106.Only deeply fatigued.
Only after seeing Lee Hee off did Soun finally find himself alone.
It had been only a few months—yet those months had stretched longer than years.
There had been moments when death brushed close.
He had cut down men in battle.
Thoughts followed one another in endless succession, then gradually thinned.
Soun slowly rested his head upon the low table.
He had been told he would be scolded if he slept during the day, yet fatigue—heavy as the unspoken weight of life itself—settled upon his eyelids.
Without knowing when it happened, he slipped into sleep.
When Mirang entered again, she found him sprawled awkwardly in the chair, legs spread carelessly, his head half-collapsed against the table as though he might fall.
His breath came deep and uneven, his body rising and falling.
Her eyes sharpened for a moment, then softened.
She caught his shoulders, slid an arm beneath his head, and carefully lifted him.
Wrapping an arm around his waist, she raised him halfway.
At fifteen, he was small for his age—light enough that even her slender frame could lift him without great effort.
She laid him gently upon the bedding, removed his shoes, loosened his belt, and turned him to slip off his outer robe.
Even then, he did not wake.
No matter how she shifted him, he did not stir from the depths of sleep.
"Ts-ts… he must have been exhausted."
With a small sigh, Mirang covered him with a blanket.
The weather was still cool.
She checked the brazier and added a few more pieces of firewood.
Warmth gradually filled the room.
Then she began to organize his belongings.
Jinga Household had produced generals for generations; weapons were not unfamiliar to her.
She removed the longsword and hung it upon the wall rack.
It was not particularly long, yet surprisingly heavy.
When she loosened the scabbard, the faint scent of dried blood drifted out.
She grimaced and barely suppressed a wave of nausea.
"Ugh… a blade. And they called him a scholar."
A belt fitted with pouches—flint, dried meat, powdered grain—she placed neatly upon the side table.
They were the tools of a soldier who camped under open skies.
Dust clung to them.
"Well, he carries everything."
Two shorter blades followed: one a secondary weapon, the other a simple utility knife.
She arranged them according to their use.
The bow she hung beside the sword; three quivers she set below.
Arrows shifted with a faint rattling sound.
She glanced toward him, worried the noise might wake him—but he lay motionless, as if carved from stillness itself.
"Three quivers… He must shoot well. Heehee."
She placed a pouch of special arrowheads beneath the bow.
His belongings seemed endless—tools for war, and tools for surviving wilderness.
She wiped each piece before arranging it upon the display table.
Though talkative by nature, she moved with quiet hands when she worked.
Unrolling a bundle revealed spare clothing.
A dry, worn scent rose from the fabric.
"This needs washing."
At that moment, Lady Yi Sogun entered quietly.
Mirang opened the door at the faint sound outside and bowed, lowering her voice.
"He is asleep. I kept talking to him, and he blinked a few times before drifting off. Heehee."
Yi Sogun's gaze moved to the bedding.
"Does he appear injured or unwell?"
"No, my lady. Only deeply fatigued."
Her eyes shifted to the sword upon the wall and the items laid upon the table.
The life of a warrior was spread plainly before her.
She clicked her tongue softly.
"A prodigy who became a licentiate in childhood… and now a man of the sword."
There was more sorrow than reproach in her tone.
She removed the arm-guards from Soun's wrist and handed them to Mirang.
"Do not wake him on purpose. When he rises, heat water for a bath and change his clothes. This is for tying his hair—do it for him. Tell him to keep it properly bound from now on."
"Yes, my lady."
Yi Sogun sat quietly beside the bedding.
With a gaze as gentle as spring sunlight, she looked upon the sleeping boy for a long time.
The scar upon his brow, the calluses upon his hands, and the youthfulness still lingering in his face all lay together before her.
Traces of the battlefield remained, yet in sleep he was only fifteen.
Her hand reached out to smooth the edge of the blanket.
She pulled it up slightly higher.
The warmth of the brazier filled the room with a soft glow.
A faint breeze brushed in from the pond.
Without a word, Yi Sogun rose.
She left the room with the careful steps of someone unwilling to disturb a sleeping child.
Through the lattice window, the light of early spring settled quietly into the room.