The Axe and the Sword
From that day forth, Yeon-woo’s meditation changed.
Where she had once simply closed her eyes to feel the currents of the breeze, the sounds around her, and the scents drifting through the air, she now strove to perceive the faint energy dormant within them.
Woon-hyeon guided her through her qi circulations day in and day out, doing everything in his power to help her grasp and cultivate internal energy faster and more naturally. He pressed upon her acupoints, recited the mnemonics of the breathing technique, and carefully traced out her subtle meridians.
Normally, even for the most gifted prodigy, forming a dantian took at least five years after beginning the martial path. But Yeon-woo did not have five years to spare. What Woon-hyeon aimed for was for her to form a dantian and build enough inner qi and control to complete a Small Heavenly Circuit before she entered the Demon Dragon Hall five years from now.
There was still an immense distance left to travel, but he was throwing every resource and effort at his disposal into making it a reality.
Thud. Thud.
One afternoon, just as they stepped out of the cottage to resume training after lunch, a familiar presence brushed against their senses.
“We have guests.”
Noticing it first, Woon-hyeon slipped back inside the room to fetch his half-mask to receive the visitors. Yeon-woo, meanwhile, fixed her gaze on the far end of the forest trail. Two silhouettes were approaching through the trees.
Squinting, she peered at them for a brief second.
The moment she recognized who they were, her face lit up like the morning sun.
Yeon-woo dashed toward the gate at full tilt, waving both arms wildly above her head.
“Ssssssoooooon—!!”
“—soooooon—! —sooooon—! —soooon—”
Her voice echoed through the mountain forest like a rolling wave.
The two distant figures jerked to a sudden halt, seemingly caught off guard by the bellow. A split second later, a furious roar came bounding back.
“Stop calling me that!!!”
“—that—! —that—! —that—”
It was Gwan Hyeok and his personal guard, Baek Gang.
“I hear you’ve been training hard lately?”
Having arrived after quite a while, Gwan Hyeok looked surprisingly bright. It had already been three moons since the loss of his page, Seok-i. It was enough time for a boy his age to pick himself up and begin healing from grief.
“How does my son know about that?”
“Word got around. From my father.”
Woon-hyeon had sent word of Yeon-woo’s training through the Guan Clan’s errand runner. He had explained that, ever since the attendant boy died, Yeon-woo had resolved to learn martial arts of her own accord, and that keeping her motivated would require a bountiful supply of snacks. Guan Yun had gladly sent an abundance of treats; Yeon-woo growing stronger was welcome news to him as well.
“So I came by to see for myself,” Gwan Hyeok said, crossing his arms. “To check if you were doing well. And to say hello, since it’s been a while.”
“Son, did you miss Yeon-woo?”
“Not you! Your training! I meant your training!”
True to form, Gwan Hyeok flared red with indignation in an instant. Watching his familiar, blustering reaction, Woon-hyeon felt a wave of quiet relief.
“If you are curious,” Woon-hyeon spoke up, “would you like to test her in a spar?”
“Huh? Wh-what? A sp—?”
A spar...?
Flustered, Gwan Hyeok turned toward Woon-hyeon. It was only natural for him to be startled; the last time he had recklessly forced Yeon-woo into a duel, he had received a furious scolding. Granted, the harsh reprimand had come from his father, Guan Yun, but the few quiet words Woon-hyeon had delivered that day still lingered vividly in his mind.
“N-no, sir. I shouldn't do something like that anymore—”
“It is fine.”
“It’s fine...? Wait, what?”
It's fine?
“...Do you truly mean that, sir?”
“I do,” Woon-hyeon nodded. “As you have heard, Yeon-woo has trained diligently these past months. It would not hurt to see the fruits of her labor.”
“B-but...”
He had practiced martial arts for over five years. Even if he had not yet formed a dantian, he was already capable of regulating his breath and circulating his qi.
“What about you, Yeon-woo? Would you like to spar?”
“Huh? Yes! Sounds great!”
Are they... serious?
Gwan Hyeok was thoroughly bewildered. A squirt who had stood no chance against him had only trained for three meager months. How could she possibly be an opponent for him?
There’s no way, he thought. Yet while he was still busy trying to wrap his head around the absurdity, he somehow found himself standing in the courtyard with a wooden sword in hand, facing Yeon-woo.
“...?!“
By the time Gwan Hyeok snapped out of his daze, Woon-hyeon was already standing between them, reciting the rules in an even voice.
“The first to drop their weapon or yield loses. If things become dangerous, I will intervene, so show your skills to your heart’s content.”
“W-wait a minute!”
Gwan Hyeok yelped, pointing his sword at Yeon-woo.
“Is-isn’t her weapon a little strange?!”
What Yeon-woo held in both hands was a wooden hatchet. A tiny toy axe made for young children.
“I have a wooden sword!” Gwan Hyeok protested.
His sword was more than twice the length of her tiny axe. Wouldn’t that give him an overwhelming advantage?
“What seems to be the problem?” Woon-hyeon replied calmly. “Is it not only natural for a martial artist to fight with their weapon of choice?”
“B-but still...!”
“No holding back, Son—!”
“If there are no objections, we shall begin. When my arm drops, make your move.”
Gwan Hyeok had more than enough objections to fill a scroll, but having no idea where to even start, his mouth merely opened and closed like a landed fish. Meanwhile, this ridiculous duel was about to start whether he liked it or not.
In a last-ditch effort, Gwan Hyeok shot an imploring look at Baek Gang. His guard, however, merely folded his burly arms with an amused grin, looking forward to the show.
Swish!
Woon-hyeon brought his arm down with a sharp, decisive sweep.
The spar had begun.
Gwan Hyeok had no choice but to square his stance and raise his wooden sword toward Yeon-woo. Even so, looking at her small frame and the absurdly miniature weapon clutched in her hands, he couldn't help shaking his head.
I'm going to lose my mind, seriously!
They really expected him to do this? This joke of a duel?
“Yaaaaah—!!”
Unlike the hesitant Gwan Hyeok, Yeon-woo charged straight at him the very second the match commenced. The sight of her barreling forward with wild abandon was identical to their last clash.
Gwan Hyeok let out an internal sigh.
Fine. I’ll go easy on her.
She had supposedly trained hard. Three months was just the right amount of time for a beginner to fall under the illusion that they had become strong. If he parried her a few times and wrapped it up gently—
Whoosh—!
Before his thought could even finish, Yeon-woo’s wooden axe tore through the air straight toward him.
As expected, it was an easily readable attack—a crude, downward chop aimed right at his center.
Gwan Hyeok raised his sword horizontally. Knowing full well how freakishly strong Yeon-woo was, his plan was to catch the blow cleanly and deflect its momentum away. But the instant their weapons met—
CLACK—!
“...!”
A single collision told him everything.
And before his shock could register, a relentless barrage crashed down upon him.
Crack! Thwack! Clang! CRACK—!
“What. Is. THIS...?!“
Gwan Hyeok scrambled in a frantic rush to block her axe swings. No—just keeping her weapon off him took every ounce of effort he had.
Sh-she’s fast...!
Because the axe was as compact as a dagger, the speed of her strikes was blinding. On top of that, each and every blow carried an unnerving, bone-rattling weight.
Yet what rattled Gwan Hyeok to his core above all else was something far more terrifying.
There are no openings!
Despite unleashing such ferocious, rapid strikes, Yeon-woo showed not a single flaw in her posture.
Truth be told, that flawlessness was not something Yeon-woo had consciously intended. For the past three moons, she had mirrored Woon-hyeon’s sword routines every single day without fail. Practicing the same movements over and over, thousands upon thousands of times, the correct alignment for swinging an axe had been carved directly into her flesh and bones.
At-at this rate, I’m going to lose...!
A cold sweat broke out across Gwan Hyeok’s back as he desperately parried. If the boundaries of the duel had been strictly drawn, he would have been disqualified long ago. As he was driven backward step by step, the stone courtyard wall was suddenly only a few paces behind him.
If I run out of room, it’s over! I have to do something before that!
Anything!
Gwan Hyeok tightened his grip on the hilt. Anchoring his weight onto his right foot to unleash the sword form passed down through his family, he prepared to thrust the wooden blade forward. But at that exact heartbeat—
“...”
Yeon-woo’s dark eyes flicked down, zeroing in on his right flank.
In that split second, dread washed over Gwan Hyeok like icy water.
She read...
...my move.
SMACK—!!
“Gah—!”
Yeon-woo’s axe was faster than his sword. The moment his movement expanded to initiate the technique, she seized the fraction of an opening and cracked her wooden blade down across his knuckles.
The wooden sword slipped from his numbed fingers as Gwan Hyeok clutched his hand with a sharp cry.
Clatter, tap, roll.
The dropped weapon tumbled across the dirt before coming to a standstill.
A heavy silence descended upon the courtyard.
Crunch.
Cradling his throbbing hand, Gwan Hyeok flinched as soft footsteps approached. The memory of how brutally he had beaten her during their previous spar flashed unbidden across his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut in reflexive panic.
She’s going to hit—
“Are you crying?”
Gwan Hyeok slowly opened his eyes to see the little girl peering up at him.
“...What?”
“You’re crying, aren’t you?”
Yeon-woo tilted her head with earnest curiosity.
“I-I’m not crying...!”
“Looks like crying to me. Does it hurt a lot?”
“No, I’m fi—”
“Ah, you’re crying because you lost.”
“I’M NOT CRYING!!”
Gwan Hyeok bellowed at the top of his lungs. Being pelted with such infuriatingly matter-of-fact remarks wiped away both the stinging pain in his hand and the shock of defeat in a flash.
The panic evaporated, leaving behind only the stark, undeniable reality that he had lost.
I lost.
I really lost.
Whether thanks to her teasing or in spite of it, the sting of humiliation was dulled, but as the fact sank in deeper, an indefinable surge of emotion welled up from the pit of his chest.
Did I really just lose?
Chewing on that bitter pill once more, Gwan Hyeok marched stiffly toward his fallen weapon. He bent down and picked up the wooden sword.
He stared at his hand gripping the hilt, looking at the swollen red welt across his fingers for a quiet moment.
“Again.”
Gwan Hyeok leveled the sword toward Yeon-woo.
Then, bringing his left hand up while holding the blade, he pressed his open right palm flat against the back of it—a formal clasped-fist salute of the martial path.
“Fight me again.”