The True Blade
The dawn air was cold. Cheongseong Mountain’s mornings were always clear, but today’s clarity felt different. The wind blew lightly, and dew clung to the leaves. Yet beneath that stillness lay a tension stretched taut like a drawn string. Today was the day Seoryeong would descend the mountain. Not dragged out, but walking out on her own.
Last night, Seoryeong had dreamed of an empty hook. A black hook with nothing hanging from it swayed in the windless air. A voice in the darkness kept calling, Come out, come out. Seoryeong had not gone. She had not bitten that hook. But today was different. Today she would go. Not dragged along by the hook, but descending the mountain path on her own two feet. That difference mattered, Hwarin had said. That difference mattered, Cheonghyeonja had said.
Seoryeong did not fully understand it. But her body seemed to grasp it a little. A dragged step felt light, the heart racing ahead. A walking step pressed the foot into the ground, the breath descending first. Seoryeong sat on her blanket and let out a breath. Foot. Breath. Hand. Vessel. Today was not merely a day to hide the fire seed. Today was the day she would carry the fire seed down the mountain.
When it was time to leave, she had to leave. But she could not fall into the place they wanted. Seoryeong slowly turned her head toward one side of the room. Mokgeuk stood there. The blue cord was faintly visible in the dawn light. Beside it lay the broken spearhead. The black sandalwood remained inside the room. The only things she would take today were Mokgeuk and the broken spearhead. Mokgeuk was the path she walked now. The broken spearhead was the beginning. Those two were enough.
Seoryeong had not yet picked up Mokgeuk. First she opened her palm. Yesterday she had not held it. The day before she had. Today she would hold it again. Hold it, lift it, walk. Perhaps swing it. At the thought, Seoryeong felt the fire seed deep in her chest stir ever so slightly. It liked this. The fire seed liked it. Her hand liked it. Her heart liked it. That was why she had to be even more careful.
Seoryeong let out a breath. Then she slowly grasped Mokgeuk. Its weight settled into her hand. Heavy, familiar, faintly cold. The moment she held it, her fingertips rejoiced. But the fire seed did not leave her body. It only trembled inside the vessel. Seoryeong spoke quietly.
“Today I choose where I go.”
Mokgeuk gave no answer. Yet its weight seemed to grow a little clearer in her palm. Hwarin’s presence sounded outside the door. This time, before Hwarin could knock, Seoryeong spoke first.
“Come in.”
The door opened. Hwarin entered wearing her sword. Her robes were neater than usual. A sword hung at her waist, and her sleeves were lightly bound. She looked ready to descend the mountain. Hwarin saw that Seoryeong was already holding Mokgeuk.
“You’ve picked it up.”
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
“Today both are correct.”
Seoryeong nodded. Hwarin checked the tips of her fingers. They were not hot. But they were a little firmer than usual. Her fingers were not gripping Mokgeuk tightly. Rather, they were appropriately relaxed. Yet tension lived beneath that ease. Hwarin spoke.
“Are you nervous?”
Seoryeong thought for a moment.
“A little.”
“About what?”
“I’m afraid I’ll get confused whether I chose this or they made me choose it.”
Hwarin watched Seoryeong for a moment. It was what she had said yesterday in the medical hall. It was not the fight itself that frightened her, but the possibility that her own fire would no longer belong to her. Hwarin slowly nodded.
“Keep remembering that. The first thing you must see today is not the enemy’s blade.”
“Then what?”
“Which way your heart is being pulled.”
Seoryeong looked down at Mokgeuk.
“Does the heart have feet too?”
Hwarin paused, then gave a small laugh.
“As a metaphor, yes.”
“Metaphors are hard.”
“Today you’ll walk a path harder than difficult metaphors.”
Seoryeong nodded. That was probably true. Hwarin tied Seoryeong’s hair. The silver strands were bound high. In the dawn light they looked almost white. As Hwarin fastened the cord tightly, she spoke.
“There will be many people today.”
“Spectators.”
“Yes. There will be spectators, frightened people, and those deliberately spreading rumors.”
“And one true blade.”
Hwarin’s hands paused briefly.
“You remembered those words.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s no guarantee that blade is made of steel.”
Seoryeong tried to turn her head, but the hair pulled and stopped her.
“Then what?”
“It could be a person, a horse, or a situation meant to injure someone.”
“A blade can be a horse?”
“In the murim, yes.”
Seoryeong frowned. In the murim, yes. Those words were always difficult and troublesome. But lately she did not entirely dislike them. If she did not learn what in the murim, yes meant, she might not be able to protect anyone in the murim. Hwarin finished tying the hair and spoke.
“What you must do today is not simply striking down enemies.”
“I know.”
“Do you really?”
Seoryeong thought for a moment.
“I only strike what needs striking.”
Hwarin looked at Seoryeong in silence. Seoryeong continued.
“Words are words. Eyes are eyes. Feet are feet. Blades are blades. But I have to see what the true blade really is.”
Hwarin’s gaze deepened.
“Good.”
Seoryeong nodded. Her first praise of the day.
The dining hall had fewer people than usual. The disciples had been split between patrols and guarding the mountain gate. Seoryeong ate her meal. There was no meat. But today she truly could not linger long on thoughts of meat. Cheongmyeong sat across from her. He would handle communications again today. He would not descend the mountain with them. Instead he would move between the mountain gate, Cheongheo Hall, and Uiyak Hall, relaying reports. Cheongmyeong looked at Seoryeong.
“Please be truly careful today.”
Seoryeong swallowed her rice and nodded.
“Yeah.”
Cheongmyeong did not smile. He was serious.
“I’m not joking. If what we heard yesterday from below the mountain is true, people will deliberately gather today. It may be difficult to tell at a glance who is an ally and who is an enemy.”
“How does Cheongmyeong know?”
“I don’t know well either.”
Cheongmyeong spoke honestly.
“That’s why I’m more worried.”
Seoryeong took those words to heart. He worried because he did not know. It was strange, but the feeling was not unpleasant. Dogyeom and Cheongmu entered the dining hall. Both wore swords again today. Cheongmu’s face was even harder than yesterday. The moment he sat down he spoke.
“Today you’re finally leaving.”
Seoryeong nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Excited?”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. Carrying Mokgeuk down the mountain was good. The thought that a strong opponent might appear made her heart race. But Yakdong had been beaten, Yu Soha had been anxious, and people below the mountain might gather like spectators. So it was difficult to simply say she was excited.
“A little excited, a little reluctant.”
Cheongmu was at a loss for words at the unexpected answer. Dogyeom nodded.
“A good answer.”
Cheongmu looked at Dogyeom.
“Senior Brother, why do you say everything this child says lately is a good answer?”
“This time it really is a good answer. Because she knows her heart is not of one kind.”
Seoryeong looked at Dogyeom.
“Dogyeom always speaks difficultly.”
“Today these are words you must understand.”
“Then make them easy.”
Dogyeom fell silent for a moment. Cheongmyeong, watching, was already holding back laughter. Dogyeom finally spoke.
“Be careful whether you like it or not.”
Seoryeong nodded.
“This one’s easy.”
Cheongmu gave a small laugh.
“Senior Brother, please keep doing that from now on.”
Dogyeom looked at Cheongmu.
“You eat your meal.”
A brief, light laugh spread through the dining hall. But it did not last long. When they gathered in front of the mountain gate, the air grew heavy again. Today’s party consisted of Hwarin, Dogyeom, Cheongmu, two Cheongseong Sect disciples, and Seoryeong. Elder Ungak would move from behind again. But today was different from the day before. Seoryeong stood at the center of the group. Mokgeuk was strapped to her back, and the broken spearhead rested behind her waist. The cloth pouch was tied to her belt as well. The weight that breaks. The weight of the beginning. The weight that mends. All three rested on her body.
Cheonghyeonja called Seoryeong from in front of the mountain gate.
“Seoryeong.”
“Yes.”
“Today you are not descending to show yourself.”
Seoryeong nodded.
“Yes.”
“Nor are you descending to hide.”
Seoryeong lifted her head again. Cheonghyeonja spoke calmly.
“Today you descend to confirm. Confirm what they are shaking, what they are hiding, and what they intend to stab with.”
“The true blade.”
“Yes. The true blade.”
Cheonghyeonja met Seoryeong’s eyes.
“When you see a blade, block it. But do not mistake what is not a blade for a blade.”
Seoryeong took those words into her heart. Do not mistake what is not a blade for a blade. It was difficult. But it was what she had to do today. Cheonghyeonja spoke one last time.
“If you feel yourself wavering, look at your feet first.”
Seoryeong looked down at her own feet. Foot. Ground. Vessel.
“Yes.”
The party passed through the mountain gate. The mountain path was quieter than yesterday. But that quiet was not natural stillness. It felt as though people were deliberately holding their breath. Seoryeong walked slowly. She did not run. The desire to descend the mountain existed. But her feet pressed into the ground. Hwarin walked in front, Dogyeom watched the left rear. Cheongmu walked on the right. The two disciples stayed a little apart, checking both sides of the path. Seoryeong walked in the center. Yesterday she had been in the center without herself. Today she was in the center with herself. The enemy would feel that difference too.
When they reached the middle of the path, Seoryeong saw the spot where the scent of blood had remained. The path where Yakdong had fallen. The dried traces had already faded, but Seoryeong still remembered. There she had told Yakdong’s blood the way back. Today she simply passed that spot. She had wanted to stop. But today she would not stop. If her feet stopped, her heart might be caught there as well. Hwarin glanced back. Seoryeong nodded. It meant she was all right.
The closer they drew to the foot of the mountain, the more the scent of people increased. The smell of medicinal herbs. The smell of alcohol. The smell of sweat. The smell of oil. The smell of dust. And fear. Fear had a scent too, Seoryeong felt. It was closer to the shape of breath than an actual smell. The presence that arose when people spoke less, breathed shallowly, and only opened their eyes wide. That presence gathered near the inn at the foot of the mountain. Cheongmu spoke in a low voice.
“They really gathered.”
Dogyeom answered.
“Rumors call people.”
Cheongmu lightly clenched his teeth.
“It’s not a spectacle.”
Seoryeong nodded at those words. He was right. It was not a spectacle. But people gathered anyway. Talk of a strong fight. Talk of a monster appearing. Talk of the child who wielded the Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud. Such words called people. They were afraid, yet they wanted to see. Seoryeong could not quite understand that feeling. Fighting a strong opponent was good. But gathering to watch someone else get beaten was strange.
People were already gathered in the inn’s front yard. Several herb gatherers, woodcutters, wandering martial artists, porters, men who looked like inn guests, and figures with faces half-covered by cloth. When the Cheongseong Sect party appeared, they all fell silent at once. Eyes gathered. First on Hwarin. Then on Dogyeom. Then on Cheongmu. And finally on Seoryeong. Silver hair. Red eyes. Mokgeuk on her back. Small frame. The spectators’ breaths changed all at once. Seoryeong felt those gazes. Dozens of eyes. Those eyes had no hands, yet they seemed to touch. They touched her silver hair, touched her red eyes, touched Mokgeuk, and layered rumors over them. Seoryeong moved her fingers slightly. The desire to grasp Mokgeuk rose. But she did not. Hwarin spoke very softly.
“Eyes.”
Seoryeong let out a breath. Eyes are eyes. Not blades. Words are words. Not blades. Feet are feet. Not blades. One true blade. She had to see that. The innkeeper was waiting in front of the door. His face was more tense than yesterday, but when he saw the Cheongseong Sect party he bowed deeply.
“You’ve come.”
Hwarin spoke.
“Was there anything strange last night?”
“No one came in and caused trouble directly. However……”
“However?”
The innkeeper glanced at the people around them.
“There was a lot of talk. That the silver-haired child would descend today, that the Cheongseong Sect was hiding something……”
Before he could finish, someone among the crowd muttered.
“If there was nothing to hide, why didn’t she come down yesterday?”
Cheongmu’s gaze sharpened instantly. Dogyeom slightly raised his arm to stop him. Seoryeong looked toward the voice. A man stood mixed among the people. He quickly averted his eyes. Words. Not a blade. Seoryeong let out a breath. Another voice spoke.
“If she hadn’t learned the Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud, why would that Black Wood Bandit have knelt yesterday?”
This time from a different direction. People murmured. Seoryeong looked that way as well. Words. Not a blade. Yet words could hurt. Even without being blades, they could stab. Seoryeong felt it. Hwarin was about to continue speaking with the innkeeper when a small commotion rose from behind the spectators. One herb gatherer nearly fell after being pushed. Someone had deliberately bumped into his shoulder. Seoryeong’s eyes moved in that direction. A man kicked the herb gatherer’s basket. Dried herbs scattered across the ground.
“Bringing herbs out on a road like this, of course they’ll get stepped on.”
The man laughed. The people around him flinched. The herb gatherer hurriedly tried to pick up the basket. Seoryeong moved to step forward. Hwarin’s hand rose slightly.
“Seoryeong.”
Seoryeong stopped.
“Herbs.”
“I see them.”
“He kicked them with his foot.”
“Yes.”
“A blade?”
Hwarin looked at the man. He was laughing even louder on purpose. A sword hung at his waist, but his hands did not touch it. His eyes kept glancing at Seoryeong.
“For now it’s a foot.”
Seoryeong pressed her lips together. Foot. Not a blade. But she still disliked it. The foot that trampled herbs. The foot that pushed the weak. She wanted to press that foot down. Seoryeong let out a breath. Then Dogyeom stepped forward.
“Pick them up.”
The man who had kicked the herbs looked at Dogyeom.
“What?”
Dogyeom’s voice was calm.
“You kicked them, so you pick them up.”
The man sneered.
“Do Cheongseong Taoists even run errands for herb gatherers?”
Dogyeom did not answer. He simply took one step closer. The laughter on the man’s face faded slightly. Dogyeom did not draw his sword. He did not even place his hand on the hilt. Yet the man took a step back. Dogyeom spoke again.
“Pick them up.”
The man clenched his teeth. The people around them were watching. He had tried to provoke Seoryeong, but Dogyeom had blocked him. Things had not gone according to plan. In the end the man bent down and picked up the herbs. His hands were rough, but the herb gatherer could say nothing. Seoryeong watched the scene. Dogyeom had handled it. She had not needed to step forward. It felt a little strange. Her heart was still frustrated, yet at the same time she had learned something. She did not have to press everything down herself. Sometimes she could tell someone else to pick it up. Sometimes that was enough.
Cheongmu muttered quietly.
“Senior Brother is frightening even with words.”
Seoryeong nodded.
“Yeah.”
Dogyeom heard but pretended not to. Hwarin asked the innkeeper again.
“Do you remember who spread the strange words yesterday?”
The innkeeper shook his head.
“There were many with covered faces. They deliberately scattered and spoke. I don’t even know who spoke first.”
“Are there any today?”
The innkeeper looked around.
“Probably…… there are.”
Seoryeong looked at the people. Eyes. Words. Feet. All of them were here. Then where was the blade? Seoryeong slowly let out a breath. She widened her senses. If she widened them too much the vessel would overflow. If she narrowed them too much she would miss something. Just enough. People’s breaths. Their feet. Their fingers. Weapons at their waists. The movement of their eyes. Scents. The smell of metal. The smell of oil. The smell of herbs. The smell of sweat. Fear. Expectation. Mockery. And a very faint killing intent.
Seoryeong’s eyes stopped. The killing intent did not come from the front. Nor from behind the people. It came from the old stable beside the inn. A very thin presence leaked from there. It was not as sharp as a blade. Rather, it felt like a hidden needle. Seoryeong did not look in that direction. If she looked, she might be noticed. She simply spoke very softly to Hwarin.
“Beside us.”
Hwarin’s eyes did not move as she received Seoryeong’s words.
“The stable?”
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
“One. No…… it feels like two, but one of them is more empty.”
Hwarin narrowed her eyes slightly. Empty. It was difficult to understand immediately what that meant. But Seoryeong’s senses were often correct before words. Dogyeom, pretending to talk with the innkeeper, slightly changed the direction of his body. Cheongmu also noticed and drew his right foot half a step back. Then a voice burst out again from among the people.
“Silver-haired child!”
All eyes turned in that direction. A man staggered forward, pretending to be drunk.
“Are you really the successor of the Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud?”
Seoryeong looked at him. He was shouting on purpose. People murmured.
“Show us! They say you make people kneel like yesterday!”
Words. Not a blade. Seoryeong gave no answer. The man laughed louder.
“Why? Can’t you do anything unless the Cheongseong Sect tells you to?”
Cheongmu clenched his teeth. Hwarin did not move. Dogyeom did not move. Seoryeong looked at her feet. Her feet were on the ground. They did not move. The man took another step closer.
“They called you a monster, but you’re quieter than I thought. Maybe the rumor that you’re not fully ripe yet was right?”
The fire seed trembled. It definitely trembled. Seoryeong felt it. Not fully ripe. She disliked those words. Someone measuring her fire. But they were words. Not a blade. Seoryeong slowly lifted her head and looked at the man. He was waiting. Waiting for Seoryeong to get angry. To grasp Mokgeuk. To charge. At that moment the presence in the stable moved ever so slightly. Seoryeong realized. The words were in front. The blade was beside them. If the man’s words were a hook, the presence in the stable was the hidden fishhook behind it. Seoryeong spoke to the man.
“You’re not a blade.”
The man’s laughter stopped.
“What?”
“You’re words.”
The surroundings grew quiet. Seoryeong continued.
“I dislike words, but they’re not blades.”
The man’s face flushed. He seemed to feel insulted.
“This brat……!”
He reached for his waist. At that moment Hwarin’s scabbard touched his wrist. Thud. It was not even drawn. But the man’s hand stopped. Hwarin spoke coldly.
“If you want to become a blade, you must also bear the responsibility.”
The man’s face turned pale. Seoryeong was no longer looking at him. She was looking toward the stable. This time she looked openly. That was the moment. From the darkness beneath the stable roof, something flew. It was not a blade. It was short iron nails. Thin, blackened iron nails. They did not fly toward Seoryeong. They flew toward the innkeeper’s neck. Seoryeong’s eyes grew cold. The true blade. What stabbed people did not have to be a blade edge. Iron nails could also be blades. Seoryeong drew Mokgeuk. Whoosh. The movement was not large. People were close. If she swung widely, someone would get hurt. Seoryeong held not the end of Mokgeuk but the middle of the shaft briefly. Then she set Mokgeuk in the path the iron nail would take. Ting. The iron nail struck Mokgeuk and bounced away. But that was not the end. A second iron nail. A third iron nail. They flew from different directions. One toward the herb gatherer’s shoulder. One toward the eye of a young porter among the spectators. Seoryeong let out a breath. Mokgeuk moved. She did not swing it widely. She moved it as if pressing, as if blocking, as if closing a path. Ting. Thud. Two iron nails fell to the ground. Only then did people scream. Too late. They were always too late. People only noticed the true blade after it had already moved. Seoryeong moved her feet toward the stable. Hwarin shouted.
“Seoryeong, the surroundings!”
Seoryeong stopped. The surroundings. People were scattering. Feet running in fear. Shoulders pushing against each other. A child who nearly fell. Through that gap, more words flew out.
“Did you see! That child moved!”
“It’s the Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud!”
“No, the Cheongseong Sect deliberately staged this!”
Words. Feet. Eyes. Everything was shaking. Seoryeong wanted to run toward the stable. The true blade was there. But if she ran now, more people could get hurt. First the path. She had to make a path. Seoryeong lowered the tip of Mokgeuk to the ground. Thud. It was not a loud sound. But it was heavy. People’s feet paused for a moment. Seoryeong spoke in a low voice.
“Stop.”
Her voice was not loud. Yet it spread strangely. The spectators froze. Seoryeong spoke again.
“If you run you’ll get hurt. Sit down.”
Someone tried not to obey. But Dogyeom moved immediately.
“Sit down!”
This time Dogyeom’s voice pressed down on the front of the inn. Cheongmu pushed people to one side and organized them. Hwarin drew her sword and blocked the space between the stable and the people. The two Cheongseong Sect disciples also moved at once. The confusion subsided a little. Only then did Seoryeong run. No, she did not run. Her steps were fast, but her feet did not lose the ground. Not a dragged step, but a chosen step. From the darkness of the stable, a figure in black clothes slipped out. He was light. His footsteps were almost silent. In his hands he held a small tube for shooting iron nails, and a short sword hung at his waist. His face was covered with cloth. When he saw Seoryeong he retreated and raised the tube again. This time toward Seoryeong. Good, Seoryeong thought. This time it was her. Not someone else. If he aimed at her, it would be easier to block. The man in black pressed the tube. Five iron nails flew out at once. Seoryeong did not swing Mokgeuk widely. There was no space. Instead she took one step forward. She closed the distance between the iron nails and herself. Nails spread from afar were wide. If she entered close, the path narrowed. Ting. Ting. Thud. Two were struck away by Mokgeuk, one fell after hitting the shaft. One grazed her shoulder’s sleeve. The last one passed beside her cheek. No blood flowed. The man in black’s eyes shook. Seoryeong was already in front of him. He drew his short sword. A murky energy gathered on the blade. It was far thinner and colder than the man she had faced at the inn. It was not proper sword qi. But it was enough to stab a person. The man in black aimed not for Seoryeong’s neck but for her wrist. He intended to make her drop Mokgeuk. Seoryeong did not pull her wrist away. She raised Mokgeuk and blocked the sword’s path. Metal and wood met. This time the sound was not sharp. Thud. A short, heavy sound. The murky energy gathered at the tip of the man in black’s sword sank downward. Seoryeong’s fire seed leaked out ever so slightly. Just enough. But this time it was different. The opponent immediately retreated. The moment he was pressed, he abandoned his sword. He threw away the sword and pulled a second iron-nail tube from his sleeve. Its direction was not Seoryeong. It was toward the people. Precisely toward the herb gatherer who had fallen earlier. Seoryeong’s gaze sank coldly. This was the true blade. It was not a blade stabbing her. It was a blade stabbing someone else to make her move. At that moment something shook greatly inside Seoryeong. The fire seed tried to rush toward Mokgeuk. No, it was already rushing. She only needed to press harder. She only needed to drive that arm entirely into the ground. She only needed to break the shoulder before he shot the iron nails. That thought was fast and clear. But the next thought also came. Breaking the arm would stop him. But was that as much as needed? Or as much as she wanted? Seoryeong let out a breath. The time was very short. The gap of one breath. But within that gap her feet moved. Seoryeong did not strike the man in black’s arm. Instead she lowered the tip of Mokgeuk as if driving it into the ground and twisted the shaft. Mokgeuk’s weight shifted toward the man in black’s ankle. The fire seed descended not toward the arm but toward the ground. Thud. The man in black’s foot stuck to the ground. More precisely, the earth he stood on sank downward. His ankle did not break. But his foot could not escape. The man in black’s body shook, and the direction of the iron-nail tube twisted upward. Whoosh whoosh whoosh. The iron nails flew into the air and embedded themselves in the inn’s eaves. People screamed. But no one was hit. Only then did Seoryeong lift Mokgeuk and stop it a hair’s breadth above the man in black’s shoulder. The same hair’s breadth as before. But this time it was heavier. Beneath that hair’s breadth lay not only the man in black’s shoulder but the intention with which he had tried to use people as bait. Seoryeong spoke in a low voice.
“You’re a blade.”
The man in black’s eyes shook. Seoryeong continued.
“But I won’t break you.”
Hwarin was approaching from behind. Dogyeom and Cheongmu were also moving after organizing the people. Seoryeong did not lower Mokgeuk. She kept it a hair’s breadth above him and asked.
“Who sent you?”
The man in black did not answer. Instead he tried to bite something inside his mouth. Seoryeong narrowed her eyes. The mouth. That too could become a blade. Seoryeong did not move Mokgeuk. Instead she reached out with her left hand and pressed beneath his jaw. She did not strike hard. She simply twisted the angle so his mouth would not close. A small black pill fell from the man in black’s mouth. Cheongmu spoke in surprise.
“A suicide pill?”
Dogyeom immediately wrapped the pill in cloth.
“It’s highly likely meant for suicide.”
A stir spread among the spectators. Now the people also realized. This was not simply a game of rumors. Someone had truly tried to kill people. And tried to silence them. Hwarin quickly subdued the man in black’s arms. Cheongmu kicked away the iron-nail tube. Dogyeom checked his pulse and searched for any other hidden poison. Seoryeong slowly withdrew Mokgeuk. Her fingertips were hot. But the fire seed did not go further. It had gone out. Just enough. And it was returning. Hwarin asked.
“Are you all right?”
Seoryeong looked at the man in black.
“I wanted to break his arm.”
Several of the people nearby flinched. Hwarin did not step back.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Pressing his foot was enough.”
Hwarin’s gaze softened gently.
“Well done.”
Seoryeong nodded. That praise felt a little heavy. Because this time it had truly been close. The path of breaking the arm had been too clear. But the path of pressing the foot had also existed. Seoryeong had chosen that path.
Among the spectators someone spoke quietly.
“Did you see…… that wasn’t the Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud.”
Another asked.
“Then what was it?”
“I don’t know. But it didn’t look like sword qi either.”
“The blade settled down.”
“The ground sank too.”
Words moved again. Seoryeong heard them. Words. Not blades. But this time they were not entirely unpleasant. For the first time they said they did not know. They did not conclude it was the Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud. They did not call it sword qi. They did not know. That word strangely pleased her. Not knowing was not knowing. Attaching a name made one mistakenly believe they knew. Gwakno’s words came to mind. There were times when not knowing was better. Then another commotion rose from behind the inn. Someone had tried to run away. It was the man who had pretended to be drunk and provoked Seoryeong at first. He tried to slip away through the crowd. Cheongmu moved immediately.
“Stop right there!”
The man ran. Cheongmu ran too. Dogyeom spoke in a low voice.
“Cheongmu.”
But Cheongmu had already gone. The man was not fast. Yet he used the people around him like shields. Cheongmu could not draw his sword. Then Seoryeong moved. This time she did not lift Mokgeuk. She simply rolled her foot. Thud. Very softly. But the dirt path the man was about to step on sank deeply. The man’s foot slipped. He pitched forward. Cheongmu climbed on top of him and twisted his arm.
“You said words are words.”
Cheongmu spoke through clenched teeth. Seoryeong walked over and answered.
“Running feet count.”
Cheongmu was momentarily at a loss for words.
“Then feet can be pressed?”
Seoryeong thought seriously.
“A little.”
Cheongmu laughed helplessly. Dogyeom approached and searched the man’s robe. Inside he found a small piece of paper. A short message was written in black ink.
When the silver hair moves, gather the eyes. The blade enters from behind.
Dogyeom’s expression hardened. Hwarin also looked at the paper. Cheongmu swallowed a curse. Seoryeong looked at the sentence. Gather the eyes. The blade enters from behind. It had been exactly that. They had gathered people’s eyes on her and shot iron nails from the stable. Eyes. Words. Feet. Blades. They had all played their roles. Seoryeong looked at the paper and spoke.
“They’re clever.”
Cheongmu looked at Seoryeong as if dumbfounded.
“That’s your impression?”
“Yeah. But I dislike it.”
Dogyeom spoke quietly.
“Even if you dislike it, you must know.”
Seoryeong nodded.
“I must know to press.”
Dogyeom paused for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes. You must know to block.”
Those words seemed deliberately corrected. Seoryeong knew it too. Block. Right now it was better to say block. She could press, but she could not press everything. The inn’s front yard remained noisy for a while. The Cheongseong Sect disciples bound the man in black and the man who had provoked. They searched the stable and behind the inn. Two hidden iron-nail tubes, pieces of black cloth, and a small wooden plaque were found. The wooden plaque was made of black wood with two white lines carved into it. The same mark Yakdong had spoken of. Hwarin wrapped the plaque in cloth and stored it.
“Now we have a little more justification.”
Dogyeom spoke.
“They directly targeted people. Not only the Cheongseong Sect party but civilians as well.”
Cheongmu glared at the bound men.
“It will be difficult for the Black Wood Bandits to deny it.”
Hwarin nodded.
“But we still don’t have the backer yet.”
Seoryeong heard those words. Still. That word was frustrating, but now it felt a little familiar. It was still the Black Wood Bandits. Someone else behind them. The hand behind that. To grasp that hand, she could not break everything here right now. Seoryeong looked at the bound man in black. He kept his mouth firmly shut. Since he had tried to commit suicide earlier, he would not speak easily. Still, he was alive. If he was alive, he could speak. If he was broken, he could not speak. Seoryeong understood a little more that not breaking his arm had been the right choice. Then one of the herb gatherers approached. It was the person whose basket had been kicked earlier. After gathering the scattered herbs to some extent, he awkwardly bowed his head in front of Seoryeong.
“Thank you.”
Seoryeong looked at him.
“I didn’t pick up the herbs. Dogyeom told him to.”
The herb gatherer looked flustered.
“Ah, yes. I’m grateful for that too, but…… I meant blocking the iron nails.”
Seoryeong nodded.
“I blocked those.”
The herb gatherer watched Seoryeong for a moment. His eyes were still fearful. But they resembled a little the eyes Yakdong had shown. Eyes that were afraid but did not run away. The herb gatherer spoke carefully.
“You’re…… less frightening than the rumors.”
Seoryeong blinked. A little less again. A little less frightening. A little less painful. A little better. Seoryeong did not dislike those words.
“Then that’s fine.”
The herb gatherer bowed and withdrew. Among the spectators the words continued to circulate. At first there had been fear. Then suspicion. And very slightly, something else mixed in. That child blocked it. She blocked the iron nails. The innkeeper lived, the herb gatherer lived, the young porter lived. They did not know what that power was. They did not know if it was the Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud. It was not sword qi either. Yet she blocked it without injuring people. Words kept changing. They would not only change for the better. Probably, once they passed the foot of the mountain, they would twist strangely again. But several of the people who had been here today had clearly seen. Seoryeong had not charged out first. She had not bitten the provocation. She had not mistaken words for blades. And when the true blade moved, she had blocked it. Hwarin looked around at the people as if confirming that fact.
“What happened here today will be formally investigated by the Cheongseong Sect. If anyone is injured, come forward. If you saw anything, do not hide it.”
The people could not move easily. But the innkeeper was the first to bow his head.
“I saw it. The iron nails flew toward me. If Seoryeong the young lady had not blocked them, I would have died.”
Those words were quiet but large. The murmuring among the spectators decreased. The young porter also spoke in a trembling voice.
“I…… my eye was targeted. The nail…… came toward my eye.”
The herb gatherer, holding the basket in his arms, spoke.
“I saw it too. That child did not strike first.”
That child. Seoryeong heard those words. Not a monster. Not the child of the Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud. Not the silver-haired ghost. That child. It felt a little strange, but not bad. Dogyeom wrote down the testimonies. One of the Cheongseong Sect disciples organized the people’s words on paper. Cheongmu still held the man who had provoked. The man was completely cowed. He had not been a true blade. He had been words, a role to gather eyes. But he too had been dangerous. Hwarin looked at him and spoke.
“You probably think you didn’t commit murder directly.”
The man kept his mouth shut.
“But if you hadn’t gathered the eyes, the blade could not have entered so easily from behind.”
The man’s face grew a little paler. Seoryeong heard those words. Words also bore responsibility. Eyes also bore responsibility. Feet also bore responsibility. It was not only blades that were bad. But she could not press them down exactly like blades. It was difficult. Truly difficult. Seoryeong slowly let out a breath. If this was the murim, then the murim was more complicated than fighting. While they prepared to escort the two bound men to the Cheongseong Sect, Seoryeong walked briefly behind the inn. One iron nail was embedded in the stable wall. Unlike the ones embedded in the eaves, this one was embedded low. It was probably a trace of a test shot. Seoryeong looked at it. A black nail. Small, thin, made to kill people quietly. It did not stand out easily. It did not shine like a blade. That was why she disliked it more. Seoryeong reached out to pull it out. Hwarin spoke from behind.
“Don’t touch it. Poison may be on it.”
Seoryeong stopped.
“There’s poison too?”
“It’s possible.”
“Troublesome.”
“Yes. Troublesome.”
Hwarin wrapped the iron nail in cloth and pulled it out. A very faint different scent clung to the black tip. Seoryeong wrinkled her nose.
“Strange smell.”
“It’s likely poison.”
“The innkeeper would have died if it hit him?”
“He might have.”
Seoryeong closed her mouth. She had blocked it. She had truly blocked it. If she had been a little late, someone might have died. At that thought her fingertips grew hot again. Hwarin spoke.
“Breathe.”
Seoryeong let out a breath. She had already blocked it. Getting angry now would not bring back the dead. But there could be a next time. That was why she had to learn more. Seoryeong spoke.
“Next time I’ll see it faster.”
Hwarin shook her head.
“You must not only see faster. You must see wider, and swing later.”
“Later?”
“Yes. See quickly, but decide late.”
Seoryeong frowned.
“That’s strange.”
“Strange, but necessary.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. See quickly, decide late. The murim’s words were strange. But today she seemed to understand a little. She had needed to see the iron nails quickly. But whether to break the man in black’s arm or press his foot, she had needed to decide late. A very short lateness. The lateness of one breath. That lateness had saved the arm. And it had saved people too.
“I understand a little.”
Hwarin smiled.
“Then that’s enough.”
The path back to the Cheongseong Sect was different from when they had descended. The two bound men were with them, and there was evidence. The black wooden plaque. The iron nails. The suicide pill. The provocation note. And the people’s testimonies. The thing called justification had grown a little heavier. Seoryeong could not see that weight with her eyes, but she felt it in the people’s attitudes. Dogyeom’s steps were a little firmer, Cheongmu’s anger had gained a little direction. Hwarin’s gaze was cold but did not waver. At the middle of the mountain path, Seoryeong passed again the spot where Yakdong’s blood had remained. This time she paused briefly. Hwarin asked.
“Why did you stop?”
Seoryeong looked down the path.
“Today I blocked it.”
“Yes.”
“But it’s not over yet.”
“Yes. It’s not over yet.”
Seoryeong nodded. The word yet was frustrating, but today it felt a little less frustrating. Because it was not over yet, she could ask the living. Because it was not over yet, she could find the larger hand. Because it was not over yet, she herself could learn more. When they arrived at the Cheongseong Sect’s mountain gate, Cheongmyeong was already waiting. His face hardened when he saw the bound men and the evidence.
“Something really happened.”
Cheongmu spoke bluntly.
“You would have seen it too if you had come down.”
Cheongmyeong gave a bitter smile.
“My role is to receive reports.”
Seoryeong looked at Cheongmyeong.
“Reports are important too.”
Cheongmyeong looked a little surprised.
“Hearing you say that feels strange.”
“I learned today. Eyes, words, feet all have roles.”
Cheongmyeong slowly nodded.
“Then I suppose I’m the words side.”
“Yeah. But good words.”
Cheongmyeong smiled.
“I’ll take that as praise.”
“It is praise.”
Cheonghyeonja received the report in Cheongheo Hall. The black wooden plaque was placed down, along with the iron nails, the suicide pill, and the piece of paper. The testimonies of the innkeeper, the herb gatherer, and the young porter were also organized. After checking each one, Cheonghyeonja remained silent for a long time. Elder Ungak seemed to have already received part of the report. He looked at the black wooden plaque and spoke.
“Now the Black Wood Bandits are not merely a name that appeared. Their mark and their hiring method have been confirmed.”
Cheonghyeonja nodded.
“And they targeted civilians.”
Hwarin spoke.
“It was a method to draw Seoryeong out. They gathered eyes with words and put iron nails in from behind.”
Dogyeom pushed the piece of paper forward.
“This is the phrase with the plan written on it. It was not a spontaneous attack.”
Cheongmu spoke.
“Will you still wait?”
Cheongheo Hall grew quiet. Seoryeong looked at Cheongmu. She had wanted to say those words herself. Would he still wait? They had directly targeted people. They had shot iron nails coated in poison. There was the wooden plaque. There was the provocation note. There were testimonies. Then was it enough now? Cheonghyeonja did not answer immediately. He looked at Seoryeong.
“Seoryeong.”
“Yes.”
“What did you see today?”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. She had seen a lot. Eyes. Words. Feet. Blades. Iron nails. Poison. Spectators. Herb gatherers. The man who ran. The black wooden plaque. Which of them should she speak of? Seoryeong spoke slowly.
“The true blade was behind.”
Cheonghyeonja’s gaze deepened.
“Continue.”
“The one speaking in front was unpleasant, but he was not a blade. The one who kicked the herbs was unpleasant, but at first it was a foot. The one in the stable was a blade. But even that blade did not try to stab me. It tried to stab someone else to make me move.”
Cheongheo Hall was quiet. Seoryeong continued.
“So I wanted to break his arm. But pressing his foot was enough.”
Elder Ungak’s eyebrows moved ever so slightly. Cheonghyeonja asked quietly.
“Why did you press his foot?”
“Breaking his arm would have stopped him. But pressing his foot would also have stopped him. So I pressed his foot.”
“Was that more difficult?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“The path of breaking his arm was clearer to see.”
At those words the air in Cheongheo Hall grew heavy for a very brief moment. Seoryeong had not lied. To her, that path had truly been clear to see. The path of breaking. The path of pressing. The path of ending. But today she had chosen a different path. Cheonghyeonja slowly nodded.
“Well done.”
Seoryeong quietly received those words. Cheonghyeonja looked at Cheongmu.
“Cheongmu.”
“Yes.”
“I will answer your question. The waiting did not end today.”
Cheongmu’s expression hardened.
“Sect Leader.”
“But the waiting of doing nothing has ended.”
Cheongmu lifted his head. Cheonghyeonja looked at the black wooden plaque.
“Now we have obtained justification to move toward the Black Wood Bandits. However, attacking the mountain stronghold is swinging a blade. Before swinging, we must know where to strike.”
Dogyeom spoke.
“We must first confirm the Black Wood Bandits’ lower bases.”
Elder Ungak nodded.
“There will be a small contact point at the entrance to northern Sichuan. The ones we captured this time are highly likely connected to that place.”
Cheonghyeonja spoke.
“From tomorrow, we change from protective patrols below the mountain to an investigation to find the Black Wood Bandits’ connections.”
Seoryeong heard those words. Find the connections. Finally they were moving a little further forward. But they were still not going to destroy the mountain stronghold. Seoryeong found that a little frustrating, but today she understood. To deal with those who gathered eyes and put blades in from behind, she could not only strike what was visible in front. She had to see the connections. And she had to find the true hand. That night Seoryeong returned to the annex building. Her body was tired. The fight had been short. But the day had been long. She had endured people’s eyes, let words flow, held back her feet, found the true blade, blocked iron nails, and pressed a foot instead of breaking an arm. When she stood Mokgeuk in one corner of the room, her palm felt a little empty. Seoryeong sat in front of Mokgeuk. She held the broken spearhead in her hand.
“Today I saw.”
The spearhead gave no answer.
“Words and blades were different.”
It was quiet.
“But I still dislike words.”
The spearhead still gave no answer. Seoryeong slowly touched the broken part of the spearhead with her fingers.
“I wanted to break his arm. But I didn’t.”
Those words were both a boast and a confession. She had said them to Hwarin and in front of the Sect Leader, but she wanted to say them again to the spearhead. Because it felt like speaking to her former self. Would her former self have broken it? She probably would have. Because he had targeted the weak. Because he had used people as bait. Because he had hidden a suicide pill in his mouth. She might have thought he deserved to die. She still thought that, just a little. But the feeling that someone deserved to die and whether she could kill or break them now were different words. That difference was difficult. Seoryeong looked down at the spearhead for a long time before speaking.
“It’s difficult.”
Hwarin’s voice sounded outside the door.
“But you did it.”
Seoryeong lifted her head. Hwarin stood at the threshold. She did not know how long she had been there. Seoryeong spoke.
“You heard?”
“A little.”
“You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”
“The door was open.”
Seoryeong looked at the door. It really was slightly open.
“Then is it all right?”
“Probably.”
Hwarin entered the room and sat in front of Seoryeong.
“You did well today.”
Seoryeong nodded.
“Was it dangerous?”
“It was dangerous.”
“And well done?”
“Yes. Well done, and dangerous.”
Seoryeong now received those words with a little more familiarity. Both. Many things in the murim were both. A good thing that was dangerous, a dangerous thing that had to be done. Words were not blades yet they stabbed people, and blades flew from places unseen. Pressing could become saving, and enduring could become winning. Hwarin spoke.
“People saw today.”
“What.”
“That you did not move immediately at the provocation.”
Seoryeong looked at Mokgeuk.
“Still, the words will change again.”
“They will.”
“Then it’s useless?”
“No. Several of the people who saw today will remember. That you did not strike first. That you blocked. That too becomes words.”
Seoryeong recalled the herb gatherer’s words. You’re less frightening than the rumors. Those words were small. But not entirely small. Seoryeong nodded.
“A little less.”
Hwarin smiled.
“Yes. Today is a little less.”
Night deepened. Seoryeong fell asleep. Dreams came slowly. A red battlefield. This battlefield had many people. The shadows of spectators stood in a circle, and all their eyes were directed at Seoryeong. Those eyes sparkled like black beads. Words floated in the air. Monster. Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud. Silver-haired child. Unripe fire seed. Those words did not fly toward her like blades. Instead they tried to wind around Seoryeong’s arms and ankles like threads. Seoryeong held Mokgeuk. Far in the darkness there was a black hook. This time it was not an empty hook. At the end of the hook hung a small iron nail. That iron nail was not aimed at Seoryeong. It was aimed at someone behind the spectators’ shadows. Seoryeong saw it. Words were in front, the blade was behind. One shadow shouted. Come out. Another shadow said. Show us. Another shadow laughed. Still not fully ripe. Seoryeong’s fire seed trembled. It tried to rise to the tip of Mokgeuk. Seoryeong did not release it immediately. First she looked at her feet. Beneath her feet was earth. And there was a very small water bowl. Inside the bowl was not water but the fire seed. The fire seed trembled but did not overflow. Seoryeong lifted Mokgeuk. She did not strike the words in front. She did not strike the eyes. She stepped on the words that tried to wind around her like threads one by one and passed them. Then she turned back. The path where the iron nail flew. She set Mokgeuk in front of that path. Ting. Even in the dream the iron nail bounced away. The voice in the darkness lowered.
Why don’t you look in front?
Seoryeong answered.
“In front were words.”
The shadows shook.
Why don’t you charge?
Seoryeong lowered Mokgeuk to the ground.
“Because they weren’t blades.”
Someone laughed in the darkness.
Then what is a blade?
Seoryeong lifted Mokgeuk and pointed into the darkness.
“Something that tries to stab someone else to make me move.”
When those words fell, a crack appeared in the black hook in the darkness. Crack. It was a very small sound. But this time there was no sound of a door latch. Instead, from far away came the sound of a door opening slightly. Seoryeong looked in that direction. Inside the red door gap was the shadow of a giant halberd. That shadow was still far. But it was a little clearer than before. Seoryeong did not run toward the door. She simply stood in front of it and let out a breath. Today she had seen the true blade. And she had not broken everything. That fact seemed to have opened the door a little. Seoryeong opened her eyes. Dawn had not yet come. The room was quiet. Mokgeuk stood in one corner of the room. Her fingertips were faintly warm. But they were not hot. Seoryeong slowly let out a breath. One true blade. She had found it. Blocked it. Not broken it. And now she had to find the hand that had made that blade move. Seoryeong closed her eyes again. The connections below the mountain had not yet ended. But today she had learned for the first time how to follow those connections.