Shadows of the Blood Cloud
The northern mountain path was nothing like the main road. The main road carried the scent of people first—horses, sweat, alcohol, the earth crushed beneath wagon wheels, and the dust trodden by countless feet. Standing still there meant hearing the collective breath of passersby. Merchants haggling, porters cursing, wandering swordsmen clinking their scabbards as they passed. But the northern mountain path was quiet. At first, that was how it felt. Voices faded, wagon wheels fell silent, drunken laughter disappeared. In their place came the trees. Damp soil. Moss-covered rocks. Broken branches. The musk of forest beasts. Grass wet with morning dew. And the faint whisper of wind threading through leaves.
Seoryeong walked listening to that sound. On the main road the smells had been so numerous they blurred together. Here on the mountain path, everything stood out sharply. Tracks from a wild boar the night before. Signs of a small animal digging through undergrowth. A spot where a woodcutter had rested days ago. Footprints dried after rain. And the scent of people—faint, but unmistakable.
Seoryeong did not slow her pace. She walked ahead with the spear resting across her shoulder. Hwarin followed behind, matching Yu Soha’s speed. Yu Soha still could not move her shoulder properly. She had received treatment through the night and the bleeding had mostly stopped, yet her face remained pale. Her breath hitched with every step. She never let go of the wooden box in her arms. Her left hand pressed it tightly against her inner robe, fingers never relaxing.
Hwarin watched her and said, “You’ll tire faster if you keep gripping it like that.”
Yu Soha lowered her head. “I know.”
“Yet you still won’t let go.”
“No.”
Hwarin said nothing more. Some things could not be released. Not because they were precious, but because they were entrusted by the dead. Proof that one’s home had vanished. Guilt at having survived. Such things did not slip easily from the hands. Hwarin understood the feeling. But this was not the time to dwell on it. The mountain path was quiet, and quiet paths hid danger more deeply.
Hwarin asked the girl walking ahead, “Are they still following?”
Seoryeong tilted her head slightly. The wind blew from left to right, carrying the scent of wet wood and moss. Beneath it lay a thin layer of human scent—sweat forcibly hidden, the smell of someone waiting with bated breath, oiled leather, and iron.
Seoryeong answered, “Yeah.”
“How many?”
“Four behind us.”
Hwarin’s eyebrows twitched. “Last night you said seven.”
“Three split off.”
“Which way?”
Seoryeong pointed to the right-hand ridge. “That way.”
Hwarin exhaled softly. “They’re trying to get ahead and block us.”
Yu Soha’s face hardened. “Black Death Pavilion?”
“It could be them, or others who heard the rumor at the inn.”
“Already?”
Hwarin gave a bitter smile. “In the martial world, rumors travel faster than meals.”
Seoryeong thought about that. Rumors. Words moving faster than people. It still felt strange. Yet remembering how the air had shifted at the inn last night, she understood. The mere mention of the manual had changed people’s breathing, their eyes, the way their hands drifted toward weapons. One small wooden box had altered them. Those who heard would tell others, and the words would move more people again.
Seoryeong thought of the box in Yu Soha’s arms. The paper inside. A way to grow stronger. Something people would kill, chase, and ambush for. She still did not fully understand it, but curiosity stirred. If strength could come from paper, how would it differ from strength earned through the body? If the movements written inside did not suit her, could she simply discard them? Or would she have to force her body to match? And if the manual truly contained powerful spear or halberd techniques…
Seoryeong’s fingers twitched without her noticing. Halberd. The word had lingered in her palm since dawn. A weapon that was a spear yet not only a spear—one that could cut, thrust, crush, and tear.
She had never seen a real halberd. But she had seen one in dreams. On a blood-soaked battlefield, a man wielding it. People flew through the air, shields shattered, horses screamed. The memory made her chest grow warm.
Hwarin spoke. “Seoryeong.”
“Yeah.”
“Stop thinking and watch your surroundings.”
“I am watching.”
“You look distracted. It makes me uneasy.”
“I’m not distracted.”
“Then what were you thinking about just now?”
“Halberd.”
Hwarin sighed. “Think about that later.”
“Everyone always says later.”
“Right now the ambush comes first.”
That word made Seoryeong respond at once. Her gaze cooled. Ambush. Enemies who did not come from the front. Those who hid and waited. She did not like the method, but the mountains made it familiar. Beasts never attacked head-on. Deer fled against the wind, boars burst from undergrowth, wolves circled from behind. People were similar—only they tried harder to hide their scent, which made them more awkward.
Seoryeong stopped. Hwarin stopped at once. Yu Soha looked between them anxiously. “What is it?”
Seoryeong stared ahead. The path was narrow. To the right rose a steep rocky slope; to the left, a densely wooded incline. A broken tree lay diagonally across the middle of the trail. It looked natural at first glance. But Seoryeong sensed something wrong the moment she saw it. The scent of the broken wood was too fresh—the smell of a tree that had been alive until moments ago. Yet the soil around the base had been deliberately disturbed. Human footprints surrounded the spot where the trunk had fallen.
Seoryeong said, “That was broken just now.”
Hwarin’s eyes followed the fallen tree. “To block the path.”
“Yeah.”
“Above?”
Seoryeong looked at the rocky slope on the right. Scent. Breath. Three of them. The three who had split off earlier. She nodded. “They’re there.”
Hwarin spoke shortly. “Four behind us as well.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Yeah.”
Hwarin turned to Yu Soha. “Stay in the middle. Do not move alone.”
Yu Soha bit her lip and nodded. “Understood.”
Seoryeong slowly took the spear in hand and stepped forward. Hwarin said quietly, “Wait.”
Seoryeong stopped. “Why?”
“Let them move first.”
“Can’t I go first?”
“If we pretend not to notice the ambush, they’ll reveal their openings.”
Seoryeong tilted her head. “You want me to act like I don’t know even though I do?”
“Yes.”
“That’s hard.”
“The martial world is always difficult.”
Seoryeong looked displeased. Pretending not to see what was right in front of her felt wrong. If a beast hid behind a tree, she would simply thrust the spear. If a boar waited in the grass, she would throw a stone to flush it out. Yet with people she was told to pretend ignorance. Since Hwarin was usually right, she decided to obey for now.
Seoryeong slung the spear back across her shoulder and loosened her stride. Hwarin watched with narrowed eyes. Clumsy. Far too clumsy. Seoryeong tried to appear relaxed, but her eyes already hunted prey. Those eyes could never convincingly feign ignorance. Hwarin swallowed a sigh. Subtle acting was still far beyond this child. They approached the fallen tree slowly. Yu Soha held her breath. She was weak in martial arts and clumsy at reading presence, yet she could feel the air had turned strange. Birdsong had ceased. Insect sounds had dwindled. The wind still moved between the trees, but human breath pressed down upon the forest.
They were five steps from the fallen tree when—
Whoosh.
A black shadow leapt from the rocky slope on the right. At the same time two figures burst from the wooded incline on the left. Four more appeared behind them, blocking the path. Their clothing was not uniform. One wore a faded military robe, another leather hunting garb. One had a red cloth tied around his head; another carried a massive sickle-like weapon. They did not look like Black Death Pavilion members, but their eyes were the same—greed, wariness, and the scent of blood.
The man with the red cloth spoke. “Stop.”
Hwarin answered with a tired face, “We already have.”
The man seemed momentarily lost for words, then lowered his voice. “Leave the woman and the box and we’ll let you live.”
Seoryeong blinked. “Box?”
Hwarin murmured, “The manual.”
“Oh.”
Seoryeong studied the red-cloth man. Was he strong? Not really. Weaker than the chained-sword man from the Black Death Pavilion. Stronger than the others around him, though. She asked, “Are you strong?”
Silence fell on the mountain path. The red-cloth man’s face stiffened. Someone behind him let out a derisive laugh.
“That must be the rumored silver-haired girl.”
“They said she was a child, and she really is one.”
“Black Death Pavilion got beaten by something like that?”
“Rumors always get exaggerated.”
Seoryeong blinked at the words. Rumors. Already reached this far. Just as Hwarin had said—words traveled faster than people. The red-cloth man spoke. “Kid, we have no business with you. Put down the spear and step aside.”
Seoryeong looked at her spear, then back at him. “No.”
“Want to die?”
“You’re weak.”
The air turned cold. Hwarin wanted to rub her forehead but reached for her sword hilt instead. The red-cloth man’s face flushed. “This little bitch…”
He raised his hand. At that moment an arrow flew from the left incline. Hwarin moved to act, but Seoryeong’s spear moved first.
Ting.
The arrow bounced away. Seoryeong’s gaze cooled. “Shooting from behind.”
A second arrow came. This time Seoryeong did not wait. She kicked off the ground. Crack. Earth exploded. Her body shot toward the left incline. Hwarin shouted, “Seoryeong!”
But it was already too late. Seoryeong tore through the undergrowth and climbed. The archer hiding behind a tree widened his eyes as he saw her charging straight at him. Impossible. There was distance, trees, a slope. How had she found his position so quickly?
Seoryeong thought, The scent is right there. Why wouldn’t I know?
She ducked under the third arrow. It grazed a few strands of her hair. She reached the tree. The archer tried to draw his dagger, but the spear shaft struck his side first. Thud. His body slammed into the tree. Breath burst from his lungs. Seoryeong grabbed his collar and hurled him down the slope. A scream echoed as he tumbled. The ambushers below wavered for an instant. Hwarin did not miss the opening.
Shing.
Her sword left its sheath. She stood before Yu Soha and advanced on the two in front. The Cheongseong sword path felt even more natural on the mountain trail. Narrow path, uneven stones, sloped terrain—if one relied only on brute force, the feet would give way first. Hwarin slid like wind. She deflected the first man’s blade and pressed down the second man’s thrusting spear with the back of her sword.
Clang. Sparks flew. Her sword tip grazed the first man’s forearm. Blood spattered. He swallowed a scream and retreated. Hwarin spoke quietly, “You chose the wrong path.”
The red-cloth man ground his teeth. “Kill them!”
The four behind him moved at once, aiming for Yu Soha. They judged it faster to seize the woman carrying the manual than to fight Hwarin and Seoryeong. Yu Soha stepped back. Her body felt heavy from the wound. She drew her short sword, but her hand trembled. The first man reached for her. “Give me the box.”
At that moment Seoryeong leapt from the slope above. Silver hair streamed in the wind. The spear shaft spun through the air.
BOOM.
Before the man’s hand could touch Yu Soha, the shaft struck his shoulder. Bone cracked. He screamed and crashed to the ground. Seoryeong landed and immediately spun. The second man’s sickle swept toward her waist. An unusual weapon—curved differently from a blade. Its trajectory felt unfamiliar. Seoryeong’s eyes brightened. A new movement. The sickle did not thrust; it hooked, pulled, tore. The man tried to catch and yank her spear shaft. The sickle blade caught it. Most spear users would have lost their weapon or broken stance. Seoryeong stepped forward into the pull instead. The man’s eyes widened. The target he meant to drag had come willingly. Seoryeong’s shoulder rammed his chest. Thud. His breath stopped. She shortened her grip on the shaft and struck his chin upward. Crack. His head snapped back. Teeth flew. Seoryeong said, “This is fun.”
The sickle user could not answer and collapsed. The remaining two hesitated. That brief pause proved fatal. Hwarin’s sword cut one man’s thigh. The other tried to flee but was struck in the back of the head by a stone Seoryeong threw and pitched forward, unconscious. The stone had been palm-sized. Hwarin stared for a moment. “Why throw a stone?”
Seoryeong answered matter-of-factly, “He was running.”
“He could have died.”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s the result.”
Seoryeong looked puzzled. She had needed to stop the fleeing man. A stone had been in her hand. She threw it. He stopped. What was the problem? The red-cloth man’s face turned ashen as the situation reversed. He had believed the ambush perfect—block the path, press from above, seize Yu Soha from behind. Their opponents were one injured woman, one child, and one Cheongseong swordswoman. Hwarin had been a concern, but numbers should have overcome her. The silver-haired child was the problem. The child had read the ambush first, deflected arrows, found the archer, climbed the slope, and dropped back down to smash people apart. And the more she fought, the more delighted she looked.
The red-cloth man stepped back. Hwarin leveled her sword at him. “Who sent you?”
He swallowed. “We just heard the rumor…”
“Heard the rumor and came to kill people?”
“The manual belongs to no one.”
Yu Soha’s face twisted. “It is not ownerless.”
The man sneered at her. “If your sect is gone, so is its owner.”
Yu Soha’s hand trembled. Hwarin’s gaze turned icy. But Seoryeong moved first.
Thud.
The spear tip struck the red-cloth man’s stomach. He doubled over and dropped to his knees. Seoryeong looked down at him. “Your mouth is noisy.”
He retched. Seoryeong glanced at Yu Soha. “Do you hate what he said?”
Yu Soha could not answer at once. Then she gave a tiny nod. Seoryeong turned back to the man. “Don’t say it again.”
Hwarin watched Seoryeong with a strange expression. Seoryeong did not fully understand Yu Soha’s grief—the weight of a vanished sect, the meaning of protecting something left by a master. But she understood dislike. Someone had said something painful and shaken Yu Soha. So she stopped it. The method was jabbing a stomach with a spear shaft, which was the problem. Hwarin sighed. “Don’t kill him.”
“I didn’t.”
“Not in the future either.”
“Okay.”
The red-cloth man, still on the ground, ground his teeth. “You don’t know what you’ve touched.”
Hwarin answered coldly, “I heard the same thing yesterday.”
“Black Death Pavilion isn’t the only one after it.”
Hwarin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
The man laughed through the pain. “Do you even know the manual’s name?”
Yu Soha flinched. Hwarin stared silently. The man gasped, “Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud.”
Yu Soha’s face changed. Hwarin’s expression hardened. Only Seoryeong tilted her head. “What’s that?”
The red-cloth man looked up at her. “A technique that calls blood.”
“Martial arts always draw blood.”
The man was speechless. Hwarin spoke quietly, “Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud is a technique said to have vanished from the unorthodox sects long ago. There were rumors that those who learn it go mad for blood.”
Seoryeong’s eyes sparkled. “Is it strong?”
Hwarin did not answer immediately. That silence was answer enough. Strong. Therefore dangerous. Yu Soha spoke in a trembling voice, “I… only heard the name. My master never explained it in detail. He only said it must never fall into Black Death Pavilion’s hands…”
Hwarin’s face darkened further. If the manual truly was Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud, the matter had grown far larger. It would not end with Black Death Pavilion. Multiple unorthodox factions might move, and even orthodox sects could take interest. Remnants of the Demonic Cult or powerful wanderers might catch the scent and approach. This might not be a problem that could be solved simply by entrusting the manual to Cheongseong Sect.
Seoryeong rolled the name in her mind. Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud. The name was not bad. But Hwarin’s face was grim, and Yu Soha looked frightened. The red-cloth man laughed. “Now you understand. You’re already too late. The rumor has spread, and those who want it will keep coming.”
Seoryeong asked, “Will strong people come too?”
The man’s laughter froze. “What?”
“Strong people who want it.”
“…They will.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Good.”
The red-cloth man felt a chill. This girl did not understand the situation. Or perhaps she understood but received it differently. What others would fear, she awaited like a promise of battle. Blood-calling manual. Powerful experts chasing it. Endless pursuit. To her, it all sounded like an invitation to fight, not a disaster.
Hwarin grabbed Seoryeong’s shoulder. “It is not good.”
Seoryeong looked at her. “Why?”
“Strong people coming does not mean you can fight them all. Yu Soha could die. The box could be taken before we reach Cheongseong. You could die.”
Seoryeong fell silent for a moment. Die. Then there would be no next time. That was what Hwarin had said. She nodded. “Then I’ll fight without dying.”
Hwarin closed her mouth. It was both correct and completely wrong. But there was no time for further explanation. They bound the ambushers to trees. Hwarin stripped them of weapons and questioned the red-cloth man again. “Who did you hear it from?”
“At the inn.”
“Who spread it?”
“I don’t know. It was already circulating in the drinking circles. That Cheongseong’s Hwarin was heading north with a woman carrying the manual. That a silver-haired spear-wielding monster was with her.”
Hwarin’s face stiffened. “Monster?”
The man glanced at Seoryeong. “That’s what they’re calling her already.”
Seoryeong pointed at herself. “Me?”
“Yes. Silver hair, red eyes, the spear-wielding girl who smelled poison and beat down Black Death Pavilion warriors.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. The description was mostly accurate. Silver hair, red eyes, smelling poison, beating Black Death Pavilion warriors. She nodded. “Yeah.”
Hwarin looked exhausted. “Don’t just accept it.”
“Why? It’s true.”
“Most people don’t accept being called a monster so easily.”
“You called me a monster too, Hwarin.”
“I…”
Hwarin found herself momentarily speechless. It was true. She had said it several times. Yu Soha swallowed a small laugh beside them. The situation was heavy and dangerous, yet their conversation oddly eased the tension. Seoryeong looked down at the bound men. “Will more come?”
Hwarin glanced at the red-cloth man. “They will.”
The man did not answer, but his expression already confirmed it. Hwarin had to decide. She had chosen the northern mountain path to avoid eyes, yet pursuers had already attached themselves. The advantage was that Seoryeong could detect ambushes by scent. The disadvantage was having no one to call for help. And if Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud was real, stronger opponents would come as time passed. Hwarin spoke. “We increase our speed.”
Yu Soha nodded with a pale face. “I can manage.”
Hwarin studied her condition. She claimed she could walk, but her body said otherwise. The wound could reopen. Yet they could not stop. Seoryeong looked at Yu Soha. “Want me to carry you?”
Yu Soha’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”
“You’re slow.”
The words were too direct. Yu Soha looked flustered. Hwarin considered briefly. The phrasing was rough, but the meaning was not wrong. Seoryeong was strong. She could carry Yu Soha up the mountain path. The problem was that Seoryeong might charge into battle while still carrying her. Hwarin spoke firmly, “If you carry her, you’ll probably throw her when a fight starts.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. “I won’t throw her.”
“Why are you even thinking before answering?”
“I can put her down carefully.”
Yu Soha’s face grew paler. Hwarin sighed. “I’ll support her. Seoryeong, you watch the path ahead.”
“Yeah.”
They set out again. Leaving the bound ambushers behind, they moved deeper into the mountain path. Seoryeong walked in front. Her stride had changed slightly—lower and quieter than before. Her eyes scanned between the trees, her ears listened behind, her nose read the wind. She looked less like someone who had just been ambushed and more like a beast that had begun to hunt. Hwarin watched her back with a strange feeling. Seoryeong had just learned from Hwarin’s words. Ambushers must be made to reveal themselves first. Hidden enemies are found by scent and presence. A tree blocking the path may be a trap. Arrows reveal the direction they were aimed. She had experienced all of this once and already absorbed it into her body. She truly learned through fighting. Terribly fast. Hwarin suddenly wondered—could Cheongseong Sect teach this child the proper orthodox way? If they tried, would she accept it? Or would she devour the orthodoxy and twist it into her own style? The latter seemed more likely. That was more frightening—and a little exciting.
The path grew steeper. Yu Soha’s breathing grew rough. Hwarin judged they needed a short rest. But Seoryeong raised her hand first. “Sound of water.”
“Close?”
“Yeah. Down to the left.”
“We’ll go that way. We need to clean the wounds too.”
They descended a narrow slope. Soon a small stream appeared. The water was clear. It was not a large stream, but sufficient for a short rest. Seoryeong circled the area. There were many beast tracks, but human scent was faint. At least no one was nearby right now. When she reported this, Hwarin sat Yu Soha on a rock. “Let me see the wound again.”
Yu Soha carefully unwrapped her robe. Blood had seeped into the cloth. Hwarin examined the wound and washed it with water. Yu Soha clenched her teeth. Seoryeong watched and asked, “Does it hurt?”
Yu Soha forced a smile. “A little.”
“It looks like it hurts a lot.”
“A little… a lot.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Then it does.”
Yu Soha laughed softly even then. “Young Lady Jin speaks in such strange ways.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“You’ve heard that a lot too.”
“Yeah.”
Hwarin tied the wound again and said, “If you have strength to laugh, you’re fine.”
Yu Soha lowered her head with a slightly more relaxed face. “Thank you both.”
Seoryeong dipped her hand in the stream. It was cold. Blood and dirt on the back of her hand washed away. She looked at her reflection in the water—silver hair, red eyes. Monster. That was what people called her. Seoryeong did not dislike the word. She did not particularly like it either. It simply felt like one more name had been added. Jin Seoryeong. Silver-haired spear wielder. Monster. None of that mattered. She was still weak. The ambushers earlier had been weak too. The chained-sword man from Black Death Pavilion had been slightly better, but still insufficient. No Jingang had been strong. The old man at the inn had been strong. Hwarin was strong. To fight people like them, she needed to become stronger. Seoryeong clenched her hand in the water.
Then Yu Soha spoke carefully. “Young Lady Jin.”
Seoryeong turned. “What?”
Yu Soha looked down at the wooden box in her arms. “Would you… really like to see what’s inside?”
Hwarin’s hand stopped. “Yu Soha.”
Yu Soha looked at Hwarin. “I know it too. That we shouldn’t open it carelessly.”
“If you know, don’t say such things.”
“But I… don’t have the strength to protect it.”
Hwarin watched her quietly. Yu Soha’s voice trembled, yet it was not mere fear. It was the voice of someone making a decision. “My master told me to bring it to Cheongseong Sect. But if I die before we arrive, it will have no meaning.”
“So?”
“At least someone should know. Whether Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud is truly inside, or something else. And whether it is truly so dangerous.”
Hwarin frowned. “You mean to open it here?”
Yu Soha swallowed. “Yes.”
Seoryeong’s eyes sparkled. Hwarin said immediately, “Don’t sparkle.”
Seoryeong lowered her gaze slightly, but it was already too late. She wanted to see. The characters that granted strength. The technique that called blood. The reason people tried to kill for it. All of it was inside that small box. Hwarin thought deeply. By principle, they should not open it. They should verify it before the Sect Leader and elders at Cheongseong. Yet the situation had already left principle behind. The name Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud had spread. Pursuers had attached themselves. Yu Soha was injured, and Seoryeong was actually looking forward to those chasing the manual. More than anything, Hwarin herself felt the need to confirm. Was it truly Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud? If so, in what condition? Original or copy? Or a fake created deliberately to call blood? It was not uncommon in the martial world for a sect to vanish because of a fake manual. Hwarin spoke quietly, “We open it only for a moment. We won’t spread it out fully. We won’t look deeply at the contents either. Only the title and condition.”
Yu Soha nodded. Seoryeong asked, “Why not look deeply?”
Hwarin looked at Seoryeong. “Some unorthodox techniques can shake a person’s mind just by being seen.”
Seoryeong looked intrigued. “Characters?”
“Yes.”
“Can you fight characters?”
Hwarin closed her eyes. Yu Soha shook with suppressed laughter. Hwarin said in resignation, “No. Just don’t look too much.”
“Okay.”
Yu Soha carefully took out the wooden box. It was old. The metal fittings were worn, and dark stains marked the corners—perhaps remnants of long-dried blood. A small lock held it shut. Yu Soha took a small key from around her neck. Her hand trembled. Click. The lock opened. The box parted slightly. The scent of old paper drifted out. Seoryeong twitched her nose. Paper. Medicinal herbs. Mold. And a very faint scent of blood. Hwarin carefully lifted the lid. Inside lay a thin booklet wrapped in silk. The cover was dark crimson. The characters were faded but legible. Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud. Hwarin’s face hardened. Yu Soha’s breath shook. Seoryeong stared at the characters. Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud. The moment she saw the name, a strange feeling stirred. It was not frightening. Yet the characters seemed to smell of blood. Whether the scent was real or imagined because of the name, she could not tell. Hwarin did not open the booklet. Instead she parted the cover and first page just enough to peek. A short phrase was written on the first page: Blood is flow; do not go against the flow. The blade is bone outside the body; flesh is the knife inside the body. Hwarin closed it without reading further. Her expression was grim. Seoryeong asked, “Why close it?”
“That’s enough.”
“What does it mean?”
“It is an unorthodox technique.”
Yu Soha closed her eyes. Her face looked as though a small hope had been extinguished. Perhaps she had wished it was fake. A meaningless old book. Then her master’s death, the pursuit, all this blood would have felt slightly less heavy. But it was real. At least something very close to the real thing. Hwarin wrapped the booklet in silk again. “We must bring it to Cheongseong Sect.”
Yu Soha nodded. “Yes.”
Seoryeong was still thinking about the characters on the cover. Blood is flow. The blade is bone outside the body. Flesh is the knife inside the body. The words were strange. Yet not entirely incomprehensible. Bone outside the body—weapon. Knife inside the body—flesh. Seoryeong looked at her own hands. The body was also a weapon. She knew that. Since childhood, when she had no spear she used fists; when fists could not reach she used shoulders; when legs moved she kicked. But “blood is flow” felt odd. When blood flowed the body grew hot. That was true during fights. What did it mean not to go against that flow?
Hwarin saw Seoryeong’s face and said at once, “Don’t think about it.”
Seoryeong looked up. “Why?”
“That kind of technique is not good for you.”
“Why?”
“It might suit your nature too well.”
Seoryeong did not understand. If it suited her, wasn’t that good? Hwarin offered no further explanation. Explaining would only make Seoryeong more curious. Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud was likely an unorthodox technique based on blood and killing intent. Such techniques were dangerous to those whose minds wavered. They nurtured killing intent, fed on rage, and turned the excitement of blood into martial arts. Yet Jin Seoryeong was a child who already felt alive through fighting. To her, such a technique could be poison—or kindling. Hwarin feared that. Seoryeong’s growth could not be stopped. But how she grew mattered. If fire ignited in the wrong direction, this child could become a disaster neither orthodox nor unorthodox sects could handle. Seoryeong saw the worry on Hwarin’s face. Concern. That expression again. She worried when Seoryeong saw something strong. She worried even after seeing the manual. She worried when Seoryeong wanted to fight. Seoryeong did not fully understand it, but she knew Hwarin rarely spoke wrongly. So she nodded. “I won’t look.”
Hwarin blinked, surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t like it.”
Hwarin fell silent for a moment. Yu Soha also looked at Seoryeong. Seoryeong had spoken so simply. Hwarin disliked it, so she would not look. There was no complex morality or orthodox teaching in that. Yet that simplicity strangely touched Hwarin’s heart. This child was willful. She loved fighting, walked toward danger, and her eyes changed when she saw the strong. But she listened to the words of those she accepted. If the words were right she listened; sometimes she stopped simply because the other person disliked it. That line still remained. Hwarin spoke quietly, “Thank you.”
Seoryeong tilted her head. “For what?”
“Just… thank you.”
“Strange.”
“You’re not one to say that.”
Yu Soha laughed softly. A little later the three set out again. They left the stream and climbed toward the ridge. The sun rose higher. Light scattered between the trees and birdsong gradually returned. Yet the atmosphere felt heavier than before. After confirming the name Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud, Hwarin’s expression remained grim. Yu Soha held the wooden box even more carefully. Seoryeong walked ahead, reading the wind. The pursuers’ presence had faded. After the failed ambush they seemed unwilling to attack again immediately. But they had not disappeared. They followed from afar, very faintly—like wolves waiting for a wounded beast to tire. Seoryeong disliked that presence. She wished they would come from the front. Why did they keep watching from a distance? She suddenly stopped. Hwarin asked, “Why again?”
Seoryeong looked at the forest behind them. “Should I go catch them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It could be a trap.”
“I can just follow the scent.”
“They might be luring you away to strike at Yu Soha.”
Seoryeong looked at Yu Soha. Yu Soha looked slightly flustered. Ah. That could happen. If she went ahead, Hwarin and Yu Soha would be left behind. Hwarin was strong, but she would have to protect Yu Soha. If other enemies came then, it would become troublesome. Seoryeong nodded. “Then I won’t go.”
Hwarin was surprised once more. “You’re listening well today.”
“Because it’s the right thing.”
“Then that’s fortunate.”
Seoryeong looked forward again. But her hand gripped the spear more tightly. She would not go catch them. But if they came, she would hit them. That had not changed. By afternoon the mountain path grew harsher. More rocks, narrower trail. Yu Soha nearly slipped several times. Hwarin supported her, but their speed slowed further. Seoryeong waited ahead, walked a little, then waited again. At first it had been frustrating. Why were they so slow? But she remembered Hwarin’s words. If Yu Soha died, there would be no next time. The box could be taken. Then they could not reach Cheongseong Sect. If they could not reach Cheongseong Sect, she could not meet strong people. The logic was convincing enough to Seoryeong. So she waited. Waiting was boring, but if there was a reason, she could endure it.
A little later they arrived at a small abandoned mountain lodge. It looked like a place woodcutters had once used. Half the roof had collapsed, but it could still shelter them from rain. Inside was an old hearth. Hwarin surveyed the surroundings. “We’ll rest here today.”
Seoryeong looked at the sky. The sun had not yet fully set. “Already?”
“Yu Soha’s condition isn’t good.”
Yu Soha bowed her head apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
Hwarin said shortly, “Saying sorry won’t heal the wound.”
Seoryeong looked around the lodge. The scent was old. No one had lived here for quite some time. Yet it was not completely abandoned. There were traces someone had rested here recently. Ashes remained, and dry branches were piled against the wall. Seoryeong spoke while looking at the traces. “Someone was here a few days ago.”
Hwarin checked the hearth. “Correct. Probably a passing woodcutter or hunter.”
“Could be a martial artist.”
“It could be.”
“The scent is weak.”
“Then there’s no problem now.”
Hwarin sat Yu Soha inside and unpacked. Seoryeong went outside. Hwarin asked, “Where are you going?”
“I’ll look around.”
“Don’t go far.”
“Yeah.”
Seoryeong circled the lodge. East was rock. West was dense trees. South was the path they had climbed. North led deeper into the mountains. If attacked, south or west would be easiest. Coming down from the eastern rocks was possible but would make loud footsteps. North was narrow and difficult to escape through. Seoryeong confirmed each direction with eyes, nose, and ears. She had not thought this way before. When hunting beasts she simply followed scent. She sensed instinctively where an opponent would appear. But traveling with Hwarin had changed her slightly. Paths. Retreat routes. Lines of sight. Ambushes. Who was targeting whom. She found herself thinking about these things. It was bothersome, but not unpleasant. Fighting became a little more complicated. Complicated meant more to learn. Seoryeong gathered several dry branches and returned. Hwarin nodded at the sight. “Well done.”
Seoryeong paused for a moment. Praise. Just as she listened when words were right, praise was not bad either. She set the branches down. “Should I get more?”
“That’s enough.”
Hwarin lit a fire. A small flame came to life in the hearth. Smoke rose slowly. Yu Soha gazed at the firelight and found some calm. Seoryeong sat beside the hearth and wiped her spear shaft. Blood and dirt from today’s fight still clung to it. The spear was gradually wearing out. The wooden shaft felt more familiar in her hand than when she first made it, yet its limits were also becoming clear. Each time it blocked a Black Death Pavilion warrior’s blade the shaft trembled. It had also been nicked when caught by the sickle. Someday it would break. Seoryeong stroked the shaft. A pity. But if it broke, she could make a stronger one. Halberd. A heavy halberd. The thought returned again.
Yu Soha asked carefully, “Why do you want to become so strong, Young Lady Jin?”
Seoryeong looked up. “Hm?”
“You keep seeking strong people and seem to want to grow stronger.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. Why? She wanted to become strong. It felt so natural she had rarely thought about the reason. Being strong was good. Being strong let her go farther. Being strong let her fight stronger people. Being strong let her endure longer without losing. But was that all? Seoryeong looked at the fire. The battlefield from her dreams surfaced. The man laughing inside it. She did not know who he was. Yet he felt familiar. He had told her to go to a wider place. To find stronger opponents. The words felt like an order, yet also like thoughts rising from within herself. Seoryeong spoke slowly, “I don’t know.”
Yu Soha looked slightly surprised. Seoryeong continued, “It just feels like I should.”
“It feels like you should…”
“When I see strong people, my heart races.”
Hwarin listened quietly. Seoryeong rubbed the spear shaft with her fingers. “When I fight, I feel alive. When I lose, I want to become stronger. When I win, I want to find even stronger people.”
Yu Soha tried to understand the words. It was not easy. To her, fighting was terrifying. Her master had died, her sect had collapsed, and she herself was being hunted. The sound of blades alone made her heart tighten. Yet Seoryeong said she felt alive through fighting. The words were frightening, yet strangely sad as well. Was there a reason she had come to feel this way at such a young age? Yu Soha asked carefully, “Aren’t you scared?”
Seoryeong did not answer immediately. Fear. The heavy feeling she had felt when leaving the village. Her mother’s face as she pressed a bundle into her hands, looking as though she might cry. Her father’s silent pat on the shoulder. At the time it had felt strange. Had that been fear? Fighting strong people felt different. More hot than frightening. Seoryeong said, “I don’t like the idea that if I die, there’s no next time.”
Hwarin looked up. Seoryeong added, “But fighting itself isn’t scary.”
Yu Soha nodded quietly. The answer was very much like Seoryeong. Hwarin spoke quietly, “Then live a long time.”
Seoryeong looked at Hwarin. “Yeah.”
“If you want to fight strong people, you must not die first.”
“I know.”
“Today you’re quite agreeable.”
“I’ve heard it many times.”
“That’s fortunate.”
Outside it grew darker. The forest’s scent changed from daytime. During the day the smells of damp earth and grass had been strong, but as night approached the musk of beasts rose. Insect sounds grew louder and an owl’s cry echoed from afar. Hwarin tried to assign night watches. “I’ll take the first watch. Seoryeong, you take the second half.”
Seoryeong shook her head. “I’ll do the first.”
Hwarin looked surprised. “Why?”
“It’s the time when scents change.”
Hwarin considered. The time when the sun set and night fell. When forest scents mixed, beasts moved, and it was easy for people to move as well. Perhaps Seoryeong’s senses would be most useful then. “Fine. But if you sense anything strange, wake me. Don’t go out alone.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean it.”
“Yeah.”
“Why are your answers so easy?”
“Because they’re right.”
Hwarin nodded. “All right. I’ll trust you.”
Yu Soha curled up beside the hearth. Fatigue seemed to have overtaken her; her eyes closed quickly. Hwarin also leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She was not fully asleep. Her sword hilt was within reach and her breathing was shallow. Seoryeong sat at the lodge entrance. She placed the spear across her knees and gazed into the darkness. The night was quiet. Yet not truly quiet. There were more sounds than during the day. Grass insects chirped. Small creatures moved between tree bark. Far away a beast stepped on a dry branch. The stream’s murmur was very faint. Wind rose from below the mountain. That wind carried no human scent yet. Seoryeong inhaled slowly. And waited. Waiting was boring. But today felt slightly different. Waiting for an ambush. Being the first to catch the moment when hidden enemies moved. It was similar to hunting. The front part of battle. The breath before collision. Perhaps that too could be learned.
Time passed. Moonlight filtered between the trees. The fire dwindled. Seoryeong did not move. Then a very faint scent mixed with the wind. Oil. Iron. And old blood. Seoryeong’s eyes slowly opened. They had come. Not one. Three. Distant. Their scent differed from the earlier pursuers. Quieter. Thinner. Assassins. She had not learned the word yet, but her body understood. These were not people coming to fight head-on. They were people coming to kill. Seoryeong slowly reached out to wake Hwarin. At that moment a tiny sound of something cutting through air came from between the trees. Whoosh. Needles. Seoryeong raised her spear shaft. Ting. A needle bounced away. Hwarin’s eyes opened at once. “They’ve come.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Three.”
Yu Soha also woke with a start. Hwarin gripped her sword. “Positions.”
Seoryeong looked into the darkness. “One in front. Two on the left.”
“Right side?”
“None.”
Hwarin made a quick judgment. “Yu Soha, get back.”
Yu Soha clutched the wooden box and retreated deeper into the lodge. Seoryeong slowly stood. In the darkness a black figure revealed itself. Its face was covered with cloth. It held two short swords. Its body was low and its footsteps nearly silent. Two more presences spread through the left forest. Hwarin spoke quietly, “They don’t seem to be from Black Death Pavilion.”
The black figure did not answer. Instead it threw needles again. Three this time. Seoryeong stepped forward. Her spear shaft moved three short times. Ting. Ting. Ting. The needles bounced into the darkness. Seoryeong’s gaze turned cold. “Poison.”
The black figure reacted for the first time—a tiny tremor. Seoryeong saw it. “Boring again.”
She kicked off the ground. The fight began. The black figure did not meet her head-on. It slid backward. At the same time the other two figures burst from the left. Their target was not Seoryeong. It was Hwarin—or rather, Yu Soha behind her. Hwarin’s sword flashed. Clang. It clashed with a short sword. The other figure rolled low, aiming for Hwarin’s legs. Hwarin lifted her foot to avoid and pressed down on the attacker’s shoulder with the back of her sword. But the assassin bent his body without taking the force and slipped away. Smooth. Strangely smooth. They avoided direct collision and only sought openings. Hwarin’s face hardened. “Assassins.”
Seoryeong, chasing the figure in front, heard the word. Assassins. People who killed. Those who did not fight head-on. Boring people. Yet their movements were fast. The assassin before Seoryeong kept retreating. He entered between trees to prevent her spear from extending fully. The spear tip caught on trunks, roots made her footing unstable. Seoryeong frowned. This was inconvenient. The opponent was not weak, but the fight did not come head-on. When she chased he retreated, when she thrust he twisted, when she approached he hid behind trees. Boring. But there was something to learn. Seoryeong suddenly stopped. The assassin stopped as well. When Seoryeong did not chase, he wavered slightly. Seoryeong inhaled. Scent. Sweat. Poison. Leather. Blood. And the smell of earth where his feet touched. She did not close her eyes. But she trusted her gaze less. Trees hid. Darkness concealed. Then trust scent and sound. The assassin moved right. Seoryeong swung her spear without looking. Crack. Tree bark burst. The assassin barely dodged, but his robe tore. His eyes shook for the first time. Seoryeong said, “Found you.”
The assassin immediately retreated. But this time Seoryeong did not chase. Instead she threw the spear. Whoosh. The old wooden spear cut through the darkness. The assassin had not expected it. A spear user throwing her spear. And at such close range. He twisted his body urgently. The spear grazed his shoulder and embedded in a tree behind him. At that moment Seoryeong charged with empty hands. The assassin’s eyes widened. Insane. Throwing her weapon and charging barehanded? Seoryeong grabbed his wrist. The assassin tried to stab with the other short sword. Seoryeong caught that wrist too. Strength. Pure strength pressed down on the assassin’s joints. The assassin ground his teeth and tried to kick Seoryeong’s knee. Seoryeong headbutted first. Thud. The assassin’s head snapped back. Seoryeong lifted his body and slammed him into a nearby tree. Crack. The tree shook. The assassin exhaled and collapsed. Seoryeong pulled the spear from the tree. A crack had formed in the shaft. She looked at it for a moment. It really would not last long. But it had not broken yet. Seoryeong turned toward the lodge. Hwarin was fighting the two assassins. They were truly troublesome. They avoided direct confrontation and kept trying to flow toward Yu Soha. Hwarin had to focus on blocking rather than cutting them. Because of that her sword path grew narrower. Seoryeong saw this and ran immediately. One assassin sensed Seoryeong’s approach and lowered his body. He took a short poisoned needle from his robe. Seoryeong’s gaze cooled. “Again.”
She did not thrust the spear long. She kicked a stone on the ground. The stone flew up and struck the assassin’s hand. The poisoned needle missed. Hwarin’s sword did not miss the opening. Slash. The assassin’s arm was cut. He tried to retreat but Seoryeong was already beside him. The spear shaft struck his side. Thud. The assassin’s body rolled. The last assassin judged the situation unfavorable and immediately retreated. Escape. A very quick decision. But Seoryeong was already watching that direction. She held the cracked spear. And this time she did not throw it. The spear might break. Instead she lowered her body and ran. The assassin tried to hide between trees. Seoryeong read the path he would take first. Scent and footsteps. And the direction of his breath. She leapt sideways. The moment the assassin emerged from behind a tree, Seoryeong’s knee drove into his abdomen. “Kuh!”
The assassin’s body folded. Seoryeong grabbed the back of his neck and pressed him to the ground. “Running is boring too.”
The assassin could not answer. The brief night battle ended that way. Hwarin did not lower her sword as she surveyed the surroundings. “Are there more?”
Seoryeong inhaled. Scent of blood. Scent of poison. Scent of fire. Yu Soha’s trembling breath. But no closer human scent. “No.”
Hwarin finally lowered her sword. Yu Soha was trembling inside the lodge. But she had not let go of the wooden box. Seoryeong looked at her and said, “You’re still holding it.”
Yu Soha answered in a trembling voice, “If I let go… I’d be sorry to my master.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Then keep holding it.”
The words were simple, yet strangely comforting to Yu Soha. Hwarin checked the fallen assassins. One was unconscious. One had an arm cut and was unconscious. One had been slammed into a tree by Seoryeong and was only breathing. All had hidden poison pills in their mouths. Hwarin skillfully opened their jaws and removed the pills. “Professional assassins.”
Seoryeong asked, “Are they strong?”
“They may be weak in direct confrontation. But they’re strong at killing.”
Seoryeong frowned. “Strange.”
“There are such kinds of strength in the martial world.”
“Boring.”
“Even if boring, they’re dangerous.”
Seoryeong nodded. She had learned that a little today. Assassins did not collide head-on. But they were troublesome. They made the spear inconvenient between trees, threw poisoned needles, and targeted Yu Soha. If she had not smelled them. If Hwarin had been late. Yu Soha could have died. Then there would be no next time. That was not allowed. Seoryeong looked down at the cracked spear shaft. The crack had widened because she threw the spear while chasing the assassins. Hwarin also saw it. “The spear won’t last much longer.”
“Yeah.”
“We need it to last until Cheongseong Sect.”
“If it breaks I’ll carve a new one.”
“This time we need a proper weapon.”
Seoryeong’s eyes brightened slightly. “Halberd?”
Hwarin was silent for a moment. “If possible.”
Seoryeong nodded in satisfaction. That night there were no further attacks. But none of them slept deeply. Hwarin took the second watch. Yu Soha slept uneasily, and Seoryeong dozed briefly before waking again. The dream was short. It was a battlefield again. But slightly different. In this dream Seoryeong was not watching from afar—she was standing on the ground. Beneath her feet was blood-soaked earth. Something was in her hand. Heavy. A weight incomparable to her current spear. But her hand knew this weight. This flow. This swing. Soldiers charged from the front. Spear tips packed densely. Seoryeong did not retreat. Or rather, someone in the dream did not retreat. He laughed. And swung the weapon. BOOM. Shields shattered and people flew. At that moment Seoryeong woke. It was dawn. The weight still lingered in her palm. Seoryeong quietly clenched her hand. Hwarin asked, “Another dream?”
“Yeah.”
“Halberd?”
“Yeah.”
Hwarin asked no more. She could no longer simply dismiss the dreams. They repeated too often to be mere imagination. And Seoryeong’s body seemed to remember the movements she saw in the dreams little by little. Past life. The words sounded like mad talk. But the martial world contained too many things that sounded mad. Memories carved in blood. Techniques left in the soul. Bonds from past lives. Most were bluster or fraud. Yet looking at Jin Seoryeong, Hwarin sometimes thought that perhaps a very small part of such bluster might be true. Morning came. Outside the lodge remained traces of the night’s battle. Bloodstains on the ground. Broken branches. Poisoned needles embedded in tree bark. The tree where Seoryeong had thrown her spear bore a deep mark. Hwarin bound the assassins and set them aside. She could not take them along. Yet she could not release them either. In the end she stripped their weapons, removed the poison pills, and bound them tightly. She moved them near the path where passing travelers might see them once daylight came, so they would not be attacked by wild beasts. Seoryeong watched and asked, “Why leave them alive?”
Hwarin answered shortly, “Because there’s no reason to kill them.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. She liked those words. She had said something similar before. No reason to kill. If the fight was over, it was over. Seoryeong nodded. “Yeah.”
Hwarin smiled faintly at her reaction. Little by little. Truly little by little. This child was learning. Not only martial arts, but the lines between people. Of course those lines were still crooked and rough, but they were not absent. That alone was fortunate. They set out again. Seoryeong’s spear remained cracked. So as she walked she continued to examine suitable trees. Wood from which she could carve a temporary shaft. Slightly heavier wood. Thickness that would fit her hand. Hwarin saw this and said, “Endure until Cheongseong Sect.”
“It feels like it’ll break.”
“Then carve a spare. But don’t make it too heavy.”
“Why?”
“If you become slower than Yu Soha it’ll be troublesome.”
Seoryeong looked at Yu Soha. Yu Soha smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”
Seoryeong shook her head. “You are slow, but it’s fine.”
Yu Soha did not know whether to laugh or not. Hwarin said, “Learn to speak a little more gently too.”
“Gently?”
“So the other person feels less hurt.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. Then she looked at Yu Soha and said, “You’re slow, but I won’t abandon you.”
Yu Soha burst out laughing this time. Hwarin pressed her forehead. “No. That’s even stranger.”
“Why? I spoke so it would hurt less.”
“It’s less painful and more frightening.”
Seoryeong did not understand. Yu Soha laughed until her shoulder wound pulled and she grimaced. Yet the smile remained. She looked a little better than yesterday. The mountain path continued. But the air was different from yesterday. They were no longer simply being pursued. They had confirmed the name Eight Styles of the Blood Cloud, and Seoryeong’s rumor had begun to spread. More pursuers would follow. Among them would be weak ones, but strong ones as well. Seoryeong thought this while gripping her spear tighter. The cracked spear creaked in her hand. Even that sound pleased her. She would have to replace it soon. With something heavier and stronger. Someday with a halberd. Wind blew across the mountain path. A faint scent of iron mixed within that wind. Very distant. But clear. Seoryeong did not stop walking. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. Hwarin saw it and asked, “What now?”
Seoryeong looked ahead and said, “I smell something.”
“People?”
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
Seoryeong read the wind. It was hard to know exactly. Distant. But one thing was clear. One of their scents was different. Heavy and cold. Deep iron scent. Seoryeong said, “A strong person.”
Hwarin looked up at the sky. “Please.”
Yu Soha’s face grew anxious while Seoryeong brightened slightly. The path continued north. Cheongseong Sect was still far. But the martial world was already moving toward them. And Jin Seoryeong awaited that movement rather than fearing it.