On the Brink
Surim bit her lip.
It seemed a habit whenever she was cornered.
"I ask for your understanding. I cannot tell you, Young Master."
What had truly happened?
She knew he was the Great General.
She likely knew the circumstances he faced.
Yet her voice trembled as she answered.
Sowoon rose slowly.
"I have said this already. I do not have many choices. If you refuse to speak, I will wash this manor in blood. Even so, I will protect a loyal minister. And I will secure the safety of my comrades."
Sensing the air grow dangerous, several martial men outside stepped into the dining hall.
They felt the suffocating tension between the two and moved quietly behind Sowoon—
close enough to strike from ambush.
Despair flickered in him.
For the sake of his comrades,
could he truly take the lives of people who cried out that they meant no harm?
But if he did not act,
the lives of the Great General and hundreds of the Baekryong Unit could be imperiled.
If they lured the General here and brought the imperial troops and palace hounds upon them,
it would become an eternal regret.
Even now, the Baekryong Unit might be on their way here, unaware.
They could walk straight into a trap.
"Young Master, I swear no harm will come to you or your companions. Our identity will be revealed to the General himself."
She had now spoken the word—General.
An open admission that she knew.
"Is that not merely a ploy to buy this moment?"
The two men behind him edged closer.
One breath away from collision.
"If those men do not withdraw," Sowoon said quietly, "there will be no time left to explain anything. This manor will drown in blood. And I am not like you. My martial arts were learned for survival. They were forged on battlefields. In one exchange, everything can end. Withdraw them."
Surim shook her head lightly and gestured.
The two men retreated a step.
They did not leave.
Instead, more figures began to enter.
For a secluded mountain manor, there were far too many warriors.
"Will you truly not speak?"
She remained silent.
If he were the General, she could speak.
If not, she would not risk exposure.
"Then I accept this as your final answer. Regret that our fate was brief."
So-un slowly drew his sword.
The sound of steel sliding against the scabbard rang low and long.
The moment the blade was fully revealed, a thin blue aura spread across the pale surface of the sword.
At first it looked like nothing more than moonlight reflecting off polished steel.
But it was not.
The light did not come from outside. It seeped from within.
Beneath the silver sheen of the blade, something pulsed—like a quiet heartbeat of blue breath.
Was it sword energy?
Was it sword aura?
Such realms belonged to legend.
In the martial world, there were those who trained for decades and never once witnessed such a phenomenon.
It should not have been possible for something like that to flicker upon the blade of a mere boy.
And yet something was undeniably flowing.
The air noticed first.
Breathing around him grew thin.
The wick of a candle trembled almost imperceptibly.
So-un drew in a slow breath.
Energy rose from his dantian, passing through his chest, flowing into his shoulders, down his arms, and into his wrists.
The hand gripping the sword trembled slightly, then grew still.
The blue aura deepened.
He did not know what level this belonged to, nor whether it could even be named as a recognized realm of martial attainment.
But he knew one thing.
The sensation of cutting through trees, the trajectory of the blade biting into thick trunks.
It had not felt as though the sword cut the wood.
It had felt as though the wood parted on its own.
That was no ordinary stroke.
If measured by the standards of the martial world, what level would it be?
Could it be called mastery?
Or was it merely raw, unfinished potential?
He did not know.
He knew only this: he would not fall easily.
But there were many of them.
The sound of swords being drawn overlapped from every direction.
Thin blades flashed in the moonlight.
Their stances were disciplined, their movements controlled.
Each had already stepped half a pace forward.
One breath away from collision.
One exchange away from blood.
And above all—they were not his enemies.
They were not the barbarians he had faced before.
They were not the assassins of the Black Sword.
Yet they were not friends either.
They stood in that dangerous space between.
And that ambiguity made them more perilous than a clear foe.
A blade is clearest when facing a defined enemy.
Before an uncertain opponent, the hand grows heavy.
The tip of So-un's sword trembled faintly.
The blue aura sharpened.
His body was ready for battle.
His heart had not yet decided.
Should he cut?
Or hold back?
Once swung, the blade could not be taken back.
The sword was already breathing.
The air in the hall thinned.
It grew so quiet that one might hear someone swallow.
In that suspended moment,
the blue aura rolled like a wave along the blade.
So-un's frame was small—
but the space where he stood
had already become a battlefield.
The warriors inside also drew their blades.
The steel was thin—
the same kind used by the assassins who had attacked them before.
That sight hardened his resolve.
So they are of one faction.
He had misjudged.
Surim bit her lip again.
At that explosive instant, a thunderous voice echoed from the stone-paved road outside.
"Scholar Yu! Stop!"
The familiar voice froze him in place—
the voice that had stained the Grand Canyon of Haran with Gateukrip's blood.
Jin Mugwang strode in.
Without armor, his frame seemed leaner,
as though freed from the weight of command.
He walked forward steadily.
Those blocking the entrance parted instinctively.
"Stop, Scholar Yu."
He restrained Sowoon once more,
then, without further explanation, knelt before Surim.
"This unworthy subject, Jin Mugwang, pays his respects to Princess Sohye."
Never had they seen the Great General kneel.
Sowoon's eyes widened.
Princess?
A princess was direct imperial blood—
not merely a concubine's child,
but born of the Empress herself.
Princess Sohye… who is she?
Why would the Great General kneel to her?
Questions flooded his mind,
but answers came none.
Instead, Jin Mugwang barked sharply:
"You wretch! Show proper respect! This is Princess Sohye!"
Lee Hee and Ga Gyeongpil, who had followed behind him, knelt as well.
Sowoon, swept by the moment, dropped to one knee.
He did not know who Princess Sohye was.
Only that she was of the imperial house.
Why would a princess hide in a mountain manor,
surrounded by armed men?
"Rise. Lay aside such formalities. I have already left the imperial house. Excessive courtesy is unnecessary."
"Please execute this disloyal servant who failed to safeguard the Late Emperor."
The Great General bowed deeply.
His forehead slowly touched the ground.
"That occurred during the campaign against the Kingdom of Anxi. How could that be your disloyalty?"
Princess Sohye was the eldest daughter of the Late Emperor.
When the coup erupted and before the current Emperor seized the throne, she fled in advance and survived.
She and the present Emperor were cousins.
She had hidden deep in the mountains of Jiangnan, fleeing from the Chancellor and the Black Blades who had installed the new ruler.
Sowoon, ignorant of the former court's affairs, remained prostrated, his eyes rolling.
The woman once called Surim helped Jin Mugwang rise.
Only then did Sowoon realize his mistake.
As the youngest of the Baekryong Unit, he thought it best to quietly withdraw.
He had nearly attempted to kill a princess.
A misstep would have branded him a traitor.
Even a deposed princess carried peril.
He let out a small breath.
If she was the Late Emperor's daughter, then her concealment explained everything.
"You have trained an impressive subordinate."
Princess Sohye glanced at Sowoon.
"I beg forgiveness. I have not yet mastered proper decorum and behaved with discourtesy toward Your Highness."
She straightened Jin Mugwang, then stood before Sowoon.
"Now you understand why I could not speak earlier, Young Master. Or shall I say, Scholar Yu?"
She smiled faintly, calling him by the same teasing title.