Mukeoja — At the Edge of Hwagyeong
To ask is to admit not knowing.
If one must ask in order to know, it is also a confession that one has not crossed that boundary.
A flicker of pity passed across Sowoon's face.
The old man stood at the edge of Hwagyeong.
He seemed not to have crossed it—
and uncertain whether he ever had.
Yet what was this wind-like presence?
An energy that seeped without trace.
Was it the mark carved by time?
Or the shadow left by decades of cultivated skill?
The old man might consider himself at Hwagyeong.
Yet there were signs that did not settle.
This old man has struck the wall of Hwagyeong.
Sowoon pressed his lips together.
He wished to believe he had crossed it,
yet lacked certainty within himself.
There were signs—but no completion.
That was where Mukeoja stood.
"I will not deny it outright. My understanding is limited, and I do not know clearly. But others say so… that it is Hwagyeong."
Mukeoja's eyes flashed.
"Ah! So my guess was right."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I went to the Sword Pavilion. I saw the Emperor's corpse. The Chancellor's as well."
His voice lowered.
"Three penetrating wounds from arrows. Three more from willow-leaf darts."
His finger traced points in the air.
"Not one of the dozens of women near the Emperor was harmed."
His eyes gleamed.
"The intent was upright. They were killed without pain, and in the most concise way that left no chance of survival."
He paused for breath, then continued.
"The Sword Pavilion was destroyed utterly. The old master… as if to confirm death, he was cut again in the shape of a cross."
A strange smile passed his lips.
"Within the rubble of the building lay a body in four pieces. That was the old master."
His tone was cold.
"There was not a trace of mercy. A brutal death."
A sharp intake of breath rose somewhere nearby.
He had believed no one knew—
yet everyone knew.
Sowoon neither affirmed nor denied.
He judged silence best for now.
He had thought no one would know.
At most, perhaps Jimin—or General Jin—might have suspected faintly.
From an ordinary perspective,
that one man could accomplish all of that in a single night was unimaginable.
So he had trusted that no one would consider him the culprit.
If he added anything here,
it would be acknowledgment.
Silence was safest.
Those who commit deeds often think that way.
They believe only they know, and others do not.
Even when all suspect, they trust they have hidden their secret well.
Sowoon was no different.
He believed the events in the palace were unknown to the world.
There were no witnesses.
No one had spoken.
Therefore, the world did not know—so he thought.
"I was originally a drill instructor of the Imperial Guard. Not the commander—one who taught. I was better suited to organizing and studying than to raw combat. I gathered various martial arts and wove them together. With that, I trained the Guard."
Mukeoja continued calmly.
"That is why I brought those things together. They are not original sources. That is why the arts within the Compendium resemble one another. The White Dragon Unit, the Embroidered Guard, the Sword Pavilion, the martial world—your paths differ because of that. To the court's eye, it may seem jarring. To the martial world's eye, perhaps frightening. Ruthless. Severe. Relentless sword forms… heh heh."
He took a sip of tea.
"Through several uprisings I never left the palace. I endured by changing posts. Your father left with dignity. Though his home was Henan, he settled in Taewon. A very upright man. He did not know how to become soiled. The world functions more smoothly when one becomes a little soiled… but he was inconvenient. I was inconvenienced too. Like a stubborn country man."
Mukeoja gave a dry laugh.
"I do not mean to belittle your father. Age loosens the tongue."
A silence followed.
"I believed I had found the ultimate principle. I gathered scattered fragments. I discarded what was useless and bound them with form and breath. One form to one breath. The same for sword and fist alike. But there was no way to verify it. I saw no one in this world who had crossed that realm. So I wrote. That is why I organized the martial arts."
His gaze deepened.
"Several demotions… petty stories. Not things to burden the young with. In short, I wished to know. Whether I had reached the Hwagyeong I envisioned. Whether I had crossed that wall."
His words unwound like a knot being loosened.
Laughter and regret were intertwined.
And at the end of each sentence, space remained.
That space was waiting.
He looked at Sowoon.
It was the gaze of a man seeking confirmation.
He was waiting for a single sentence:
That I am indeed at Hwagyeong.