Longing for Hometown (2)
The night in the mountains was always serene. No one ever walked this far after dark. Yet tonight felt even more profoundly still than usual. At an hour when birds and beasts, even the restless wind itself, had all fallen asleep, a single man sat with his eyes wide open, perfectly alert.
His dark robe still brushed precariously against the ground, but he paid it no mind as he slowly walked toward the moonlight. He emerged from the humble dwelling and continued for a long while before stopping before a cave so small it was barely noticeable. Bending nearly double, he slipped inside.
The entrance was so narrow it would have felt tight even for a child, but the passage gradually widened until even a pig could have passed through with ease. Still, he pressed deeper, his steps those of a man who had walked this path dozens of times. Soon the darkness inside the cave began to brighten, thanks to the polished night pearls embedded at intervals along the walls.
Even after the path left the glow of the pearls behind, it remained bright. A massive hole pierced the ceiling above—so vast that holding a palm near one’s eyes still revealed the open sky. Moonlight poured through it, illuminating him clearly.
Beneath the platinum full moon, he stared blankly at the night sky and the orb suspended within it. After a moment, he reached into his robes and withdrew a necklace. A single ring hung from it. Nothing special. Just a dark, reddish ring. No engravings, no patterns, no hidden mechanisms—nothing but pure obsidian, carefully carved.
Holding it in his palm, he spoke into the empty air.
Calamity only begets more calamity…
He slowly slid the ring onto his left ring finger, then stroked it with one hand as carefully as if it might shatter.
Let’s stop now… This is enough, isn’t it…
He lowered his hands. Then he raised his right arm, palm facing backward.
"I’ve taken in a truly fine disciple for the first time. Funny thing is, I never even accepted him formally—he simply declared he would join on his own."
At those words, the ring of vibrating metal echoed from afar. Something sliced through the wind and flew straight into his grasp.
"The time we promised is almost here."
It was a sword. An old, worn blade. A rusted sword that had once pursued greater things. A sword that had drunk rivers of blood.
"This old body finds long journeys difficult, but since the child asked, it seems I’ll have to take a few steps soon."
Rust cascaded from the blade like grains of sand. The sword emitted a soft light, and the damaged edge was beautifully reforged.
"I’ll be back shortly."
The blade, bathed in brilliant moonlight, danced between heaven and earth, its ringing cry shaking the world. Strong and swift, yet sometimes languid. Ever-changing, resplendent. At times it cleaved the world with heavy power, then gently caressed all under heaven.
It drew near the pinnacle of the sword. The path it traced lasted only a fleeting moment, yet it felt like an eternal road that would stretch forever.
He continued the dance, then lightly lifted himself into the air. From sky to earth, he brought the sword down in a slow, deliberate slash.
"It’s been a long time since I last performed the sword dance. I hope you watched well."
That was the end. The sword shone once more. When the light faded, the blade returned to its ruined, rusted state as though nothing had happened.
He walked out of the cave with unhurried steps. His face showed nothing—no fatigue, no satisfaction, no regret. He looked like a man who had simply done what was natural.
Shortly after he departed, the moon split cleanly in two. Without sound. Without warning. A perfect single annihilation.
Its name was known throughout the world, yet truly it belonged to an ancient era. The sword god who had nearly ended the world. The first master of Manmajeon. Once a symbol of the entire martial realm, now completely erased from history—the blade of one forgotten man.
...
It was a little past the middle of the hour of the rat. Not so late that it could truly be called deep night, yet for a young girl still in the early stages of growth, it was well past bedtime. Nevertheless, though her body remained that of a child, her mind had matured long ago. She sat blankly on the veranda, watching leaves drift down from the trees.
She deliberately lifted her legs—which now easily reached the floor—and swung them back and forth, killing the lonely, tedious hours of night. Twirling a strand of hair turned pure white by lightning qi around one finger, she suddenly let it fall and lay back on the wooden planks.
"You really are as slow as a snail."
The story had already spread throughout the entire Namgung Clan and more than half of Hapbi. How the sword prodigy who had constantly visited the Namgung family had won the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering and claimed the title of Dragon of the Extreme Sword.
There was no way some supreme master of movement technique had suddenly appeared to spread the tale like a fictional hero. The fact that the news had traveled this far meant people had already gathered in Hapbi in droves. Yet the person at the center of it all hadn’t shown so much as the tip of his nose. It was enough to drive her mad.
"Still completely lacking in manners."
She bolted upright from where she lay, pouting as she muttered to herself. Even she wasn’t sure why the words had slipped out. Perhaps it was resentment that he hadn’t come to tell her personally and instead let her hear it through others.
"The empty seat feels so lonely."
She herself had grown bored after only two weeks of his absence, yet he had already been gone for over a month. For the first month she hadn’t complained much, since they had agreed on it long ago. But now, with no word at all and the vacancy stretching even longer, dissatisfaction was beginning to surface.
She leaned back, reached behind her, and grabbed the sword resting inside the room. It was the blade her father had given her when her hair turned white—when she had broken through to the Peak Realm.
As she poured inner energy into it, vivid white sword qi swirled from the tip and spread across the entire blade. That the qi itself took on color like sword force was a special trait of the Boundless Blue Sky Sword Art. Naturally, it was far more powerful than anyone else’s.
For a long time the gap between their realms had been too wide for her to even compete with him. But when he returned, she would sharpen this blade and give him a proper thrashing. Or… would he still hold the advantage, having already stepped into that realm first?
With that silent vow, she withdrew the sword qi and set the weapon back inside the room. She lay down again, seeking the sleep that had already fled.
"…Why won’t sleep come…"
Like a wind that had passed never returning, once sleep had left it refused to come back. While she lay there helplessly, an empty feeling suddenly stirred in her stomach. Too much time had passed since dinner. She was hungry. Very hungry.
She couldn’t wake the many cooks at this hour just for herself. As she pondered what to do, one thing she could eat right now came to mind.
She rose and rummaged through a drawer in the corner. Several pieces of yukwa she had stored there days ago were neatly wrapped in cloth. She took one out and took a small bite. The light crunch gave way to a sweet, soft texture that lingered in her mouth before sliding down her throat.
While the delicious treat eased her hunger, another person suddenly rose in her thoughts. The man who somehow knew she loved sweet things like yukwa and yakgwa. He would often buy them with his own money and bring them to share.
They used to sit together on this very veranda, eating and occasionally crossing swords. She suddenly missed those times fiercely.
Next time, she decided, she would be the one to buy them. She took a bite of the final piece.
Even though the hunger was gone, sleep still refused to visit. Her mind was too full of curiosity about the boy who had gone far away.
"I miss you…"
She pulled the blanket tight and whispered the words. Even she wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by them.