Iron in the Wind
The wind carried the scent of iron. It was faint, but unmistakable. Seoryeong did not stop walking. She only tilted her nose slightly. Wet earth. The fur of wild beasts. The herbal smell from Yu Soha’s wounds. The old iron smell soaked into Hwarin’s scabbard. And beneath all of them, thin yet heavy, lay a strange metallic scent. It was not the smell of ordinary weapons. It differed from the blades travelers carried on the road. It differed even from the sabers worn by wandering martial artists at inns. It was iron, yet it smelled as though it had been heated in fire many times. Sweat, blood, and oil had seeped into it over years. The smell of someone who had handled that iron for a long time. Seoryeong liked it. It was the scent of a strong person.
Hwarin saw the corner of Seoryeong’s mouth lift and frowned. “Don’t enjoy it.”
Seoryeong kept her eyes forward. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
“Your face did.”
“My face keeps talking.”
“Your face is too honest.”
Seoryeong rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. She still did not fully understand what an honest face looked like, but when Hwarin said it, it was usually true.
Yu Soha listened to their exchange and steadied her breathing. The wound on her shoulder was beginning to pull again. The mountain path grew rougher as the day brightened. What could barely be called a trail wound between rocks, roots jutting out to catch ankles. Yu Soha stumbled several times, and each time Hwarin caught her arm.
“I’m fine,” Yu Soha said, though her voice held no strength.
Hwarin studied her face. A slight fever had risen. The wound itself was bound, but she had lost much blood and kept walking. She should have rested for a day. That was impossible now. The name Hyeol-un-pal-sik had been revealed. Those who coveted the manual had already laid ambushes, and assassins had followed them through the night. And now another presence waited ahead.
Hwarin calculated silently. The remaining distance to Cheongseong Sect. Yu Soha’s stamina. Seoryeong’s senses. Her own internal energy. The speed of their pursuers. The speed at which rumors spread. None of the calculations left them with any margin.
She asked Seoryeong, “How many ahead?”
Seoryeong tasted the wind. “Three.”
“Are they all strong?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Only one.”
Hwarin narrowed her eyes. “The other two?”
“Weak. But their scents are similar.”
“Meaning they’re together?”
“Yes.”
Seoryeong sniffed again. The two weaker ones smelled of oil and dried meat. They carried weapons, yet the scent had not sunk deep into their hands. Likely messengers or guides. The strong one was different. His breathing was heavy, his footsteps light, and the iron smell clung deep to his body. There was one more strange scent. Hot fire. Charcoal. The smell of hammering iron.
Seoryeong tilted her head. A martial artist who smelled like a blacksmith. Strange. But not unpleasant.
Hwarin read her expression. “Something odd?”
“I smell iron being made.”
“A blacksmith?”
“Yes. But strong.”
Hwarin’s face tightened slightly. A strong martial artist who smelled of blacksmithing. Such people existed in the murim. They might come from the Cheolmu Sect or weapon-crafting clans, or they might be eccentrics who trained both weapon-making and martial arts together. Those types usually had sharp eyes for weapons.
Hwarin’s gaze moved to Seoryeong’s spear. The wooden shaft was cracked. The fight with the assassin last night had widened the split. One side bore the mark of a sickle, and the tip was worn from striking the ground and other weapons. Seoryeong still carried it without concern, but the spear would not last much longer.
“If we meet the person ahead, don’t rush in,” Hwarin said.
Seoryeong asked immediately, “Why?”
“Your spear might not hold.”
Seoryeong looked down at the weapon in her hands. The wooden spear she had carved herself in the village. The spear that had hunted beasts in the mountains, struck down bandits, and shared her first battles in the murim. It was cracked, yet it still fit her grip. Hwarin was right, though. Seoryeong knew it too. This spear was weak. The harder she swung, the more it trembled against strong weapons. It would break. Someday. Perhaps today.
Seoryeong ran her fingers along the shaft. “If it breaks, I’ll use something else.”
“There is nothing else right now.”
“There’s wood.”
“You cannot face a strong martial artist with a spear carved from any random tree.”
Seoryeong tilted her head. “I’ve been doing that until now.”
Hwarin found herself at a loss for words. The statement was not wrong. The problem was that it had worked so far, not that it would continue to work. Explaining the difference to Seoryeong was not easy.
She said shortly, “The murim only grows stronger the farther you go.”
Seoryeong’s eyes brightened. “Good.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“Still good, though.”
“For you, perhaps.”
Yu Soha gave a weak laugh. The situation was dangerous, yet the two of them fell into their usual rhythm. Hwarin warned, Seoryeong reacted to the mention of strong opponents, Hwarin sighed, and Seoryeong failed to understand why. At first the exchange had seemed strange. Now it felt almost familiar. That familiarity gave Yu Soha a small measure of calm.
A dead master. A vanished sect. The Hyeol-un-pal-sik hidden against her chest. People hunting her. Everything felt heavy and terrifying. Seoryeong received that weight from an entirely different direction. If it was dangerous, fight. If a strong person came, that was good. If you died there would be no next time, so simply do not die. The words sounded mad, yet their simplicity created room to breathe.
Yu Soha adjusted the wooden box against her chest. Her master’s final words returned. Go to Cheongseong Sect. Entrust this to them. Never let the Hyeol-un-pal-sik fall into the hands of the Heuksabang. Her master’s voice had been soaked in blood. Yu Soha tried to push the memory away, but it clung.
Her steps wavered. Hwarin caught her at once. “We rest for a moment.”
Yu Soha shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“You are not.”
Seoryeong looked ahead. “There’s a rock over there.”
A flat stone sat beside the path, its shade adequate. Hwarin guided Yu Soha to it. Seoryeong scanned the surroundings. The human scent remained ahead, unmoving. Waiting.
“The people ahead have stopped too,” she said.
Hwarin touched Yu Soha’s forehead. “Are they waiting for us?”
“Yes.”
“Are they hiding?”
“No.”
“Then they’re waiting on the path?”
Seoryeong nodded. “Yes.”
Hwarin found the answer more troubling. They were not hiding in ambush. They waited openly on the road. That spoke of confidence. Or a trap.
She thought for a moment. Could they detour? The northern trail was narrow. Circling widely would be too much for Yu Soha’s body. Retreating would bring them closer to the pursuers. In the end they would have to meet the figure ahead.
Hwarin spoke quietly. “If we meet them, I speak first.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Understood.”
“Truly.”
“Understood.”
“Even if the opponent looks strong, do not suggest fighting first.”
“……Understood.”
Hwarin narrowed her eyes. “Why was that answer late?”
“I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“I want to fight if they’re strong, but I was told not to say it.”
Hwarin exhaled deeply. “Thinking and holding back was the right choice.”
Seoryeong nodded, accepting the praise.
After a short rest, the group moved again. The path descended gently before rising into a small ridge. Before the ridge, the trail widened briefly. Three people waited there, exactly as Seoryeong had described.
Two were young men carrying bundles on their backs and short swords at their waists. Their eyes were wary, but they were not strong. Between them sat an old man. He was too large to be called old. His hair and beard were streaked with white, yet his shoulders were broad and his arms thick. Burn marks darkened his face, and the backs of his hands were covered in calluses and scars. He sat on a roadside rock, waiting. Beside him lay something long wrapped in cloth. The iron smell rose thick from it.
Seoryeong’s eyes moved naturally toward the bundle. A weapon. Large. The cloth hid its shape, but it looked long and heavy.
The old man slowly raised his head. His eyes were surprisingly clear. The eyes of someone who had looked into fire for many years. Hot, yet cold at the same time.
Hwarin clasped her hands in greeting. “I am Hwarin of the Cheongseong Sect.”
The old man studied her, then nodded. “I know.”
Hwarin’s gaze sharpened. “You were waiting for us.”
“I was.”
“May I ask why?”
The old man’s eyes moved to the bundle against Yu Soha’s chest. Yu Soha stiffened. Hwarin’s hand drifted closer to her sword hilt. The old man looked away and turned to Seoryeong instead. More precisely, to the spear in her hands. The cracked wooden shaft. He frowned.
“Still using that?”
Seoryeong looked down. “Yes.”
“It will break soon.”
“I know.”
“Knowing that, you still use it?”
“I have nothing else.”
The corner of the old man’s mouth twitched. It might have been a smile or a sigh.
Hwarin asked carefully, “Who might you be, senior?”
Instead of answering, the old man raised his hand. Thick fingers. Scars. Burn marks. The hand of someone who had swung a hammer for decades. “Mak Cheol, former master blacksmith of the Cheolmu Sect.”
Hwarin’s eyes widened slightly. “Senior Mak Cheol of the Cheolmu Sect.”
Yu Soha’s face showed recognition as well. Only Seoryeong tilted her head.
“Strong?”
Hwarin spoke at once. “Seoryeong.”
Mak Cheol only laughed. “Just as the rumors said.”
Seoryeong studied him. “Rumors?”
“Silver hair, red eyes, uses a spear, asks if someone is strong the moment she meets them.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. More rumors. She was no longer surprised.
Hwarin spoke quietly. “Rumors travel fast.”
Mak Cheol nodded. “Nothing travels faster than the news that the Hyeol-un-pal-sik has moved. Especially when it comes with Hwarin of the Cheongseong Sect, a woman carrying the manual, and a silver-haired spear-wielding monster.”
Seoryeong pointed at herself. “Me?”
Hwarin muttered, “Don’t agree with that.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“Your face was about to.”
Mak Cheol chuckled at their exchange, but the humor faded quickly. He looked at Hwarin. “I did not come to steal the manual.”
Hwarin did not relax. “What proof do I have?”
“None.” Mak Cheol spoke plainly. “In the murim, trusting words alone does not let you live long.”
Hwarin remained silent. The statement was true.
Mak Cheol continued. “If I wanted the Hyeol-un-pal-sik, I would not be sitting openly in the middle of the road. I would have struck at night, used poison, or taken a child hostage.”
Seoryeong’s eyes cooled. “I dislike poison.”
Mak Cheol looked at her. “So I heard.”
“That’s a rumor too?”
“Yes. They say you smelled poison and struck down the Heuksabang.”
Seoryeong nodded. “That’s right.”
Hwarin could not stop her this time. The words were true.
Mak Cheol tapped the long bundle beside him. “I came to see this child.”
Hwarin’s expression hardened. “You mean Seoryeong?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To confirm whether the rumors are true.”
Seoryeong’s eyes sparkled. “Fight?”
Hwarin cut in at once. “We are not fighting.”
Mak Cheol laughed again. “Child, with that spear of yours you will not even manage one proper exchange with me.”
Seoryeong’s gaze changed. The words were provocative. Hwarin immediately gripped her shoulder. “Calm down.”
“I’m calm.”
“No. Your hand is tightening.”
Seoryeong looked at her own hand. She was gripping the spear tightly. Mak Cheol nodded at the sight.
“Your strength is good. But your weapon is dying. A weapon that cannot keep up with its master will eventually harm that master.”
Seoryeong looked at the shaft. Harm its master. The idea felt strange. If the weapon was weak, she simply needed to hold it harder. Yet the sensation of the crack when she had thrown the spear last night lingered in her palm. If the spear broke at the moment an opponent’s blade came in, if she poured strength into a block only for the shaft to split, the danger would be real.
She met Mak Cheol’s eyes. “Then what should I use?”
Mak Cheol’s gaze brightened slightly. “That is why I came.”
Hwarin spoke. “Senior.”
Mak Cheol raised a hand. “It is not a fight. It is a test.”
“In the murim, the word ‘test’ usually leads to combat.”
“True.”
Hwarin’s face grew stern. Mak Cheol remained calm. “I have no intention of drawing blood. I only wish to see the child’s strength and how she handles weapons.”
Seoryeong had already taken a step forward. Hwarin held her back. “Wait.”
“Why?”
“We must set conditions.”
“Conditions?”
Hwarin looked at Mak Cheol. “You will not touch the manual. You will not target Yu Soha. And you will not use hidden weapons or killing techniques against Seoryeong.”
Mak Cheol nodded. “Agreed.”
“The test will last only three exchanges.”
Mak Cheol’s eyes smiled faintly. “Three will be enough.”
Seoryeong asked, “Only three?”
Hwarin answered firmly, “Only three.”
“Not enough.”
“It is enough.”
Mak Cheol gestured to one of the young men. The man unwrapped the long bundle. Inside lay a black iron weapon. At first it resembled a spear, yet the head was broad. Wider than a spearhead, longer than an axe, with a curved hook-like secondary blade on one side. Seoryeong’s breath caught for an instant. It was not a complete fire halberd, yet it carried traces of spear, saber, and halberd all at once. Heavy, rough, a weapon meant to be swung.
Mak Cheol lifted it with one hand. The iron sang low. “An iron halberd. I used it in my youth.”
Seoryeong’s eyes locked onto it. Iron halberd. The word resonated in her palm. It was not exactly the weapon from her dreams, yet it was close. Very close.
Hwarin saw Seoryeong’s expression and muttered inwardly. This is bad.
Seoryeong had already lost her heart to that weapon.
Mak Cheol rested the iron halberd on his shoulder. The weight was considerable, yet his posture never wavered. Seoryeong gripped her wooden spear. Suddenly it felt lighter. No, it had always been light. She had simply been using something too weak all this time.
Mak Cheol spoke. “Come.”
Seoryeong looked at Hwarin. Hwarin nodded reluctantly. “Three exchanges.”
“Yes.”
Seoryeong stepped forward. The air above the ridge changed. Yu Soha held her breath. Mak Cheol’s two disciples retreated. Hwarin placed a hand on her sword hilt, ready to intervene if Mak Cheol crossed the line.
Seoryeong lowered the tip of her spear. The opponent was strong. And his weapon was heavy. A direct clash might break her spear. Hwarin’s words returned. The one who yields survives. If the weapon was weak, it could break. Yet Seoryeong did not want to retreat. The opponent wielded a heavy weapon. She wanted to feel it head-on.
First exchange. Seoryeong moved first. Her toes kicked the ground. The spear tip shot straight toward Mak Cheol’s chest. Fast and strong. The thrust that had surprised countless opponents before. Mak Cheol did not look surprised. The iron halberd seemed to move slowly. Truly slowly. Yet at some point it was already in front of the spear tip.
Clang. Wooden spear and iron halberd met. The sound was different. Different from the ring of blade against blade. It was the sound of wood being pressed against iron. Her wrist tingled. Seoryeong’s spear tip was forced aside. Not merely pushed, but pressed down. Mak Cheol had not swung with great force. He had simply used the weight and angle of the halberd to redirect Seoryeong’s strength downward. Her body pitched forward. In that instant the shaft of Mak Cheol’s halberd stopped just short of her shoulder. A hair’s breadth away. Had it connected, the shoulder would have shattered.
Mak Cheol said, “One.”
Seoryeong’s eyes widened. Blocked. And so easily. Not by force, not by yielding. By pressing. By weight. By angle. By the difference in weapons. Her heart raced. Good. Truly good.
Hwarin saw the expression and grew uneasy.
Seoryeong did not retreat. She lowered her stance further.
Second exchange. This time it was not a direct thrust. Seoryeong feinted right and swung the spear shaft in a long arc, aiming for the wrist. Mak Cheol’s weapon was heavy. If she could strike the wrist, she could break his flow. The judgment was not poor. Mak Cheol did not offer his wrist. The hooked blade of the halberd caught the spear shaft. Thud. The wooden spear was trapped. Seoryeong felt the pulling force at once. Similar to when the ambusher with the sickle had caught her spear. She needed to move inward as she had then. Seoryeong stepped into the direction of the pull. Mak Cheol’s eyes gleamed faintly. “Good.”
In that moment the iron halberd rotated. Not pulling the spear, but using it as an axis to twist Seoryeong’s body. Her foot missed the ground for an instant. The sensation of the earth vanishing. Mak Cheol’s foot brushed past her ankle. He could have tripped her. He stopped. The end of the halberd’s grip halted just short of Seoryeong’s side. “Two.”
Seoryeong drew a breath. Defeated again. She had thought she understood the method, yet even that had been read. The opponent caught, pulled, rotated, and used his foot. Heavy, yet not slow. The heavy weapon dragged the entire body along with it. Heat rose to Seoryeong’s fingertips. Mak Cheol was strong. Truly strong. And that weapon. With a weapon like that, such movements became possible.
Third exchange. Hwarin spoke quietly. “Seoryeong, do not push yourself.”
Seoryeong heard but did not answer. Her eyes remained fixed on Mak Cheol. Only three exchanges. One final time. Head-on she had been pressed. Entering the catch had twisted her. Then. Seoryeong gripped the spear with both hands. This time she would neither thrust nor be caught. She stamped the ground hard. Strength rose from her waist. Her shoulders opened. The spear traced a wide circle. It resembled swinging a club more than any spear technique. Yet the power was terrifying. The air howled. Whoosh.
Mak Cheol’s eyes opened slightly wider for the first time. “Ho.”
He planted the iron halberd. Clang. Wooden spear and iron halberd met head-on. The sound was loud. Birds startled into flight. Seoryeong’s arms went numb. Mak Cheol’s feet dug slightly into the ground. For the first time his body shifted a fraction. A very small fraction. Yet in that moment. Crack. A large split opened along the wooden spear. Seoryeong felt it through her palm. It was breaking. She did not stop. A little more. Just a little more pressure.
Mak Cheol’s gaze grew heavy. “Enough.”
He twisted the halberd. The wooden spear could endure no longer. Snap. The shaft split down the middle. Broken pieces of wood flew into the air. Only half the shaft remained in Seoryeong’s hand. The tip of Mak Cheol’s halberd stopped a single inch from her throat. “Three.”
Silence fell. Only the wind could be heard. Seoryeong looked down at the broken spear. The familiar weight in her hands had vanished. The spear lay in two pieces on the ground. The spear she had carved in the village. The spear that had run through the mountains. The spear that had struck down her first bandit. The spear that had accompanied her on the first road of the murim after leaving the village. That spear was broken.
Seoryeong felt a strange sensation. She was not angry. Was she sad? She did not know. Something inside her chest felt slightly empty. At the same time her hands were hot. This spear had reached its end. The thought came clearly.
She slowly raised her eyes to Mak Cheol. “I lost.”
Mak Cheol withdrew the halberd. “The weapon lost.”
“I lost too.”
Mak Cheol regarded her for a moment, then laughed quietly. “It is good that you know that.”
Hwarin exhaled in relief. It was fortunate Seoryeong had not become excited and charged again.
Yu Soha looked at the broken spear with a regretful expression.
Seoryeong picked up the pieces from the ground. The cracked section had split all the way through. It had truly endured for a long time. In a small voice she said, “You worked hard.”
Hwarin heard the words and looked at Seoryeong. A short phrase, yet it carried Seoryeong’s own form of affection. She simply did not speak much. That did not mean she regarded the things she had shared as entirely light.
Mak Cheol’s gaze softened as well. “You are not a child who treats weapons carelessly.”
“I used it,” Seoryeong said seriously. “I hit many things with it.”
Mak Cheol laughed. “That is not what I meant.”
Hwarin shook her head. She was growing used to this.
Mak Cheol gestured to his disciple. The young man retrieved a long object from the bundle. It was a wooden pole wrapped in cloth. Mak Cheol tossed it to Seoryeong. She caught it with one hand. It was heavy. Much heavier than ordinary wood. The color was dark. Seoryeong ran her fingers over it. “Heavy.”
Mak Cheol said, “Ebony wood. It is not a true weapon, but it is better than what you were using. Use it as a temporary spear shaft.”
Seoryeong’s eyes brightened. “You’re giving it to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I just broke your spear.”
“Didn’t I break it?”
“We broke it together.”
Seoryeong accepted the answer. “Understood.”
Hwarin bowed to Mak Cheol. “Thank you.”
Mak Cheol waved a hand. “There is no need for thanks. It is better than letting that child walk the remaining road empty-handed and cause an even greater incident.”
Hwarin could not argue.
Seoryeong tested the ebony pole in her grip. The length was slightly long. The end was still rough. There was no spearhead. Yet the weight felt good. Her wrist pressed slightly under the heft. Swinging it would push the air with greater mass. She swung it carefully once. Whoosh. The sound was lower than before. The corner of her mouth lifted. “Good.”
Mak Cheol watched her and spoke. “You suit a heavy polearm more than a light spear.”
“Halberd?”
“Who told you that?”
“I saw it in a dream.”
Mak Cheol’s gaze deepened slightly. “A dream.”
Hwarin spoke carefully. “Senior, that part is……”
Mak Cheol raised a hand to stop her. “I will not pry. However, child, a halberd is no toy.”
Seoryeong nodded. “It’s heavy.”
“Weight is not the only issue. The halberd is a greedy weapon.”
Seoryeong tilted her head. “Weapons have greed?”
“It thrusts, cuts, hooks, strikes, smashes, and pushes. It can do many things. Therefore the one who wields it also grows greedy.”
Seoryeong blinked. The words pleased her somewhat. It could do many things. Thrust. Cut. Hook. Strike. Smash. Push. Truly good.
Mak Cheol saw her expression and sighed. “That is the face of someone who likes the idea.”
Hwarin spoke quietly. “You should not speak that way, Senior.”
“It seems already too late.”
Seoryeong gripped the ebony pole. “Can you make one?”
“A halberd?”
“Yes. A heavy one.”
Mak Cheol looked Seoryeong up and down. “It is still too early for your body.”
Seoryeong’s expression fell at once. “Why?”
“Your strength is good, but your body is not yet fully matured. Forcing a heavy halberd will ruin your shoulders and waist first.”
“What if it doesn’t break?”
“It will.”
“Then I can recover.”
Mak Cheol found himself momentarily speechless. Hwarin pressed a hand to her forehead. “I told you not to use your body that way.”
Seoryeong looked disappointed. Mak Cheol gave a dry laugh. “Worse than the rumors.”
He thought for a moment, then spoke. “Reach the Cheongseong Sect alive. After that, if you truly desire a halberd, tell your sect leader my name.”
Hwarin’s eyes widened slightly. “You intend to make one for her yourself?”
“Not immediately. First I must see whether that child is worthy of wielding such a weapon.”
Seoryeong asked, “Worthy?”
Mak Cheol lifted the iron halberd. “A heavy weapon is not carried by the strongest. It is carried by those who know how to endure.”
Seoryeong listened quietly. “I’m good at enduring.”
“It is not only the body that must endure.”
“Then?”
“When the weapon amplifies the mad fire inside you, you must be able to hold it back.”
Hwarin’s expression changed. Mak Cheol was seeing clearly. The fire inside Seoryeong. The instinct toward battle. The tendency to charge at strong opponents and grow more alive when blood flowed. A heavy halberd suited that tendency too well. Suiting it was not always a good thing. It could also mean pouring oil on fire.
Seoryeong did not fully understand. Mad fire. Was there such a thing inside her? Did he mean the heat she felt when fighting? Why did she need to hold it back? When it grew hot she moved better. Yet Hwarin wore the same expression. A worried face. Seoryeong nodded for now. “I’ll try to hold it.”
Mak Cheol watched her for a moment, then laughed. “You say it lightly.”
“Is it difficult?”
“It will likely be harder than any strong opponent you meet.”
Seoryeong’s eyes sparkled. Mak Cheol added quickly, “It is not something to enjoy.”
“I enjoyed it a little.”
Hwarin spoke quietly. “Do not enjoy it even a little.”
Seoryeong nodded reluctantly.
Mak Cheol turned to Yu Soha. “Be careful with the manual. If the Hyeol-un-pal-sik is real, far more people will move than you imagine.”
Yu Soha lowered her head. “I understand.”
“No. You do not yet understand.” Mak Cheol’s voice grew heavy. “It is not merely the Heuksabang or wandering guides. The name Hyeol-un-pal-sik can awaken even old monsters.”
Hwarin frowned. “By old monsters, you mean……”
“Those who cannot forget the taste of blood. Those who collect vanished martial arts. Those who hide greed behind the face of the orthodox. And those who hold grudges against the name Hyeol-un.”
Yu Soha’s hands trembled. Seoryeong asked, “Are they all strong?”
Mak Cheol looked at her. “Some of them could kill you where you stand.”
Seoryeong fell silent for a moment. Hwarin grew tense. Seoryeong soon nodded seriously. “Then I must be careful.”
Hwarin felt relief. Mak Cheol also smiled, surprised. “You listen better than expected.”
“If the words are right, I listen.”
Hwarin gave a small laugh.
After a short silence, Mak Cheol spoke. “When you reach the Cheongseong Sect, tell the sect leader this. The Hyeol-un-pal-sik has reappeared, and in my judgment it is likely genuine.”
Hwarin clasped her hands. “I will deliver the message.”
“And, child.”
Seoryeong looked at him. “What?”
“Use the ebony pole like a spear, but do not trust it too much. It has no blade. Use it for striking and pushing rather than thrusting.”
Seoryeong looked down at the pole. “A spear that is not a spear.”
“Yes. For you, that may be better for a while.”
“Why?”
“You are better at striking than thrusting.”
Hwarin understood at once. Seoryeong’s spear work was closer to overwhelming impact than precise thrusts. She sometimes aimed for vital points with the tip, yet her essence was pouring her entire body’s strength into breaking and driving opponents back. That was why the halberd suited her, and why it was all the more dangerous.
Seoryeong swung the ebony pole once more after hearing Mak Cheol’s words. Whoosh. Low sound. Good feel in the hand. “Good.”
Mak Cheol rose. “My business here is finished.”
Hwarin asked, “Will you not travel with us?”
Mak Cheol shook his head. “I have my own path. And if I accompany you, the rumors will only grow larger.”
That was also true. If the former master blacksmith of the Cheolmu Sect traveled with them, the rumors surrounding the Hyeol-un-pal-sik would swell further.
Mak Cheol had his disciples gather their belongings. Then he suddenly turned back. “Child.”
“Yes.”
“That third exchange just now was good.”
Seoryeong’s eyes widened. “I lost.”
“You lost, but it was good. Your strength moved my feet for the first time.”
Seoryeong looked at the ground beneath Mak Cheol’s feet. The earth was slightly indented. Very slightly. Yet the mark remained. Her heart raced again. She had lost. Her spear had broken. Yet she had moved Mak Cheol’s feet a little. Next time she would move them more. The time after that she would push. Someday she would topple him.
Seoryeong nodded. “Next time I’ll push harder.”
Mak Cheol laughed. “I thought you would say that.”
Hwarin sighed. “Senior, you leave unnecessary words behind.”
“That child would have thought it anyway.”
That was also true.
Mak Cheol’s group disappeared down a side path to the south. Their scent gradually faded. Seoryeong watched in that direction for a while. He had been strong. His weapon had been good. And she had lost. The fact pleased her. Yet when she looked again at the broken spear pieces on the ground, her chest felt slightly heavy.
Seoryeong collected the broken spear tip. Hwarin asked, “You’re taking it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. Why indeed. It could no longer be used. Its usefulness as a weapon had ended. Yet she did not want to leave it behind. It had been with her from the village to here. She finally said, “It was the first one.”
Hwarin did not ask further. “Understood. Take it.”
Yu Soha watched the scene quietly. Seoryeong was frightening and strange, yet she was not a child without attachment to the things she possessed. She was simply clumsy at expressing it.
They set out again. Seoryeong carried the ebony pole in one hand and the short broken spear tip tied behind her waist. Her steps felt slightly different. The ebony pole was heavy. At first her wrist was unaccustomed to it. When she tried to thrust long like a spear, the end felt dull. When she tried to spin it lightly, the weight followed late. Yet when she swung it in a wide arc, the air pushed back with real mass. Seoryeong felt that as she walked. Mak Cheol’s words returned. Use it for striking and pushing rather than thrusting. Even while walking she moved her wrist slightly. She held it short, then long, rested it on her shoulder, then lowered it.
Hwarin spoke. “Do not swing it too much while walking. You will hit Yu Soha.”
Seoryeong stopped the pole. “Understood.”
Yu Soha gave a small laugh. “I’m fine.”
Hwarin answered at once. “You are not fine. If you are struck, the wound will not be the problem.”
Seoryeong looked down at the ebony pole. It would certainly hurt if it hit. She held it more carefully.
The path descended further as afternoon arrived. The northern detour toward Cheongseong Mountain followed the ridge before rejoining the main road. The junction was still far. There was said to be a small mountain village midway, yet they had not decided whether to stop there. Places with people offered rest, yet also rumors. Places without people were quiet, yet an attack would leave them isolated. Hwarin continued to weigh choices.
Seoryeong walked ahead, tasting the air. Mak Cheol’s scent had vanished. The faint presence that had followed from behind remained, yet it drew no closer. They too must have sensed Mak Cheol. A strong person had blocked the road, so they likely could not move easily. Seoryeong felt a slight regret. She had wanted to fight Mak Cheol more. Three exchanges had been too short. Yet her spear had broken, so it could not be helped. Next time. Next time with a heavier weapon. Then she would not merely move his feet a little. She would push properly.
As the sun tilted westward, they reached a ridge overlooking a small mountain village. The village was truly small. Roughly ten thatched houses. A few fields. A well in the center. Two or three lines of smoke rose. Yu Soha exhaled in relief at the sight of the smoke. A place where people lived. After a day of seeing only forest, pursuers, and fighting, a moment of longing crossed her eyes.
Hwarin studied the village from above. “Resting there would be comfortable for the body.”
Seoryeong asked, “Is there a problem?”
“There are people.”
“If there are people, there is also food.”
“There are also rumors.”
Seoryeong nodded. She was beginning to understand that statement. Where there were people, there were words. Where there were words, other people came. Strong people could come. Troublesome people could come.
Hwarin looked at Yu Soha’s condition. The wound had not reopened, yet the fever had risen further. Without proper rest tonight, the danger would grow. The decision was only one.
“We enter the village. We will not stay long.”
Yu Soha bowed her head. “Thank you.”
Seoryeong tasted the village scents. The smell of rice. Smoke. Chicken. Cattle. Children. And very faintly, the strange scent of blood. Seoryeong frowned slightly. Hwarin asked at once, “Why?”
“Blood.”
“In the village?”
“Yes. Not old.”
Hwarin’s expression hardened. “Human blood?”
Seoryeong sniffed again. Beast blood was mixed in as well. Perhaps chickens or pigs had been slaughtered. Yet beneath it lay the scent of human blood. Very faint. “There is human too.”
Hwarin touched her sword hilt. “We enter carefully.”
Yu Soha looked at the village with anxious eyes. Seoryeong adjusted her grip on the ebony pole. A spear that was not a spear. A weapon without a blade. Yet the weight in her hand felt good.
They descended into the mountain village. At the entrance, the first thing they saw was children. Two children sat by the well. When they noticed Seoryeong’s group, their eyes widened. Especially at Seoryeong’s silver hair and red eyes, their mouths fell open. Seoryeong looked back at them. Their eyes held no fear. Only curiosity. The smaller child asked, “Big sister, why is your hair white?”
Hwarin tensed for an instant, yet Seoryeong answered calmly. “I don’t know.”
“Why are your eyes red?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
The children looked at each other, then back at Seoryeong. “Strange.”
Seoryeong nodded. “I hear that often.”
The children laughed. Hwarin exhaled very quietly. Seoryeong was surprisingly harmless toward children. Provided the children did not start a fight, of course.
A village man came running late. He studied Seoryeong’s group warily. He seemed to have recognized them as martial artists. “Ah, which honored guests might you be?”
Hwarin clasped her hands calmly. “We are passing through. My companion is injured and we seek a place to rest for the night.”
The village man looked at Yu Soha’s pale face and bandages. Then he examined Hwarin’s sword, Seoryeong’s ebony pole, and the broken spear tip tied behind her waist. Fear flickered across his face. “Our village does not have much.”
“We will not cause trouble. We will pay.”
When Hwarin showed silver coins, the man’s eyes wavered. Money was power. Seoryeong recalled the words again. The man hesitated, then nodded. “There is an empty shed. It is not clean, but it will keep out the rain.”
“That is enough.”
They followed the man deeper into the village. Seoryeong walked while tasting the air. The blood scent came from the back of the village. A small house. The door was closed and no one approached it. Freshly turned earth lay in front. Seoryeong looked in that direction. Hwarin followed her gaze. “That house?”
Seoryeong nodded. The village man’s shoulders twitched. Hwarin did not miss the reaction. “What happened?”
The man shook his head quickly. “Nothing. There was no incident……”
Seoryeong spoke at once. “I smell blood.”
The man’s face turned white. Hwarin spoke quietly. “You are hiding something.”
The man’s lips trembled. “It is the business of martial artists. We simple villagers do not know.”
Hwarin’s expression grew heavy. Martial artists. Even this small mountain village had already felt the touch of the murim. “Who came?”
The man looked around. Villagers watched from a distance. Fear. Anxiety. Eyes that said speaking would be wrong. The man spoke in a low voice. “Black-clothed people came last night.”
Yu Soha’s body stiffened. Hwarin asked, “The Heuksabang?”
“I do not know the name. Only…… they were looking for someone.”
“Who?”
The man’s gaze moved to Yu Soha. Yu Soha swallowed. “An injured young woman. And a swordswoman in red robes. Also……” The man looked at Seoryeong. “A child with silver hair and red eyes.”
Hwarin’s expression hardened completely. They had already passed ahead. They had reached this village first.
Seoryeong tilted her head. “They were looking for me too?”
The man spoke with a trembling voice. “They said if we saw that child, we must not touch her and only report the location.”
Hwarin’s eyes grew cold. “Report to whom?”
The man could not answer. Seoryeong tasted his scent. Fear was thick. The scent of lying was weak. He truly did not know. Seoryeong said, “He really doesn’t know.”
Hwarin glanced at Seoryeong. She trusted her senses. “Who did those black-clothed people harm?”
The man’s face twisted. “The village chief’s son…… asked why they were here and……” He could not continue. The scent of human blood. The fresh earth in front of the house. Seoryeong understood. He had died. A weak person. Killed by those searching for them.
Yu Soha bit her lip. “Because of me……”
Hwarin spoke quietly. “It is not your fault.”
The words did not reach easily. Yu Soha’s face grew paler.
Seoryeong looked at the house at the back of the village. They had killed a weak person. Because he asked questions. Because he was searching for them. In that moment a strange sensation rose in her chest. Different from the heat before battle. Different from the thrill when meeting strong opponents. Slightly cold. Slightly unpleasant. Seoryeong said, “They killed a weak person and left.”
Hwarin looked at her. Seoryeong’s voice was quiet. It was not an explosion of anger. Yet her eyes had settled. “Not fun.”
The village man did not understand the meaning, yet Hwarin understood faintly. For Seoryeong this was not righteous anger. Yet it was clearly displeasure. Strong people pretending to be strong and trampling the weak. Killing without facing opponents directly, only through fear. A rejection of such things, in Seoryeong’s own way. It was still an emotion without a name.
Hwarin spoke to the man. “We will not stay long. However, there is a possibility someone will come to this village again tonight.”
The man’s face turned ashen. “Then we……”
Hwarin thought for a moment. Staying would endanger the village. Leaving would endanger Yu Soha. Yet the village had already entered danger. Whether Heuksabang or another force, they knew this village as a waypoint. Hwarin asked, “Is there a place where the villagers can hide?”
“There is a grain storage cave at the back. It was made to avoid wild beasts, so the entrance is narrow.”
“Tonight, hide the women and children there. The men should also avoid carrying weapons if possible. If you become involved in a fight between martial artists, you will die.”
The man nodded with a trembling face. Seoryeong said, “If they come, I will hit them.”
The man looked at her. A young girl. Silver hair. Red eyes. A heavy black wooden pole in her hands. Strangely, the words did not sound like empty bravado. The village man found himself bowing his head without realizing it.
The shed stood near the edge of the village. Straw piles and old farming tools filled it. The smell was not pleasant. Yet the roof was intact. Yu Soha leaned against the wall as soon as she sat, strength leaving her. Hwarin checked the wound again. “You have a fever. You must rest tonight without fail.”
Yu Soha closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that now.”
“But……”
“If you have the strength to apologize, use it to steady your breathing.”
Yu Soha nodded quietly.
Seoryeong tried to step outside the shed. Hwarin asked, “Where are you going?”
“I want to look around the village.”
“You are not going to fight alone, are you?”
“No one has come yet.”
“If they do?”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. “I’ll call you.”
Hwarin watched her for a long time. “Truly?”
“Yes. I have to protect Yu Soha.”
Hwarin looked surprised. Seoryeong had said it first. She had to protect Yu Soha. Not merely fighting strong opponents, but stating on her own that she must protect someone. A small change. Yet clear. Hwarin nodded. “Do not go far.”
“Understood.”
Seoryeong stepped out of the shed. The village was quiet. Pretending to be quiet. Muffled sounds came from inside houses. A mother’s low voice soothing a child. A trembling old man’s cough. The sound of someone locking a door. The villagers feared martial artists. Seoryeong could taste that fear. The scent resembled the worry she had smelled from her mother when leaving the village, yet it was damper and heavier.
Seoryeong stood before the fresh earth at the back of the village. A small stone lay there. It was not a proper grave. Only the trace of a hasty burial. The scent of blood still lingered. Seoryeong stood there for a while. She did not know what to say. She did not know how to speak to the dead. She did not even know the person’s face. She only knew he had been weak and had died at the hands of black-clothed martial artists. Seoryeong tightened her grip on the ebony pole. “Not fun people.”
That was all she could say.
Small footsteps sounded behind her. It was the child from the well. The child watched Seoryeong carefully. “Big sister.”
Seoryeong turned. “What?”
“Are you a martial artist?”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. She had not yet entered the Cheongseong Sect. She had not learned proper martial arts. Yet she fought. She walked the murim. Then was she a martial artist? “I don’t know yet.”
The child looked confused. “Do martial artists all kill people?”
Seoryeong looked at the child. Fear and curiosity mixed in the child’s eyes. Perhaps the child had seen the black-clothed people kill the village chief’s son last night. Or perhaps had heard from adults. Seoryeong thought for a moment. Did martial artists all kill people? Hwarin had not killed. Yet she could. No Jingang could kill. Mak Cheol could destroy people if he chose. The Heuksabang killed. Assassins killed. Seoryeong herself could kill. Yet not all of them killed. “No.”
The child looked slightly relieved. Seoryeong added, “But they can kill.”
The child’s face grew tense again. Seoryeong realized belatedly why the words were frightening. Hwarin had told her to speak more gently. Seoryeong hesitated, then spoke again. “There are also people who do not kill.”
The child looked at Seoryeong. “What about you, big sister?”
Seoryeong found it difficult to answer. Could she say she did not kill? It depended on the situation. Fighting a strong opponent to the death was enjoyable. Yet killing itself was not enjoyable. Killing weak people without reason was not fun and unpleasant to see. Seoryeong finally said, “Without reason, I don’t kill.”
The child seemed unable to judge whether that was a good or bad answer. Yet because Seoryeong’s voice did not sound like a lie, the child nodded slightly. “Will the black-clothed uncles come again?”
“They might.”
The child looked frightened. Seoryeong raised the ebony pole. “If they come, I’ll hit them.”
The child looked at the pole. “With that?”
“Yes.”
“Does it hurt?”
Seoryeong answered seriously. “A lot.”
The child’s eyes widened slightly. Then the child gave a very small laugh. “Then hit them hard.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Understood.”
The promise was simple. Yet to Seoryeong it was a clear promise. If they came, she would hit them. Hard.
Before the sun fully set, Hwarin spoke briefly with the village men. The women and children were moved to the storage cave. The elderly were hidden there as well. Several young men insisted on carrying weapons, yet Hwarin firmly dissuaded them. “Do not step forward. If the opponents are martial artists, farming tools will not stop them. It will only make it harder for us to move while protecting you.”
The words wounded the men’s pride, yet remembering the village chief’s son’s death, they eventually withdrew.
Seoryeong stood at the village entrance. Ebony pole in hand. Broken spear tip at her waist. Even without the spear, her hands did not feel empty. There was weight. The ebony pole still felt unfamiliar, yet it spoke heavily in her hands. Strike and push rather than thrust. Mak Cheol’s words returned. Seoryeong swung lightly. The air sang low. Whoosh. Acceptable. No blade, yet it would hurt enough.
Hwarin approached beside her. “Are you nervous?”
Seoryeong shook her head. “No.”
“I thought so.”
“What about you, Hwarin?”
Hwarin paused. Seoryeong had asked her first. And asked whether she was nervous. “A little.”
“Because a strong person is coming?”
“No. Because there are many people to protect.”
Seoryeong looked at the village. Houses. Hidden people. Yu Soha. The child. The person buried beneath fresh earth. Many people to protect. The words differed from simply thinking there were many enemies to defeat. Defeating enemies was easy to think about. Yet if she had to ensure no one was hurt, it became slightly more complicated. Seoryeong said, “Difficult.”
Hwarin looked at her. “Yes. It is difficult.”
“Do we still have to do it?”
“There are times when we must.”
“Why?”
Hwarin thought for a moment. Righteousness. The duty of the orthodox. The heart to protect the weak. Such words would not reach Seoryeong. So she spoke more simply. “If we do not, the people you dislike will do as they wish.”
Seoryeong’s eyes moved slightly. The people who struck the weak. The people who used poison. The people who shot from behind. The people who killed the weak and still made noise. If they did as they wished. She disliked that. Seoryeong nodded. “Then I’ll stop them.”
Hwarin gave a small laugh. “Yes. That is enough for now.”
Night fell. The mountain village held its breath. No dogs barked. Someone had deliberately tied the dogs inside. Smoke lessened. Most lights inside houses went out. The village lay as quiet as death. Yet Seoryeong heard. The quiet breathing of children inside the storage cave. Yu Soha shifting in the shed. The trembling of village men gripping farming tools inside their houses. Hwarin’s steady breathing. And footsteps approaching from afar.
Seoryeong’s eyes opened. They had come. This time they did not hide. Multiple footsteps. Five. No, six. Three were weak. Two were ordinary. One was slightly different. Hwarin also sensed the presence. “How many?”
“Six.”
“The strong one?”
“One.”
“Same scent as before?”
Seoryeong shook her head. “No. Different person.”
Hwarin’s face darkened further. Strong opponents kept changing. That meant multiple forces were moving. Black-clothed men appeared from the darkness. This time they did not hide. They walked slowly along the path at the village entrance. The lead man had a lean frame and carried a long saber. His face was long, his eyes narrow like a snake. His clothes were black, yet bore no Heuksabang insignia. The five behind him carried different weapons. Spear. Sword. Iron chain. Short saber. And a bow.
Seoryeong looked first at the man with the bow. Someone who shot from behind. Not good. The man with the long saber spoke. “Hwarin of the Cheongseong Sect.”
Hwarin answered without drawing her sword. “Who are you?”
“Hand over the manual and we will not touch the village.”
“State your name first.”
The man laughed. “Does a name matter?”
“It is necessary if I am to decide whether to kill or spare you.”
The man’s laughter stopped. Hwarin’s voice was calm yet cold. She had been holding back since morning. Yu Soha’s wound. The ambush. The assassin. Mak Cheol’s warning. The dead young man in the village. And now people threatening the village. Hwarin was not without temper.
The man slowly raised his saber. “People call me Sawoldo.”
Hwarin’s eyes narrowed. Sawoldo. She had heard the name. A wandering martial artist of the unorthodox path. He had once dealt with the Heuksabang and appeared wherever rumors of manuals or elixirs surfaced. Strong, yet did not shy from dirty work. Especially enjoyed seizing opponents’ weaknesses and shaking them.
Hwarin spoke. “Did you kill the village person?”
Sawoldo laughed. “The one who asked questions had an arrogant mouth.”
Seoryeong’s hand tightened. The ebony pole creaked. Hwarin felt it. This time she did not stop her. She herself was angry.
Sawoldo looked at Seoryeong. “Are you that silver-haired monster?”
Seoryeong regarded him quietly. Strong. Weaker than Mak Cheol. Weaker than No Jingang as well. Yet stronger than the ambushers or assassins they had fought until now. The scent of blood rose thick from his saber. He had cut many people. Seoryeong asked, “Did you kill them?”
Sawoldo narrowed his eyes. “Who?”
“The person here.”
“Ah, that villager?”
Somewhere in the village someone swallowed. Sawoldo shrugged. “His mouth was loose. So I closed it.”
Seoryeong fell silent for a moment. Hwarin looked at Seoryeong’s profile. Seoryeong’s gaze was not hot. It was cold. Not the anticipation of meeting a strong opponent. Slightly different from the displeasure when smelling poison. Something lower and more settled. Seoryeong raised the ebony pole. “I dislike you.”
Sawoldo gave a short laugh. “A little girl dares……”
Before the words finished, Seoryeong moved. Hwarin did not stop her this time. She only drew her sword. Shing. As Seoryeong charged Sawoldo, the five behind him moved. Hwarin stepped forward to block them. “Do not approach Yu Soha.” Her sword cleaved the night air.
Seoryeong clashed head-on with Sawoldo. First collision. Ebony pole and long saber met. Not a clang, but a dull thud. The collision of bladeless wood and sharpened steel. The ebony pole was heavy, yet the saber was sharp. Seoryeong remembered Mak Cheol’s words. Strike and push rather than thrust. Instead of blocking the saber, she brought the pole down. Sawoldo’s saber slid aside. His eyes widened slightly. “Ho.”
Seoryeong entered at once. The ebony pole swung toward his waist. Sawoldo did not retreat. He lowered his body. The tip of the saber aimed for Seoryeong’s thigh. Fast. The name Sawoldo was not empty. Seoryeong raised the pole and pressed the saber tip down. Saber and wood ground together. The surface of the ebony pole was shallowly cut. Seoryeong’s eyes changed slightly. Even wood endured better than before. Good. She pushed with strength. Sawoldo’s saber was pressed downward. Sawoldo twisted his body and redirected the force. From his left hand a small dagger appeared. Seoryeong smelled it. Poison. Again. In that instant her gaze grew completely cold. Sawoldo’s dagger came for her side. Seoryeong did not dodge. She struck his wrist down with her left arm. The poisoned dagger grazed her clothes. It did not touch skin. The end of Seoryeong’s ebony pole pushed briefly toward Sawoldo’s chest. Thud. Sawoldo staggered back two steps. The smile vanished from his face. “Your strength alone is monstrous.”
Seoryeong spoke quietly. “Do not use poison.”
“Where is it written that one cannot use poison in a fight?”
“Not fun.”
“Do you think people fight for fun?”
Seoryeong tilted her head. “Then why fight?”
Sawoldo found himself momentarily speechless. He soon sneered. “To obtain the manual.”
“To become strong with it?”
“If you become strong, you can obtain what you want.”
“What do you want?”
“Money, women, power, lives. Anything.”
Seoryeong frowned slightly. Complicated. Too many reasons to want strength. For Seoryeong, strength was simply strength. Fighting stronger opponents, enduring longer, going farther. Sawoldo’s strength existed to oppress and take from others. That could also be strength. Yet she did not like it. Seoryeong adjusted her grip on the ebony pole. “Fighting you probably will not be very fun.”
Sawoldo’s face twisted. He was accustomed to hearing he was strong. Fear, wariness, anger, and grudges were familiar. Yet the words “not fun” were different. And from a little girl. “I will kill you.”
He raised the saber. This time the momentum changed. Killing intent rose thick from the tip. Like his nickname Sawoldo, his saber curved like moonlight. It did not come in a straight line. It curved, changed direction late, and hid the blade in darkness. Seoryeong did not rely on sight alone. Breath. Steps. Shoulders. Wrists. The direction of the iron scent from the saber. She read all of it together. The saber pretended to come from the right shoulder, then bent toward the waist. Seoryeong lowered the pole. Thud. Blocked. Sawoldo’s left-hand dagger rose again. Seoryeong retreated this time. She disliked poison. It was not worth learning while being struck. As Hwarin said, if she died there would be no next time. Sawoldo saw her retreat and laughed. “Afraid of poison?”
Seoryeong answered honestly. “I dislike it.”
“That means you are afraid.”
“No. My body becomes dull.”
Sawoldo’s eyes wavered strangely. This girl truly thought differently. The reason poison was frightening was neither death nor pain. It was because the body became dull. For a moment he wondered whether he was mad or the child was mad.
Then Seoryeong entered. The ebony pole swung wide. Sawoldo blocked with the saber. Thud. Impact traveled up his wrist. Heavy. Even without a blade, the weight was considerable. If it had still been the wooden spear, he might have cut it. Yet this ebony pole did not cut easily. Sawoldo turned his body, trying to redirect Seoryeong’s strength. Seoryeong felt it. Mak Cheol. The sensation of him pressing her strength down with the iron halberd. Hwarin redirecting strength to the side. Sawoldo was also trying to redirect. Then. Seoryeong did not push the pole to the end. She cut the strength midway. Sawoldo’s body lost the force to redirect and wavered for a brief instant. Seoryeong used that opening to stamp the ground and drive her shoulder forward. Thud. Sawoldo’s body was pushed back. Surprise crossed his face for the first time. This child had cut her strength. She was not merely a monster pushing forward madly. She was learning while fighting. Sawoldo ground his teeth. “Monstrous bitch.”
Seoryeong did not answer. The ebony pole came down again. This time toward the head. Sawoldo dodged to the side. The pole struck the ground. Crack. Earth burst. Sawoldo drove toward Seoryeong’s side. The saber tip cut her clothes. Blood sprayed shallowly. Seoryeong felt the pain. Yet she did not retreat. Instead she turned and drove her elbow into Sawoldo’s shoulder. Thud. Sawoldo’s posture broke. Seoryeong’s knee rose. Sawoldo retreated hastily. A moment later and his ribs would have broken. He gasped for breath. Stronger than expected. The rumors were not exaggerated. No, the rumors had been insufficient. This child lacked formal martial arts yet was dangerous. Strong, good senses, and above all, no fear. Even when wounded, her gaze did not waver. She was learning. Sawoldo changed his mind. Dragging this out would be disadvantageous. He shouted toward the rear. “Set the houses on fire!”
Hwarin’s face hardened. The man with the bow in the rear drew a flaming arrow. He aimed at the village. Seoryeong’s gaze changed. The flow of battle had broken. Fighting head-on, then suddenly striking the village. Children were in the storage cave. The child earlier had said to hit hard. Seoryeong turned her body. Sawoldo seized that moment. The saber tip came for Seoryeong’s back. Hwarin shouted. “Seoryeong!”
Seoryeong lowered her body without looking. The saber tip passed over her head. She swung the ebony pole backward. Thud. Sawoldo’s arm was flung away. At the same time Seoryeong kicked a stone from the ground. The stone flew toward the bowman’s wrist. Thud. The flaming arrow fell to the ground. Hwarin used the opening to drive back the remaining two enemies. Her sword flashed beneath the moonlight. One man’s wrist was cut. The other took a shoulder strike and fell. Yet Sawoldo continued moving. He turned toward the village. He had changed his target. Rather than killing Seoryeong, he intended to threaten the village and draw out the manual. Seoryeong saw and understood. That man always acted this way. When head-on fighting failed, poison. When poison failed, the village. He used strength in that manner. Seoryeong disliked it. Disliked it very much. Something inside her body settled coldly. The hand gripping the ebony pole grew quiet. Hwarin glanced at Seoryeong for an instant. The atmosphere had changed. It was not the heat of an excited battle maniac. A lower, heavier energy. Seoryeong walked toward Sawoldo. She did not run. She walked. Sawoldo found that more ominous. “What?”
Seoryeong said, “I dislike you.”
“I heard that earlier.”
“I dislike you more now.”
Sawoldo ground his teeth and charged. Saber and dagger moved simultaneously. Right saber. Left poisoned dagger. Seoryeong held the ebony pole short. She did not swing wide. She struck the saber first. Thud. The saber tip dropped. The poisoned dagger rose. Seoryeong did not avoid the wrist. She struck Sawoldo’s left hand with the rear end of the pole. Thud. The dagger flew away. Sawoldo’s eyes widened. Seoryeong had changed her movement. Shorter, heavier, more precise than before. She was using the ebony pole as Mak Cheol had instructed. Not thrusting. Striking. Pressing. Pushing. Seoryeong’s shoulder drove in. Thud. Sawoldo’s chest rang. He was pushed back. Seoryeong did not stop. The ebony pole rose from below. Sawoldo blocked with the saber. Thud. His wrist shook. Again. Thud. This time his elbow went numb. A third time. Crash. Sawoldo’s saber flew from his hand. His face turned pale. Seoryeong stopped the end of the ebony pole in front of his throat. The village was quiet. Hwarin had also stopped fighting and was looking in that direction. Sawoldo’s subordinates had mostly fallen already. Sawoldo gasped and glared at Seoryeong. “Kill me.”
Seoryeong looked at him. Reason to kill. Did she have one? He had killed a village person. Tried to set the village on fire. Used poison. Targeted from behind. Was it acceptable to kill? Seoryeong applied a little more strength to the ebony pole. Hwarin’s voice came. “Seoryeong.”
Seoryeong stopped. “Do not kill.”
Seoryeong looked at Sawoldo. Sawoldo sneered. “As expected of orthodox girls……”
Thud. Seoryeong struck his mouth with the ebony pole. The sound of teeth breaking rang out. Sawoldo collapsed to the ground. He did not die. Seoryeong said, “Noisy.”
Hwarin closed her eyes briefly. She had told her not to kill, and Seoryeong had not killed. Yet several teeth had likely been lost. Still, that was acceptable for now.
Very small sounds of breathing came from somewhere in the village. People were alive. No fire had started. Yu Soha was safe. Hwarin sheathed her sword and spoke quietly. “Bind them.”
Seoryeong nodded. She picked up Sawoldo’s saber and threw it far away. Then she looked down at the ebony pole. Several sword marks remained on the surface. Yet it had not broken. Seoryeong touched the marks with her fingertips. Not bad. Truly not bad.
Villagers began to emerge gradually. The child from earlier came out holding his mother’s hand. The child looked back and forth between the fallen Sawoldo and Seoryeong. Seoryeong looked at the child. The child asked quietly, “Did you hit hard?”
Seoryeong nodded. “Yes.”
The child gave a very small laugh. That laugh was sad, frightening, and slightly relieved. Seoryeong felt a strange sensation watching that laugh. Different from the joy of defeating a strong opponent. The villagers’ breathing easing slightly. The child’s shoulders trembling less. That was also not bad. A truly strange sensation.
Hwarin watched Seoryeong and thought quietly. This child was changing little by little. Very little by little. A child who had known only fighting was beginning to see the breathing of the people who remained after the fight ended. Whether that change would last was unknown. The murim was cruel, and the fire inside Seoryeong remained dangerous. Yet tonight in this small mountain village, Seoryeong had fought for the first time to protect someone. That fact was not small.
Night deepened. Sawoldo and his subordinates were bound tightly. Villagers placed a small lantern before the grave of the dead village chief’s son. Yu Soha knelt quietly before it and apologized. Even if it was not her fault, she needed to do so for her heart to move even slightly.
Seoryeong stood at a distance and watched. People speaking before a grave. People bowing their heads to the dead. She still did not understand that well. Yet she waited without speaking.
Hwarin stood beside Seoryeong. “You did well today.”
Seoryeong looked at Hwarin. “Because I defeated Sawoldo?”
“That too.”
“Then what else?”
Hwarin looked at the village. “You protected the village.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. Protected the village. She had? She had struck Sawoldo, blocked the flaming arrow, and the child had laughed. Was that protecting? “Strange.”
“What is?”
“Different from when I defeat strong people.”
Hwarin looked at Seoryeong. “How so?”
Seoryeong found it difficult to express in words. It was not hot. Her heart was not racing. Yet it was not bad. Slightly heavy, slightly quiet, strangely remained in her hands. “Not bad.”
Hwarin gave a small laugh. “Then that is enough.”
“Is this also becoming stronger?”
Hwarin was silent for a moment. Then she answered. “Perhaps.”
Seoryeong nodded. Then it was worth remembering. Not only defeating through fighting, but keeping someone from being hurt. That could also be becoming stronger. She did not understand completely yet.
That night Seoryeong sat outside the shed with the ebony pole on her knees. The broken old spear tip lay beside her. The village gradually quieted. Yu Soha slept with a tired body. Hwarin watched over Sawoldo’s group. Seoryeong looked at the sky. There were many stars. There had been many stars even before leaving the village. Yet the stars she saw now were slightly different. Stars of the murim. Seen between the scents of blood, iron, and fire. Seoryeong opened and closed her hand. Today her spear had broken. The first spear she had made. The spear she had been with for a long time. In exchange she had obtained the ebony pole. It was not yet a halberd. Yet she had taken one step closer. And today she had protected a village for the first time. That also remained strangely in her hands.
Seoryeong closed her eyes. Would the battlefield appear in her dreams again? Would the man with the giant halberd be laughing? Or would the child’s laugh from today appear? She did not know. Yet one thing was clear. The world was growing more complicated. It was not only strong people. There were also weak people. People to protect. People she wanted to kill. People she must not kill. People who used poison. People who made weapons. Rumors ran ahead, blood remained behind. All of it was still difficult. Yet Seoryeong did not dislike difficult things very much. If it was difficult, there was something to learn. If she learned, she became stronger. If she became stronger, she could go farther.
Before dawn, wind blew from beyond the distant mountains. Another scent mixed within that wind. A very faint fragrance. And the cold scent of iron. Seoryeong opened her eyes. Still far. Yet coming. Someone else. She quietly gripped the ebony pole. And gave a small laugh. The murim truly gave no rest. That was why she liked it.