How Much Longer - 4
"Do you know what must be done to make Hongseong Gate strong?"
A familiar voice — one she had longed for — rang out. The Sword Saint slowly lifted her head and looked upon the figure standing before her.
A middle-aged woman, far taller than herself, was sweeping a greatsword through the air, wreathed in the scent of tobacco. She swung the enormous blade faster than the eye could follow, and yet not even the whisper of its passing could be heard. It was proof of control brought to perfection.
And so her voice reached Na Yerin's ears, clear and distinct — the voice of her master, who had been like a mother to her.
"You will make Hongseong Gate stronger than it is today. I know you will — and you will do it while holding true to the spirit of Hongseong."
It was what she always said. To raise Hongseong Gate into the foremost sect of the murim — and not for honor alone; she had wished for their influence within the murim to grow great as well.
Of course, they were still young then, and there was nothing they could do just yet. Her eldest senior sister no less than herself — the only thing either of them knew was how to swing a sword.
Even so, their master would always look upon the two of them with shining eyes, and paint the future.
With a single turn, the greatsword that had moved so freely drove down into the ground. Without even pausing to tidy her disheveled hair, she looked down at her — and the Sword Saint, who had been watching, squeezed her eyes shut.
Ah.
A dear memory. A happy one.
"If the two of you join hands, Hongseong Gate will surely grow strong."
Back then, to that request — her master's request — she had answered:
"...Of course I will, Master!"
...as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And she had believed, without question, that it would come to pass. With her eldest senior sister at her side, surely — surely they could manage it. So she had thought.
It was not the nightmare that always came to her, but a different dream. Rising slowly, the Sword Saint looked blankly about her, not even brushing back the hair that had tumbled loose.
A shabby little room, crowded with old things — a room that sat oddly with her station as Sect Leader of Hongseong Gate, and yet the only thing Na Yerin felt was how familiar it all was. The one thing out of place in that familiar scene was a small box. She fetched over the bamboo-leaf box, only a touch larger than her palm, and unwrapped it — and at the sight of the fist-sized sweets within, a memory stirred.
What were these called again...?
Her sleep-drunk mind gradually found its way back to itself. Right. She had certainly received them yesterday.
Only yesterday, she had accepted an invitation from Yuwol, innkeeper of the Seomhwa Inn — a token of thanks, he had said, for the help she had given in judging the recent tournament. And for something like that, refusal was impossible; the gratitude was offered not to the Sect Leader of Hongseong Gate, but to her — to the Sword Saint herself. So she had accepted, and had meant to choose two of her hardworking disciples to bring along, only for every last one of them to recommend Hong Ryeon and Sa Yun.
The reason... well. No doubt it was so that Hong Ryeon, the eldest of them, might come home having tasted something delicious for once — and because they wished to see the youngest, Sa Yun, eat her fill one more time. Kind, adorable little things, all of them. The Sword Saint chuckled.
But the moment her thoughts reached that point, her expression began, little by little, to harden. The conversation she had shared with Yuwol that night was coming back to her.
He wants to see Seomhwachon flourish.
He had raised a sword hall, brought in talisman masters, and hired someone versed in the art of medicinal cooking. And if Hong Ryeon was to be believed, he now meant to trade with the Cheonghoe Merchant Guild to channel good iron into the sword hall — and the weapons and armor forged there would be supplied to Hongseong Gate at a modest price. And perhaps — perhaps that would not be the end of it.
The Yuwol the Sword Saint knew was a capable man. More than that, he understood when to give and when a thing simply had to be spent on — and his ties to the government offices ran smooth and unimpeded. If a man like that set his mind to it, it might be no difficult thing at all for Seomhwachon to grow to many times its present size.
The Sword Saint sighed. Someone had come to mind — someone who had once spoken of doing the very things he was doing now.
It had always been so. Whenever she returned from seeing their master and talked things over with her eldest senior sister, the two of them would carry on earnestly about plans to strengthen Hongseong Gate and help it grow. Honestly, she had never understood half of what was said.
And yet it had been good. The way her eldest senior sister's eyes lit up. The way their master watched them, soft with contentment. The way they gazed toward Hongseong Gate's future. The way they spoke to her — who knew nothing in this world but the swinging of a sword — of a dream vast beyond her imagining.
And.
The way they reached out a hand, and asked her to share in that dream.
"Hah..."
What spilled out of her, deep and heavy, was a sigh. No — was it a sigh? Perhaps it was the lingering regret, the longing, that still remained somewhere inside her.
Having sighed as though to sink the very ground beneath her, she reached out a hand. Inside the bamboo box she had brought home yesterday lay sweets, sweet past all reason — a confection of bean flour, nuts, sugar, and grain syrup. She gazed at it blankly for a long moment, then took a small bite.
With a crisp crackle, sweetness and nuttiness bloomed across her tongue. Eyes closed, she chewed slowly, and the past rose up to meet her.
The sect had been bustling since early that morning. She had wandered over, puzzled, and tilted her head at the delighted faces of her disciples — every last one of them looking pleased as could be.
"Is something the matter?"
"Oh! Master! You're up already?!"
By now it should have been time for morning training, and yet here they were, not even in formation — what were they up to? As the Sword Saint looked on, Ryu Hyeon broke into a bright smile.
"Look at this!!"
It was a box. Inside lay twenty swords. The Sword Saint took a hilt gently in hand and drew it out, slow and careful.
A fine sword. The iron itself was nothing remarkable, but it had plainly been forged by a smith who knew his trade. Rustic as it looked, it had been made with pure practicality in mind, and could not have cost much — and that was what puzzled her. Good swords, certainly. But did they have the means to buy twenty at a stroke? Things had loosened up of late, true, but still...
Under the Sword Saint's gaze, Ryu Hyeon smiled slyly.
"A sword hall opened in Seomhwachon, you see? And they were saying there — bring us your worn-out blades, and we'll forge you new ones."
"There must have been some fee involved, though?"
Melting down old swords to make new ones was by no means impossible — but neither was the cost negligible. When the Sword Saint asked, keeping within the limits of what she knew, Ryu Hyeon nodded.
"The Magistrate covered it for us. In return, he asked that we stretch our patrol hours a little longer. A few days ago we ran into bandits on our rounds, and seeing how neatly we dealt with them, he made the request."
Hongseong Gate currently handled Seomhwachon's patrol duties — charged with dealing with the monsters that government troops could never hope to stop, and with bandits, ruffians, and murim wanderers besides. And the one who had first proposed the arrangement, of course, had been Yuwol the innkeeper. Every single one of his actions was strengthening Hongseong Gate, piece by piece.
"I see. If it came by way of the government, then there's no helping it. And — forgive me. Your master is a sorry excuse for one... but before long, I'll have you all equipped with better gear."
"Ahahaha! We'll be counting on it!"
At her disciples' spirited cry, the Sword Saint gave a small shudder — and then smiled, forcing it. Every year, as her birthday drew near, a creeping dread would steal over her and eat into her bones. And yet — why was it? That day was barely a breath away now, and still, strangely, her heart felt calm today.
"Master."
She was sitting on a boulder, gazing blankly at the sky, when Hong Ryeon, Ryu Hyeon, and Sa Yun came up to her. Judging by the large baskets in their hands, they meant to do some sewing.
"Hehe. Making pouches for the sachets, are you?"
This, too, had to do with Yuwol — gathering the Thousand-Day Plum Blossoms of Mount Hongseong to be made into sachets and sold. The Sword Saint had heard that, against all expectation, this brought real help to Hongseong Gate's finances, and she approached, smiling.
"Um... yes."
Ryu Hyeon glanced at the basket and nodded. And so the Sword Saint smiled warmly.
"Might I lend you a hand, then?"
"Mm, that's quite all right, but there's really no need for you to—"
"Nonsense. Ah — unless I would only be in the way..."
"Not at all. Innkeeper Yu said that anything you made would sell at a fine price."
"Oh my? Is that so?"
Hong Ryeon's words pleased her, somehow. It had always been this way — martial arts were one thing, but at needlework she was hopeless, and in the old days she had been scolded for it plenty. Could her skill actually have improved? The Sword Saint caught herself grinning, and Ryu Hyeon, sneaking a sidelong glance at her, turned to Hong Ryeon.
"Really?"
"Mm. Really."
"...He does have peculiar taste, doesn't he."
"Why, you—?!"
With a sharp bonk, the Sword Saint rapped Ryu Hyeon on the head, plucked the basket from Sa Yun's hands as though it were hers by right, and walked off with light, springing steps.
"This master of yours is growing too, you see. So you must all keep growing as well. Understood?"
Her voice brimmed with pride, and the three of them bit back their laughter. Even so, this much brightness was a mercy, compared to the days when she would darken without end as her birthday drew near.
"You must have been happy, being invited to the inn."
"Shall we simply drag you there next time, then?"
"Ahaha... I doubt it would be quite that easy."
And so the three disciples watched the Sword Saint make her way toward her room.
She had risen from her seat only when the last stitch was set in a pattern that might have been a bear — or might have been a dog; no one could say for certain. Smiling for the three disciples who were studying that embroidery with the gravest of expressions, she stepped outside and turned her eyes down the mountain. Perhaps because, without her noticing, the sun was already setting —
Below Mount Hongseong, steeping into black, Seomhwachon was settling its scattered points of starlight into place, one by one.
On any ordinary day, it was a village she would have brushed past without a second glance. And yet she stood rooted there, unable to bring a single word to her lips.
The lights that held back the dark —
there were more of them than before.
In that moment, the Sword Saint's eyes turned toward the past. The one standing in this place was not the Sword Saint, but Na Yerin, a disciple of Hongseong Gate — and beside her stood the woman she had always trusted and followed.
"I'll become Hongseong Gate's Sect Leader, just as Master says, and raise Seomhwachon up. Then the light those people create will become a starlight all its own. Ours to protect — and to nurture ever further. That is how Hongseong Gate will grow stronger, just as Master said. And Yerin — become the sword for it. The sword I wield, the sword that keeps everyone safe."
She had smiled, radiant and sure, as she met the wind that whipped around her.
Yes — perhaps she had admired that figure. Perhaps that was why she had followed her: because she was the kind of woman who would declare, proud and unflinching, that she would accomplish what others could not.
But in the end, she had not been able to keep the words she had spoken. And the Sword Saint — who should have stood in her place — had not been equal to the task.
Without realizing it, she bit down hard on her lip.
And so — all those things that had never come to pass.
They were coming to pass, here in Seomhwachon.
Having watched it, she rose from her place without a word.
Once more.
She thought she ought to go and see him.
"Master? What are you doing over there?"
At the voice behind her, the Sword Saint turned her head. Standing there was a girl with ash-grey hair — the last disciple she had ever taken in. Sa Yun.
"I was just looking at the village."
"Seomhwachon... hehe. It's a lovely place. Truly."
To that radiant smile, the Sword Saint returned a gentle one of her own. And then, stroking the girl's hair—
"Tomorrow's patrol... who will be going?"
"Mm, my senior sister Yu Hui and I are going. Why do you ask?"
"If it's no trouble, might I come along?"
"Of course!"
Sa Yun had no reason in the world to refuse the Sword Saint's offer.