoryeong thought about those words for a moment. Then she tilted her head. “Is bringing blood bad?”
The young man could not answer. There was no malice in her words. That made them all the more chilling. Seoryeong truly did not know. Whether blood was bad. Whether fighting was bad. Why war was frightening. She only wanted to clash with the strong.
Before leaving the village that night, the young man spoke to Jo. “Be careful with that child.”
Jo gave a bitter smile. “We would like to.”
“No, that is not what I mean.” The young man looked toward Seoryeong’s house. “Someday, when that child leaves the village, this area will become very noisy.”
“How noisy?”
The young man thought for a moment, then answered. “Noisy enough to overturn an entire sect with ease.”
Jo could not laugh.
Even after the martial artists left, Seoryeong stood in the yard for a while. The sensation from earlier lingered in her body. The weight of the scabbard pressing on her spear. The moment her center had been pushed. The feeling of her wrist being struck and losing the spear. It was frustrating. Truly frustrating. If only she had been a little faster. A little stronger. If only she had held a proper weapon.
Seoryeong looked up at the night sky. The martial world. The place the young man had spoken of. Where many strong people gathered. Where blood was brought. Seoryeong slowly smiled. Her heart raced. At that moment, another fragment of dream surfaced. Crimson banners. Hoofbeats. Endless lines of soldiers. And someone’s laughter. Is there no one stronger?
Seoryeong looked down at her hands. Her palms were covered in calluses. Too rough for a child’s hands. But still insufficient. Far from enough. She picked up the spear again. She swung it slowly. Once beneath the moonlight. Twice. Three times. The wind split. Seoryeong’s gaze deepened. She still did not know the world. She knew nothing of righteous sects or unorthodox paths. Nothing of sect rules, grudges of the jianghu, or the weight of honor and betrayal. She knew only one thing. Somewhere in the world there were people stronger than her. And that fact was unbearably delightful.
“Wait for me.”
Seoryeong murmured softly in the empty yard. She did not know to whom she spoke. The battlefield in her dreams? The strong she had not yet met? Or the true weapon she would one day hold? But the words came naturally.
“I will be there soon.”
At that moment a wind blew. Silver hair streamed in the night air. The spear tip caught the moonlight and glowed faintly. And Jin Seoryeong smiled. The martial world did not yet know her name. Not yet. But it would not take long. Someday, when she descended the mountain, the martial world would know. That in a world that desired peace, a child who craved war had been born. And that this child would grow into a name that everyone would one day speak. Jin Seoryeong. The name of the girl who would become the worst disaster in the martial world.