Lee Sojin (2)
Lee Sojin already knew that he called her sister "aunt."
The word carried warmth, and she felt an unexpected closeness to it.
A saengwon from Taewon.
A boy commander who had crossed Haran and the desert.
A prodigy said to have stepped onto the ultimate path of martial attainment at such a young age.
Yet when she met him, he was surprisingly pure, simple, and modest.
Human charm does not come from handsome features alone.
It may come from unadorned sincerity, earnest devotion, and an honest manner.
Lee Sojin had already begun to sense that human warmth in the young Sowoon.
His honesty made him seem slightly awkward.
His seriousness revealed the marks of deep study.
The etiquette learned from childhood was firmly etched into his bearing.
Perhaps it was that unlikely blend within one person that created such appeal.
And the invisible presence of overwhelming martial power made his modesty appear not as weakness, but as ease.
Even speaking with such openness was humility in itself.
In a world where a little strength or a slightly quicker sword often bred arrogance, a man who had reached the extreme of martial mastery saying "I am sorry" was humility made visible.
"It is nothing. I was the one who overstepped. I wished to speak with you but found no proper path, so I used my sister's name. I apologize."
"If you are of my aunt's house, then I trust you completely. I am grateful for your concern that I might be injured. As for the martial art… it is difficult to explain. Perhaps it is simply called 횡소천군 (橫掃千軍). To sweep a thousand soldiers in a single horizontal stroke. That is all it was."
Lee Sojin stared at him, disbelief clouding her expression.
That terrifying sword form bore the name of a common sweeping technique used even by lesser fighters.
Sowoon remained seated, head slightly lowered.
Lee Sojin's words reached his ears, yet his mind had already walked beyond them.
He understood at once that there might be a path to end such slaughter with the least sacrifice.
Gweondo (權道).
The word fell into his inner world like a stone into water, sending widening ripples.
Though people stood before him, his gaze turned inward.
The single stroke of his sword.
The line that had divided space into above and below.
Had that line birthed slaughter?
Or had it ended it?
His thoughts halted there.
What followed could not be known.
No one could determine whether that line would set the world upright or plunge it further into disorder.
Now, it felt wrong.
Yet no one could declare that it would remain wrong in the time to come.
Human effort carries meaning.
Yet it is but one thread among countless causes.
It may not be decisive.
The next step.
At the word next, his thinking stalled.
So he hesitated.
The hesitation was not cowardice.
It was a refusal to pronounce certainty before an uncertain future.
He sat motionless.
Outwardly, he was still.
Within, streams of thought intersected endlessly.
His breath lengthened.
His breathing steadied.
It seemed as though the wind had ceased.
The flames trembled, then gradually calmed.
Sounds peeled away layer by layer, receding.
The rustle of grass appeared slower.
Smoke rose straight upward.
The stars sharpened in the night sky.
It was as though the outlines of the world had grown clearer.
The air around him subtly shifted.
An unseen pattern gathered into order.
Scattered currents of energy drew together like slender threads.
They converged at his center, then flowed outward again.
Invisible waves radiated in widening rings, like ripples across a tranquil lake.
He resembled a high monk seated in deep meditation.
It was the moment when affliction condensed into a single strand of clarity.
The anguish did not vanish.
It changed form.
Disordered emotion settled into structure.
Anger, sorrow, and guilt gathered into a solid core.
From that center, something seemed to glow.
It was not a visible light.
It was the clarity of his perception.
The world had not changed.
The eyes that saw it had.
He still found no answer.
Yet he accepted the absence of one.
The next step remained unknown.
But the need to choose within that unknown became certain.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Night remained night.
Yet it felt deeper, sharper.
His torment had not ended.
It no longer had the power to break him.
Meanwhile, Lee Sojin harbored no doubt that his sword could change the world if any could.
If one man's martial power could reshape events, then it ought to be used.
The reluctance he felt toward killing seemed, to her, a luxury granted only to the living.
With the enemy's massive assault looming, to hesitate over slaughter felt misplaced.
She considered his turmoil natural, not a problem at all.
The night deepened.
Sowoon remained seated in thought.
The five who had come with her could only sit quietly.
There was nothing else to do at such an hour.
Like disciples waiting in silence before a master lost in contemplation, they waited.
They knew that Sowoon's realm was vast beyond the measure of their own standards.
Perhaps they waited for some declaration to fall from his lips.