The Visit of the White Dragon Unit (2)
Before the core strength of the White Dragon Unit even reached Pyo-seon Rock, Soun was already running toward them.
The moment they stepped off the slope, he had reached them first.
Lee Hui dismounted and tried to take Soun's hand.
But at the instant he extended it, Soun threw himself forward first.
He plunged straight into Lee Hui's arms.
Like a child—like one burying himself in his father's embrace—he pressed his chest against him.
"General…!"
"Scholar."
The voices were brief, their breaths uneven.
He was still of an age that longed for a parent's arms.
Ga Gyeongpil, Yu Gunmyeong, and Yang Jowhi dismounted in turn.
The reins gathered naturally into Sosam's hand.
Unaccustomed to such a scene, Lee Hui hesitated for a heartbeat.
Unsure where to place his arms, he soon wrapped them around Soun.
Carefully, yet firmly.
The shoulders were still narrow. Still small.
To such a child, they had entrusted the world.
They had asked him to change it.
All dismounted.
They stepped down and surrounded Soun at once.
The reins were gathered to one side; a circle formed naturally.
Without prompting, each man stepped forward in turn.
A hand gripped his shoulder.
A palm thumped his back.
Some embraced him briefly, then stepped away.
One clasped his hand, pressing firmly as if to confirm warmth.
Words were unnecessary; their hands conveyed their greetings, their breath shared reassurance.
Sosam approached last.
He wrapped both hands around Soun's forearm.
He gripped tightly.
He did not let go.
The warmth was unmistakable.
Comrades-in-arms.
No explanation was needed.
To stand together in the same space, without condition, was enough to feel secure and whole.
Perhaps when nothing is demanded from one another, relationships draw closer without distance.
We say we simply meet people.
But everyone meets for a reason.
To voice that reason would make one seem base, so it goes unspoken.
Yet the reason is there.
When the greetings settled, Lee Hui turned his gaze forward.
He swept his eyes over the group gathered in the clearing.
"What are you doing—bringing trash here…?"
He raised his voice deliberately.
It carried clearly across the wind to the opposite side.
He meant it to be heard.
The words were thrown so they would strike their ears directly.
He was well aware that they were the rising talents of the martial world.
He knew the names of the Nine Great Sects and the Five Great Clans.
Even so, he called them that.
Resentment long held rested on the edge of his tongue.
It was not a question born of ignorance.
It was deliberate.
Soun answered shortly.
"They are under instruction."
The words carried clearly on the wind.
They struck the ears of the focused Namsan disciples precisely.
The rising heirs of renowned martial families had just been called trash.
They heard it.
Yet there was no room to respond.
It was not an official gathering, nor a formally aimed insult.
It was spoken as if among themselves.
To challenge that single phrase would lack justification.
To demand why such words were used would only make them appear petty.
Moreover, they were in training.
They could not break posture.
Teeth clenched, breath held steady.
Their ears were open; their bodies remained unmoved.
"For what purpose?"
"They are people striving to elevate themselves into something better. That alone is enough."
Sosam muttered under his breath,
"To think such high-level instruction… is being given to them…"
He called it high-level instruction.
It might sound as if supreme secret techniques were being passed down.
But in truth, it was far from any dazzling esoteric art.
There was no grand method to transform bone and muscle overnight.
No heart-method to instantly raise one's inner power to its peak.
No radiant sword forms of great sects flashed in brilliant arcs.
There were no magnificent slogans, no secret manuals.
They lowered their bodies.
They steadied their breath.
They repeated movements.
They crawled, endured, recited.
They repeated simple motions again and again.
Sweat accumulated.
Breath grew ragged.
Thighs trembled.
Yet they did not stop.
It was a crude method.
No shortcuts were sought.
And because of that, it was clear.
This training had nothing to do with spectacle.