Compendium Training _1
(Foreshadowing of Mo Geo-ja strengthened version)
It was Yi Hui and Ga Gyeongpil who judged that they had finally secured a suitable refuge.
They considered it a stroke of fortune that they had located the hidden residence of Princess Sohye, daughter of the former emperor.
At last, there was a place to rest.
For the time being, they believed, nothing major would occur.
Four search teams of three men each were dispatched to sweep the surrounding grounds.
Not a single irregularity was discovered.
Yi Hui gathered every man stationed in the western annex.
There was work long postponed.
The ten volumes of the Compendium, painstakingly transcribed by a court scholar, were brought out and dismantled.
The Golden Scribe had arranged the text in such a way that each volume could be separated cleanly; each one divided into nearly twenty independent sections.
That alone spoke of intention.
The work had not been copied casually. It had been prepared for distribution.
After consulting with Ga Gyeongpil, Yi Hui reorganized the men according to aptitude.
Five or ten at a time would study the same martial discipline.
There was brief hesitation over where to place Sowoon, who had already seen the Compendium.
In the end, at Ga Gyeongpil's insistence, he was excluded.
It was undeniable that the boy had already stepped beyond ordinary thresholds.
Even Ga Daeju considered Sowoon superior to himself.
During the Mongrye examination, he had realized it clearly—Sowoon's skill had already surpassed him.
Without the boy, he would not be alive.
How could he presume to measure the realm of someone who had already crossed ahead?
Only one concern remained—Sowoon was young, and his martial training leaned heavily in one direction.
"Do you remember the secret manuals I mentioned before?"
Yi Hui addressed the assembled men briefly.
"This is it. From this moment forward, special training begins. We always meant to study when time allowed. Now time has appeared. We do not know how long we remain here. Learn it with sincerity."
They answered in unison.
"Thank you."
"Thank you."
Words not easily spoken by soldiers.
The dismantled sections were distributed among more than a hundred men.
The mere word secret manual sent a quiet heat through the annex—excitement intertwined with disbelief.
Men rushed back to their quarters clutching their assigned sections, collapsing onto the floor to read.
The western annex transformed almost instantly into something resembling a scholar's hall.
The busiest man became Sowoon.
Without warning, he was pulled in every direction.
"Hey, Scholar Yu, what does this mean?"
"Scholar Yu, what character is this?"
"Do we pause the sentence here, or here?"
None dared trouble Ga Daeju or Yi Hui.
Sowoon, being young and approachable, was dragged from room to room.
In truth, it was fortunate.
Accurate interpretation mattered.
In ancient martial texts, a single misplaced emphasis could alter breathing patterns, shift internal circulation, distort stance and movement.
Sowoon's interpretations were meticulous.
Where others would have guessed, he parsed grammar.
Where others would have simplified, he restored nuance.
He rendered dense classical phrasing into clear contemporary language without thinning its meaning.
Yi Hui watched him move back and forth between rooms.
"That boy is useful wherever he goes. Heh."
Sowoon did more than translate.
Sometimes he demonstrated posture, adjusted wrist angles, shifted foot placement.
"Wouldn't it be like this?" he would suggest carefully.
His tone carried no arrogance—only inquiry.
"Blessing, that's what he is," Ga Daeju said with a short laugh.
"I nearly died in Mongrye. If he hadn't passed us through, I wouldn't be here. He's my savior."
Yi Hui turned to Ga Daeju.
"You do understand, don't you? It isn't only the younger ones who train."
"Excuse me?"
Yi Hui handed a thicker section of the Compendium to Ga Gyeongpil.
"This one is yours. You heard what you told them—memorize by tonight. You as well."
"I am a unit commander, General. Surely I shouldn't be treated the same—"
The sentence ended when Yi Hui struck the back of his head lightly with the training stick he always carried.
"Commander or not, you train. Memorize it."
Ga Gyeongpil retreated to his room.
Moments later, he burst out again.
"Scholaaaaar Yu!"
By day's end, the one who had called for Sowoon most was Ga Gyeongpil himself.
Those outside the annex did not understand what was unfolding within.
Yet the sight was strange enough that servants and guards began peering in.
No one interfered.
There was too much to memorize by nightfall.
Men walked while reciting, sat while muttering, struck their foreheads in frustration.
Each had received a different discipline.
Most were suited for military application—spear forms, saber transitions, sword footwork.
Yet mixed among them were techniques unmistakably of the Jianghu.
Their original titles had been removed.
Structures altered.
But the lineage could be sensed.
This was no simple compilation.
Yi Hui found himself thinking again of the compiler—Mo Geo-ja (默語子).
To rewrite such material required comprehension.
To condense it into essentials without crippling it required mastery.
Most summaries weaken a text.
Especially martial texts.
A careless abridgment ruins the flow of qi, distorts sequence, severs intent from motion.
Yet this Compendium did not suffer from that flaw.
It had been pared down by someone who understood not only the movements—but their principles.
Someone who had practiced.
Someone who had tested.
The distribution leaned toward battlefield weapons—spears, sabers, swords.
Less emphasis on bare-handed arts.
That pattern felt deliberate.
Yi Hui's gaze lingered on the pages.
Could Mo Geo-ja be a man of the military?
Perhaps once attached to a command.
Perhaps someone who had observed both court and battlefield.
The division of chapters.
The modular structure.
The clarity under compression.
This was not the work of a reclusive bookworm.
It felt like the work of someone preparing soldiers.
Someone who expected the text to be dismantled and redistributed.
Someone who anticipated war.
The annex grew louder through the afternoon.
Recitations echoed.
Questions rose.
Men twisted their wrists, reversed grips, tested steps across the wooden floors.
Martial skill does not mature in a single day.
Yet thirst does not wait for maturity.
These were soldiers.
Men who lived by the blade.
In the Jianghu, martial knowledge is guarded.
To reveal one's technique is to reveal weakness.
To learn another sect's art is nearly impossible.
Yet here they were, holding fragments of forbidden inheritance in their hands.
The hunger in the air was almost visible.
And somewhere between those dismantled pages,
Mo Geo-ja's silent intent lingered.
He had not merely compiled.
He had prepared.
For whom—
that question remained unanswered.