The Beginning of Training
It was deep into the night.
He must have slept long since the afternoon.
He was hungry, but training came first.
Whatever he did, drawing the sword came before anything else.
It had always been so.
He rose, took the sword from the wall, and stepped into the courtyard.
By the pond he lowered the sword point toward the ground and refined his breathing.
The tip trembled faintly.
Some unknown force swelled within him like the rising sea.
He waited for it to gather, then moved according to the oral formulas of the Chongram.
He traced a wide circle slowly through the air.
The energy within him overflowed.
Sharp bursts split from the sword's edge.
A deep hum vibrated in the night.
Like the tongue of a living serpent, sword force shot outward in all directions, scattering dozens of afterimages.
It was unmistakably different from before.
Once he had skimmed the earth.
Now he rose into the air.
Such movement could not be explained by the small measure of inner force he possessed.
Unaware of this, he moved beneath the moonlight, leaping as though dancing.
When strength overflowed, the forms changed.
With a single breath his toes pressed the ground and his body lifted, the sword following.
Body and blade no longer moved separately.
The body flowed after the cut, and the blade turned with it.
Thrust, deflect, divide—without interruption.
Thought became breath.
Breath became form.
It was impossible to tell which arose first.
His inner power was not abundant, yet it was clear and tightly gathered.
It did not scatter.
It did not strain.
He sprang high into the night sky.
A trace of caution remained—he did not wish to damage the courtyard.
So he directed his greater forms into the open air.
Moonlight shattered along the blade.
Light, sword, and body overlapped for a breath, then parted.
Beneath the rounded winter gate in the wall stood Lady Yi Sogun.
Her hands were folded quietly before her.
She had come several times during the day, only to turn back without waking the sleeping boy.
He had slept through a full day and night.
The sight of him had stirred pity.
But what she now witnessed was not the child she had seen before.
Yi Sogun was a woman of a martial household.
She had held a blade in her own hands.
She had watched brothers spar and had seen how Jin Mugwang's sword gathered and released its strength.
That was why she was more startled than most would have been.
The sword was not dragging the body.
The body was not chasing the sword.
They arose together.
Breath, blade, and footfall moved as a single thing.
Without thinking, she held her breath.
The circular arc in the air did not waver.
There was no forcing, no strain.
His inner power was slight.
Yet the condensation was different.
The energy within him meshed and rose as one.
Soun sensed her presence and descended.
He landed like a passing breeze, sheathed the sword, and bowed.
The brilliant scatter of starlight vanished as though washed away.
"Aunt, you have come."
The face before her was that of a boy—utterly at odds with what had just filled the sky.
"Are you that young general they speak of, Soun?"
"It is an empty title."
She stepped closer and took his wrist.
The pulse was deep, yet the quantity of inner power was small.
That such harmony could emerge from so little startled her again.
There was no trace of forced exertion.
The energy flowed cleanly, without collision.
Slowly, she released him.
"Are you well?" he asked.
"I am."
Her answer was brief, but her gaze had changed.
This child's martial path had already entered another order.
Her eyes knew it.
The moonlight was gentle.
They stepped onto the wooden veranda.
A small tray had been set there.
"This is yours."
"I am sorry. My mind grew slack and I fell asleep."
"You slept through a full day and night. That is not laziness. You were exhausted. Eat first."
She lifted the lid.
Rice and side dishes were arranged with care.
Red, yellow, and green shone softly together.
The hand that had cut the night sky now lifted a pair of chopsticks.
Yi Sogun watched that hand for a long moment.
She said nothing.
But in her eyes were surprise, concern, and something close to pride.
The moon lay still upon the surface of the pond.