The Clever Ones and the Blockheads
"Those little clever bastards… what are they doing?"
Once they had divided themselves into the clever ones and the blockheads, envy followed naturally.
From the dining hall, the figures of the front-runners were hard to understand.
They held the horse stance, eyes closed or half-lidded, lips moving faintly as if chewing invisible words.
They looked like a different species.
"They finished early and went to play. Serves them right."
"No… that's not it."
"I think they've started real training."
"It's the same as us."
"No, it's not."
"They memorized it. We didn't."
"I'm telling you, those punks have something."
"Something…"
Arguing was pointless.
If they wanted to know, they would have to go out and ask.
And if they ate late, they would die.
They wolfed down their food.
Their arms would not lift properly, even moving their fingers felt exhausting.
There was no time to chew.
They swallowed whole.
Rice stuck in their throats, and they forced it down with water.
They ate to survive.
More than a hundred who had failed to memorize lined up again in the training yard.
Lee Hee repeated the same explanation he had given the memorization group.
They did not fully believe that this was not punishment disguised as training.
Yet seeing the others already practicing, they could not dismiss the thought that there must be some hidden method in it.
Were they simply too stupid to memorize?
Had they studied the wrong way?
Were their assigned volumes too long?
Was it just fate?
Lee Hee divided them into three groups and stationed them before separate bonfires.
Night training began.
When men understand the reason, their behavior can change.
A few stepped forward with resolve, and the whining quieted.
Only the noise lessened.
Their legs still trembled.
Their thighs burned.
The dirt beneath their boots compressed and shifted, ever so slightly.
That slight shift felt like death.
Everyone knew now—if their stance rose, stones would fly.
Lee Hee took a position on slightly higher ground.
With the fire behind him, his face appeared cut in sharp relief.
He did not even look for ammunition.
He simply brushed the ground at his feet and gathered pebbles with his fingertips.
Small, rough stones.
He rolled one in his palm.
Not to weigh it—but to steady himself.
One man's posture lifted a fraction.
His waist rose.
His knees straightened just enough.
That instant—
Thwack.
The stone cut through the air with a faint whistle.
It struck the center of the man's forehead.
Crack.
"Ugh!"
The cry was reflex, not complaint.
The man nearly reached for his forehead—then stopped.
If he lowered his hands, his stance would break.
If his stance broke, another stone would come.
So his arm froze in midair, trembling, before forcing itself back into position.
He felt blood bead on his skin and ground his teeth, lowering his hips once more.
That single moment changed the air of the yard.
Every stance sank at once, as if pressed down by an invisible hand.
Lee Hee picked up another stone.
Smaller this time.
Small stones were more terrifying.
The pain was brief—but the sound was sharper.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Foreheads.
Backs of heads.
A cheek grazed.
Someone bit the inside of his lip.
The taste of blood spread in his mouth.
Holding that stance for long was no easy matter.
At first, they endured with muscle—
with thighs, calves, backs, clenched teeth.
But strength has limits.
Lee Hee was waiting for what came after.
The moment when the incantation aligned with breath.
When breath aligned with the words.
When something other than brute force began to hold the body in place.
Until that moment arrived, there would be no rest.
He believed that only within suffering did that gate open.
If left alone, even the most determined man would eventually stretch his legs.
The instant he did, the time he had endured would dissolve.
Lee Hee knew that.
So he did not allow it.
With a single pebble, he dragged their endurance forward.
Cruel—but cruelty was reality now.
"Captain Ga!"
Gyeongpil's eyes flew open.
He ran forward as if summoned by salvation.
"Orders, sir!"
"We're out of stones."
"Gather what's fallen."
"Yes, General!"
Relief flashed across his face.
A brief exemption from agony was happiness.
When one's legs felt ready to break, even picking up stones felt like reward.
He shouted gratitude silently in his heart.
Time passed.
The flames dipped and flared as someone fed the fire.
Smoke and sweat mixed, scraping at their throats.
Among the memorization group, two faces grew strangely calm.
They did not raise their hands.
They doubted themselves.
Better to endure than to be dismissed for presumption.
Lee Hee descended swiftly.
He stood before the two men and closed his eyes.
His palm opened flat.
He brought it near their waists and thighs.
The motion seemed like touching wind.
Yet his fingers probed deeper—into the current within.
His breathing shifted.
Short. Long. Thin.
The men's shoulders trembled faintly.
"Do you feel it?"
One nodded.
"Name?"
"Yu Gunmyeong."
"That will do."
"One more shijin. Then rest."
Gunmyeong was first.
Luck had given him a thinner volume.
But more than luck, he had watched Sowoon grow.
He believed that growth was not coincidence.
He endured differently.
Lee Hee tested another and dismissed him to rest as well.
Then he bowed his head briefly.
How many would make it?
He did not know.
And that ignorance frightened him.
Those who failed would simply fall away.
When a few adjusted their stances while his back was turned, stones flew instantly.
Crack.
Crack.
Thud.
A strangled groan.
Absurdly, it almost looked ridiculous.
Soldiers in horse stance, eyes closed, lips moving, pelted with pebbles under firelight.
Like a secret cult's midnight rite.
But it was not laughter that drove them.
It was tomorrow's survival.
Serious devotion and harsh reality clashed in that yard.
Between them, the night turned into something close to hell.