A Message on the Wind
Eleven wins, six losses.
The duel between Gwan Hyeok and Yeon-woo continued without a moment’s pause. Seventeen bouts had played out in total, and eleven of them belonged to Gwan Hyeok.
It was only natural. After suffering an effortless defeat in their very first match, Gwan Hyeok had refused to let his guard down again. He acknowledged Yeon-woo’s shocking growth and poured his full heart into every exchange. The result was eleven to six.
“Haa… haah… ha…”
Gasping for breath, Gwan Hyeok watched Yeon-woo scramble back up from where she had tumbled into the dirt.
Honestly…
It was astonishing. So utterly bewildering that it bordered on terrifying. He had trained in martial arts for more than five full years, yet a girl who had held an axe for barely three months was matching him blow for blow.
Gwan Hyeok glanced down at his trembling hand, still gripping the wooden sword. Not a single victory had come cheap. In terms of sheer numbers, he held the advantage, but the real problem was that not one of those eleven wins had been easy.
Is this… what they call talent?
Could she truly be one of those legendary martial prodigies people whispered about? A girl who had been nothing more than a ragged beggar just a short while ago? It defied reason, yet he had no choice but to believe his own eyes. To dismiss it as impossible after a mere three months was out of the question, for Gwan Hyeok himself knew better than anyone what Yeon-woo’s skill had been three months prior.
“Again.”
Yeon-woo had already gotten back on her feet. Wiping the dirt from her nose with the back of her sleeve, she leveled her wooden axe straight at him.
The scariest part of all is that insane stamina.
What kind of runt never ran out of breath? Unlike him, whose chest heaved as his lungs screamed for air, she had not even broken into a raspy pant. A single deep breath was all it took for her to regain her poise. Every time he witnessed that nonsensical recovery, Gwan Hyeok felt his fighting spirit take a heavy hit.
Even so…
The corners of Gwan Hyeok’s mouth tugged upward into a grin. His grip tightened around the hilt of his wooden sword.
“Bring it on. As many times as you want.”
It was fun. So ridiculously fun that it drove him crazy.
When had he ever sparred against someone his own age who possessed equal skill? In fact, this might very well be the first time in his entire life. Back at the estate, he had only ever sparred with Captain Baek Gang, who obviously pulled every punch. Standing on the precipice and fighting desperately against a true rival…
This is genuine fun.
He wanted to win so badly that his vision went red, and when he finally seized that victory, a jolt of pure exhilaration set every nerve in his body tingling.
Keep going. I want to keep doing this forever.
“You sure you can handle it? You look like you’re on your last legs.”
“I’m fine. I’m gonna win easily this time.”
“Oh, really?”
Even though his lungs burned and his bruised muscles screamed in agony, the taunts slipped effortlessly from Gwan Hyeok’s lips.
And his opponent was no different.
“Son, don’t you cry when you lose, okay?”
A hair’s breadth.
The outcome of every single clash hung on the slimmest possible margin. Just when one thought victory was in hand, a motion proved a fraction too sluggish, or someone fell for a clever feint, or a step slipped in the dust. The excuses were endless, but having victory dangle tantalizingly just out of reach drove Yeon-woo wild with impatience.
And then came the hard-fought wins.
The intoxicating sweetness of those occasional triumphs never quenched her thirst; it only stoked the fire hotter, driving her back onto her feet time and time again.
A cool mountain breeze swept between the two children, rustling the dirt between wooden sword and hatchet.
Woon-hyeon, who had long since faded from referee into background scenery, watched with a gentle, blooming smile.
Ho ho.
Full of youthful fire, through and through.
To have a companion with whom to cross blades, and the unbridled spirit to run wild without fear—how could their blood not boil? A wonderful age. A truly glorious time of life.
Chuckling softly to himself, Woon-hyeon cast his gaze toward the pristine azure expanse above.
“…!”
In an instant, the kindly curve of his eyes hardened into sharp, icy slits. Reflected in his pupils was a solitary bird, wheeling high among the clouds.
A light step brushed the ground.
“Baek Gang, was it?”
“…!”
Baek Gang, who had been watching the children with his arms folded across his chest, whipped his head around in shock. The old man, who had been standing on the far side of the courtyard only a breath ago, was already resting a hand on his shoulder.
Baek Gang’s pupils trembled faintly.
I didn’t even sense him move.
When had he crossed the distance? If this man had harbored murderous intent, Baek Gang’s severed head would have already rolled into the dirt without him ever realizing he had died.
Swallowing his tension, Baek Gang forced his voice steady. “What… is the matter?”
“There is a place I must visit for a brief moment. Could you watch over the children while I am gone?”
Meeting the frigid, composed gaze peering from behind the black half-mask, Baek Gang’s brow furrowed. He offered a curt, silent nod. The very instant his chin dipped, the old man’s figure vanished into thin air.
“…!”
Baek Gang spun around toward the front gate.
A sudden gust of wind howled from behind, whipping his hair and the hem of his robe into a frenzy. The old man’s presence was already entirely gone. The children, wholly absorbed in their fierce duel, had not even noticed his departure—a movement so ethereal it bordered on the supernatural.
Dry leaves rustled and snapped beneath frantic footfalls.
Woon-hyeon bounded through the dense thickets at blinding speed, his eyes locked firmly onto the sky. The bird wheeled above, keeping an unbroken distance as though tracking his movements along the ridge.
Woon-hyeon knew that bird well.
Cheongmae.
The azure falcon that his son, Namgoong Ho-yeon, had raised by hand since childhood. Woon-hyeon had watched the creature grow from a downy chick. It obeyed none save Ho-yeon, yet it recognized every face in the Namgoong Clan. Blessed with extraordinary intellect and memory, it served as both an infallible messenger and an unerring hunting hound of the sky.
If Cheongmae is here…
It meant his son had arrived nearby.
However, the falcon was capable of traversing entire provinces on its master’s orders alone. With no way of knowing how close Ho-yeon truly was or where he might be concealed, Woon-hyeon could not blindly pursue the bird across the wilderness.
There was only one thing to do.
Having crossed an entire mountain ridge far from Yeon-woo’s hut, Woon-hyeon pursed his lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle.
At the familiar call, the falcon circling the canopy folded its wings and dove toward the earth at breathtaking speed. Woon-hyeon extended his forearm, and the bird came to rest upon his sleeve with practiced ease.
“Cheongmae…”
To think he longed for the Namgoong Clan and his son so desperately that even the sight of a pet bird brought an ache to his throat. After fleeing his homeland and teetering between life and death in this hostile territory, brushing against a living remnant of his home dyed the rims of Woon-hyeon’s eyes a burning red.
For a long time, Woon-hyeon stroked the falcon’s plumage, suppressing the scalding surge of emotion in his chest.
Minutes drifted by in solemn silence. As the initial tempest of sentiment subsided, cold, unyielding reason cast a chilling question into his mind.
Can I truly trust Ho-yeon?
What did his son truly think of him? When they had conversed, when they had shared meals, what expressions had the boy worn? What words had he chosen?
Before he realized it, Woon-hyeon was dredging through every memory he shared with his child, combing through every detail for suspicious glances, strange hesitations, or uneasy gestures.
His thoughts ground to a halt, and Woon-hyeon squeezed his eyes shut.
…How pathetic.
How utterly wretched had he become, doubting his own flesh and blood and tearing through sacred memories like a suspicious thief? Namgoong Ho-yeon was his son. If asked to name the single person in this world he could trust unconditionally, it was that boy. Even if his son had taken part in the betrayal, if it was truly the boy’s will, Woon-hyeon would have willingly laid down his life without complaint. As a father, he could do at least that much.
“Carry word to Ho-yeon.”
Woon-hyeon tied a small strip of paper bearing a secret cipher—proof of his survival—around the falcon’s talon. When he raised his arm, Cheongmae beat its broad wings and surged into the sky as if awaiting the command. After circling twice above his head, the bird wheeled southward and vanished beyond the horizon.
Suddenly, the flippant words of the Dark Shadow Demon Lord echoed in Woon-hyeon’s mind.
“A lackey… he called him.”
To think that the ‘lackey’ shadowing the Demon Lord was his own son.
He is searching for me.
He had journeyed all the way to this godforsaken borderland, desperate to find his useless father. A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched Woon-hyeon’s lips as he watched the empty sky where the falcon had disappeared. Long after the speck had faded, he stood rooted in place, turning his steps back only after the wind turned cold.
“One month from now!”
“Deal!”
“We fight again in a month!”
“Deal!”
“You hear me?!”
“Deal!”
Caked in grime, battered, and bruised from head to toe, Gwan Hyeok and Yeon-woo shouted at each other to seal their promise.
Final tally: thirty-two wins for Gwan Hyeok, seventeen for Yeon-woo. Both had given every ounce of their strength, pouring their souls into each exchange. Had Gwan Hyeok’s guard, Baek Gang, not stepped in to insist they return before nightfall, their blazing competitive fire would have burned straight through until dawn.
“Train hard until then!”
“Yeah!”
With smiles brighter than ever, the two rivals parted ways. Having spent far too much time crossing blades, Gwan Hyeok’s entourage was forced to depart in a hurry without staying for dinner.
“That was so much fun!”
Yeon-woo skipped back into the courtyard, giggling to herself after seeing them off at the gate. Even now that the sparring was over, chewing over every clash brought a bubble of glee to her chest.
Next time, I’m gonna win way more.
She would flatten that brat’s nose once and for all. Skipping across the yard with such thoughts dancing in her head, she spotted Woon-hyeon emerging from the rear garden carrying dinner provisions.
Yeon-woo’s face brightened instantly.
“Grandpa! When Yeon-woo was fighting today—”
“Ah, Yeon-woo. It seems we’ve run out of firewood.”
“Huh? We did?”
“Dinner will be late at this rate. Would you mind preparing some for me today?”
“Huh?”
For a fleeting second, a shadow of hesitation flickered across Yeon-woo’s face. But she quickly snapped out of it, nodding her head with exaggerated vigor.
“Yeah! Of course! Leave it to Yeon-woo!”
She turned and sprinted toward the backyard. Her small feet pattered across the dirt just as they always did, but the bright smile had vanished from the little girl’s face.