The Visit of the White Dragon Unit (1)
Amid the exchange of various instructions, a group of mounted riders appeared along the ridge across the way.
A familiar presence brushed past first.
The mountain path that led down to the wide clearing beneath Pyo-seon Rock curved broadly around the mountainside before descending a steep slope.
Any ordinary rider would pull the reins and slow down at that stretch.
But they were different.
The lead rider held the reins long and loose, angling the horse's head diagonally.
The horse did not press straight down the slope but flowed along the incline like water.
With every turn, its hooves flicked up light sprays of dirt, and scattered dust shattered in the sunlight.
The stirrups were set low, and the rider's waist pressed firmly at the center without wavering.
Horse and rider moved together. They leaned as one mass and pressed as one rhythm.
Even on the sharp incline, they did not reduce speed.
The spacing between the riders behind was measured as if by ruler.
They streamed down diagonally in formation and, the moment they reached the foot of the slope, shifted naturally into the stride of flat ground.
Only when they reached the edge of the clearing did the reins shorten.
The horses slid forward a few more steps before lightly lifting their forelegs.
The horses tilted dangerously.
As the slope deepened, their shoulders dipped and their hind legs slid, yet the riders did not fall.
They leaned with the horses' tilt.
Their feet gripped the stirrups firmly; their waists stayed close to the horses' backs.
If the horse twisted, they twisted.
If the horse regained balance, they rose together.
Horse and rider did not separate.
They flowed down the slope as one body.
Few can bind horse and human into a single form while riding an incline like that.
Their wrists pressed low; the bits were not pulled harshly.
They let the weight of the horses flow without disrupting it.
They did not kill the speed—they shifted only the center.
That horsemanship belonged to the White Dragon Unit, who had once carved through the mountain ranges of Haran.
A dozen or so riders descended in a single line along the slope.
They were not in full battle gear.
Shoulder guards and bracers were secured firmly, and a single sword hung at each waist.
There were no long polearms on their backs, no cavalry shields.
Their usual heavy weapons had been left behind.
One could not move about the Imperial Capital fully armed.
They wore light gear that did not overstep the capital's regulations.
Though stripped down, they did not look lax.
They carried only what was necessary, yet discipline radiated from them.
Training revealed itself.
At the edge of the clearing, the reins shortened.
The horses reduced their stride without the slightest tremor.
The moment he saw it, Soun's chest burned.
An exclamation burst inside him.
The White Dragon Unit.
Joy. Recognition.
Before anyone else had even assessed the situation, Soun moved first.
He stepped off the railing of Pyo-seon Rock and launched himself.
He landed lightly on the stone ground and immediately ran toward the clearing.
His footsteps scattered—dadadada.
His stride was short, his speed arrow-swift.
The tips of his feet sprang as if barely touching earth.
His robe flared behind him.
The scabbard at his waist swayed lightly.
He was unmistakably a child again.
The one who had spoken of perception and resolve was gone.
He was so fast his feet blurred.
His body sprang forward first, slipping between rocks with light agility.
He was as light as a squirrel darting downhill.
Seeing Soun rushing toward them, a faint smile touched Lee Hui's lips.
His gaze softened first.
Among the riders descending behind, familiar faces appeared.
Ga Gyeongpil held his reins steady.
Yu Gunmyeong drew up his horse's head.
Yang Jowhi lowered his shoulders and flowed down the slope.
Sosam followed close behind.
They were the faces who had cared for Soun from the beginning.
Even in the moment of stopping their horses, the formation did not break.
No shouted commands were necessary; the spacing remained exact.
There was no display, no swagger.
They read one another through movement alone.
What does one call such men?
Core strength.
That word comes closest.