STWW 08

Chapter 8

“An apprentice?”

“Two years older than you. She’s the child of one of my master’s former students.”

His bitter expression gradually softened. Even from his gentle, smiling face, one could sense his affection.

The woman had come with the young apprentice, who had been born shortly before he turned eighteen. The master, unable to refuse the request of the student who entrusted the child to him despite the tragedy that befell the student, had taken the child under his care.

Soo’s face brightened more than ever, saying that it was as if he had raised half the child himself.

“She’s a proud apprentice. She’s the one who should inherit the sect.”

“So that’s why you’re here?”

“Many have been taught by my master, but few are direct disciples enshrined in the records. After the split of the sect, only Ho-yeon and I raised disciples personally. I may be older and less capable compared to the child, but I’m not utterly incompetent either. There will be no mistake.”

Unless the child’s nature were corrupt, she would grow rightly.

Every word Soo spoke carried deep affection for the apprentice.

“You underestimate yourself too much. Well, it’s only natural when a child like that is around—just ten years old, called a prodigy, or heir, or whatever.”

“You’re only eight,” he replied.

“But that alone is remarkable. Especially when someone claims they can only teach. That’s the greatest thing. It’s natural that a child won’t always follow your intentions. Yet many in the world fail to accept that naturally.”

Many adults demand understanding after only one explanation, scolding the child for failing hundreds of times, even though making mistakes is not wrong.

Children are not dolls; they have their own will but cannot distinguish everything and are reckless like little thunderbolts.

Even if scolded, they cry, apologize, promise never to do it again, by the next day they forget and repeat the same mistakes—such is childhood.

“How many lose patience and scold the child because they can’t endure it? Raising, caring for, and teaching a child is no easy task.”

Dan-eun rose from her seat. Time for a good child to sleep.

Soo, blinking, looked up as if wondering why. She nodded respectfully, wishing him a good night, and crossed the room.

A soft laugh echoed from behind the closed sliding doors.

“I see.”

He looked up at the ceiling. Yet his eyes squinted with joy as if gazing at an expansive sky.

Dan-eun yawned lightly and entered her room.

Sitting on her bed, she straightened herself, checked her body briefly, then sank under the covers.

Her body, exhausted from a day of intense training, fell asleep quickly.

“My sect, Myeong-o Mun, was founded by my master, Elder O Cheon-geumwang Yi Wi-kyung. Originally, he was a disciple of the Mudang Sect, but after forming a connection with a woman, he left to establish his own.”

Soo explained that the Mudang Sect forbids marriage.

There had been a child between them, but tragedy struck—the family perished, leaving only him.

This was followed by wandering, revenge, and time filled with vengeful spirits.

“The martial artists currently in Myeong-o Mun are those my master met during his travels, helped, and taught. Same for those who achieved top ranks.”

“Different?”

“The latter are civilians, untrained in martial arts. One can’t live by the sword alone.”

It is said that Yi Wi-kyung was motivated to teach others about chivalry because of these people.

“The things my master took comfort in, and the five truths he realized—called ‘Myeong-o’ (Bright Five).”

“Five types of brightness.”

“Yes. The meaning is somewhat symbolic too.”

Before explaining further, he smiled faintly.

“But first, you must master the basics before moving on to advanced techniques, right?”

“Yes.”

Of course. After mastering the Samjae sword techniques, she moved on to the Yuk-hap sword techniques, and was still learning Gak techniques.

“Where did you learn the Gwak technique?”

“My master taught me. Just because he’s called Sword King doesn’t mean he can’t use the Gwak techniques.”

Saying that, he drew his sword and pointed it at her.

“Shall we try lightly?”

“Excuse me?”

The question betrayed her surprise.

Soo chuckled softly, calming the energy of the moment.

“You don’t have to hit hard. Just block or evade.”

Thus began the next stage of her training: sparring with Soo.

Soo’s sword was heavy. Even after clashing several times, most of her movements were evasive because the sword’s weight forced her back, even when she tried to redirect the force.

Though his strikes looked light, they were heavy and precise, capable of cutting with a single motion.

Suppressing her urge to complain about “how is this moderate?” she braced herself against the impact and pain.

Even with a sword lacking internal energy, Dan-eun was thrown violently to the ground.

Reading her movements, Soo blocked her retreat and deflected her attack.

Her magic surfaced in brief bursts amidst pain and urgency, then sank quietly into her soul as if obedient to her will.

For several days, she experienced the horror of her mind moving faster than her body could follow.

Her prized sensitivity and perception began detecting the internal flow of her energy. Soo guided her on how to gradually extract and use it.

When the longest sparring session ended, Dan-eun bent at the waist.

Her lungs ached. Sweat poured, and she couldn’t tell if she was even breathing properly.

Her legs shook; her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. Sitting was difficult, her back too exhausted to straighten.

“Hngh.”

In contrast, Soo looked calm, arms crossed, tilting his head as he observed her.

“Why? Why is that?”

Her voice was more breath than words, yet Soo seemed to understand.

“I heard you couldn’t dance.”

“That… cough… that’s… hmm…”

Her last words were swallowed by her heavy breathing.

“I thought you might be able to.”

She raised her head slightly, frowning as if glaring.

With a deep breath, she collapsed to the floor, brushing her sweat-drenched bangs aside.

“Really?”

“Yes. I suspected before. Your control over force is too precise.”

Few disciplines demand as delicate a control as dance. Too much force ruins the beauty, too little prevents movement. One must apply strength where needed, release it where needed, and constantly shift it between body parts.

“Watching you spar confirmed it.”

Her footwork, flexibility, and momentary borrowing of familiar movements revealed it.

“How’s that?”

“I don’t like dancing in front of others.”

That was the reason she lied.

“I see.”

Dan-eun’s eyes followed him silently.

“I asked to know how best to teach you later.”

Dance.

Looking up, Dan-eun answered silently: yes, she could dance.

She had danced at various times throughout her life, mixing styles, losing some artistry. Not that she couldn’t show others—it was that she didn’t want them correcting her.

Thinking this, Dan-eun slowly moved her feet.

Her skirt flared, the petticoat floated.

Yet Soo’s words about her hobby resurfaced—she disliked showing others but had once loved it.

Even with a child’s body, she carefully moved, withdrawing and releasing her arms.

The rustle of her clothing replaced the music.

The wind fluttered her garments; she lowered her arms, wrapping her shoulders in the petticoat. Thin as it was, it provided no warmth.

Although winter approached, the southern region wasn’t unbearably cold. The breeze was cool but tolerable.

Clap. Clap. Clap. She spun, hearing the rhythmic claps. Sure enough, Soo stood there, stoic, but with a faint, mysterious smile.

“Beautiful.”

Dan-eun smiled gently at the praise.