Chapter 37 – The Subtle Intention (妙意)
A subtle, wondrous insight rose within him like the opening of the world,
yet his body could not yet follow it.
As he stirred the sword, the qi formed through the small circulation spread freely through every corner of his body.
It tingled beneath his skin, as though something was about to be achieved.
He did it again.
More slowly.
It resembled a soft dance.
His body was not yet fully loosened,
so the movements did not come out complete.
Yet he felt that once the body recovered, everything would fall into place.
He continued,
as though holding back despite being able to do more.
He thought it was nothing more than striking faster, and with greater clarity.
As the Geomgyeolga(劍訣歌) settled onto the movements and the breath continued,
it felt as though he had touched a kind of completeness in itself.
Everything we do is the Way (道).
His master's words surfaced suddenly.
It must accord with principle,
it must be natural,
it must become the whole of one's being.
He looked toward the far end of the sky where the tip of the sword extended.
At the end of that slow gaze, time gathered like tears.
It had been a time endured with nothing but a desperate will to survive.
He had survived by fortune.
He felt himself changed, clearly.
And now he knew what must be done.
Those who deserved breaking should be broken.
—or perhaps such power ought to be used for a greater cause.
All study returns to one.
What had his master meant by that?
As his thoughts multiplied, the form of the sword wavered.
Youngwoo stopped his practice and stood still, sinking into his breath.
Thinking, acting, breathing—
they were one.
They were not separate.
They must not be.
Youngwoo shifted his steps and headed toward Yoon Ji-woong's unit.
Each detachment had its quarters arranged according to its assigned area.
It was the General's belief that proximity to one's sector meant greater efficiency.
What did it matter where one was stationed or what one was tasked with?
Such thoughts, which had never occurred to him before, rose without reason.
The world felt small.
He could see, at a glance, the imbalances that composed it.
It was because his ability had risen.
Youngwoo went to the barracks at the West Gate and told the sentry to call Yoon Ji-woong.
Though it was late, the man came out in a half-prepared state.
He was not alone.
Five fully armed soldiers followed him.
Did he think five would be enough?
Youngwoo smiled faintly to himself.
Now, even if ten times that number rushed him,
he felt he could handle them alone.
Were these men, who could do nothing alone,
plotting foolish schemes from behind others?
Yoon Ji-woong spoke first.
"What is it, coming at this hour?"
"I have something to say."
"You? To me?"
His tone was rough,
but something was clear in his eyes—
the conviction that he and Youngwoo belonged to entirely different ranks.
The look of a man who believed becoming someone's dog,
and receiving that protection,
was an achievement.
A dog is only a dog.
Should one beat its master instead?
Youngwoo spoke.
"I came to tell you to stop."
"Stop what? Until you crawl back to your hometown, nothing changes."
"I'll say this clearly. You will be the one crawling.
If you don't want to return crippled, stop here."
"Bullshit."
Youngwoo spoke quietly.
"Stop."
Then added,
"How far do you think this will take you?"
His words continued.
"You climb by trampling others because there are only so many positions.
It is not because your comrades are your enemies.
But you treat them as though they were."
The moment he finished speaking,
Youngwoo himself was surprised.
He had not expected to say such words.
Only then did he realize
his awareness had widened.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I've said something you won't understand."
Youngwoo exhaled.
"Anyway, stop.
If I catch you again, I'll kill you."
"Did you come here to threaten me?"
Youngwoo drew in a deep breath,
then let it out like a sigh.
"…Ha."
Why had he come?
Had he wanted to test his strength now that he had gained it?
Perhaps he had come to display it, unable to contain himself.
"Just stop. I'm leaving.
Next time, you die.
I won't spare you."
"A madman comes in the middle of the night and that's all he says?"
Words would not reach him.
To that man,
Youngwoo was still nothing more than the archer from the South Gate.
For a moment,
the urge to cut him down rose.
Youngwoo forced it down.
That was what power did—
it stirred the desire to use it,
to sweep everything away.
In the midst of harsh words, he took a breath.
From a step removed,
he saw the situation.
He saw his own clumsy threat.
A true master would not act like this.
Endure.
Youngwoo raised his fist to his left chest and struck it with a sharp sound, offering a salute.
His gaze sank deeply into Yoon Ji-woong's eyes.
Yoon Ji-woong flinched,
as though his thoughts had been exposed.
Youngwoo spoke silently.
The desire to display his strength surged again.
Sending one insolent man to the afterlife would not be difficult.
At that moment, his master's words surfaced.
"That too is Māra."
Everything that obstructs one's cultivation is Māra.
He had once thought
there was nothing that was not Māra.
On his way back, he stopped at the South Gate.
A sentry from the Sixth Unit was dozing.
They said the heaviest thing in the world was the eyelids.
And the hardest thing to endure was sleep—
the torment of those who train.
His master's words kept returning to him in ordinary moments.
This, too, was a kind of illness.
Youngwoo woke the sentry
and asked about the condition of the formation.
They would return tomorrow.
He needed to know.