one saber method
At the hour when the bright moon stood high in the middle of the sky, the two of them made their way from the inn, their footsteps softly crunching, and found a secluded clearing some distance away. On one side stretched an endless field, and dense brush made the place difficult to spot from afar. Thinking too much is not good. As if trying to shake off his thoughts, Jin Mugwang slowly tilted his head from side to side and looked up at the sky. A brief silence flowed, and even the wind had stilled. In that space which seemed frozen, a suffocating stillness settled. The black forest, the white moonlight, the unmoving warrior and the boy… Whatever might exist upon this earth, at this moment it all felt like something one wished to cast aside as nothing.
In the clearing, the provincial commander drew his own saber. It was not a sword bestowed by the Emperor, nor anything exceptional—just an ordinary blade that might have been forged in a village smithy. Before being drawn it had looked dull and unremarkable, but once the blade was unsheathed, its pale surface reflected the moonlight and gave off a mysterious aura. It seemed longer out of the scabbard than it had within. There was something profound in the way the edge seemed to flow slowly.
"Look."
He did not turn to face Soun. He brought both arms together before his chest and gripped the saber with both hands. The vertical blade halted at the height of his eyes. The brief pause felt eternal.
"It is a nameless saber method. The method that made me what I am today. When I was young, I had the chance to enter the Imperial Library. There, I discovered an old booklet that contained a single saber method. It had no title. The book was worn, characters missing in places, so I could not read everything perfectly. Yet with this one method, I achieved great success. I have no other way to teach you, so watch."
The great general's broad upper body shifted to the left as he drew the saber in, rotated it, and then slowly cut horizontally. It felt like the great river flowing along the embankment of the Yangtze. As he swept sideways, the blade trembled faintly and let out a lonely hum. Though it moved slowly, the sound of cloth fluttering in the wind could be heard. The flow of qi that enveloped the surroundings was slow and indistinct, yet by no means simple. When it halted, there were sharp popping sounds as if sparks were flying; when it advanced, it swept away energy like the vast sea.
He unfolded the saber method very slowly so that Soun could see clearly. As he stepped forward and raised the blade before bringing it down, a great semicircle formed, resembling the moon. At the end of a held breath, the saber gave a low cry, and from the tip of the blade—lifted so slowly it seemed almost motionless—blue saber qi surged forth with frightening force. The blue radiance lengthened and shortened according to Jin Mugwang's breathing, yet the uninterrupted chain of movements traced a vast circle as a whole. Round and round and round again.
Leaping at a slant and spinning once, he brought down the largest circle he had drawn, and the air tore with a sharp sound. For nearly the time it took to burn a stick of incense, he moved without pause. At first his movements were heavy and ponderous, almost seeming motionless. Later, they grew light and drifting, as though he might fly—like an immortal ascending the heavens. His massive body rose with astonishing lightness, yet when he landed it pressed down upon the earth with the weight of a thousand catties.
In that moment when everything in the world seemed still, a single figure danced. The great white blade, the moon, the wind, and the mist… The general seemed to become one with the moon, the dark sky, and even the mist fading into the distant horizon, moving as though he might take flight within that landscape.
Soun did not know what he was seeing, nor what he ought to see. He could not take his eyes off the powerful and beautiful movements. Strength is rarely beautiful, and what is called beautiful is rarely strong. Yet true strength is profoundly beautiful. Jin Mugwang embodied both within a single body and expressed them through one saber.
It was the same thing. It appeared different, but in truth it was the same. What Soun was learning, what Yi Hui knew, and what the general was displaying—it was the same saber method.
Only after a long time did Soun realize it. His body began to move slightly. When the general leapt, one of Soun's feet lifted from the ground. When he turned, Soun's foot also shifted. When the general lowered his stance and swept horizontally, Soun's hand moved subtly, as if holding a saber. He was imitating without realizing it. Watching the general's large movements, he followed slowly, and the difference was not great.
Soun had studied only from books; the only real movements he had witnessed were Yi Hui's scenes in battle. In battle, forms do not connect in neat sequence. They change according to the enemy and the situation faced.
Through the general's demonstration, Soun could now see a complete form—at least a fully realized shape of the method. He quickly understood the differences between his own interpretation and what he saw. By observing what differed from his own understanding, he gained insight.
Because he had practiced for many days, it entered his eyes easily. As he inserted his own breathing into the movements he saw, what had been incomplete settled into his mind as something whole. Seeing movements he had been unable to perform due to insufficient internal power, he finally grasped what the words in the book truly meant. The general deliberately demonstrated three times—once slowly, once quickly, and once drifting like clouds and wind.
"Did you see?"
The general sheathed his saber as he asked. His gaze was fixed not on Soun but on the dark, distant horizon.
"Yes."
"Can you do it?"
"Not yet… but I have gained many insights. I now understand the connections between forms, and the meaning of words I could not comprehend before."
"It is precisely the saber method you are learning. The method you must complete. The one Yi Hui called Yang Daein is in truth Yang Sangjin—a thief. He stole this method and placed it in the Imperial Library. I do not know why. There are many things in this world one cannot know. He hid it. Owing Yi Hui a debt of life, I taught it to him, but he did not complete it. I happened upon the method, copied it, and studied it… Not long ago I acquired a martial manual to teach the White Dragon Unit, and what I had written within it ended up in your hands. That is your fortune—and your karma. You are bound by karma with me, with Yang Daein, with Yi Hui, and even with the unknown origin of that book. When you complete the method, give it a name. I have not completed it myself. I force connections through internal power to fill the lacking parts, but that cannot be the true answer. In interpreting the text, you—being a scholar—may surpass me, a mere martial man. You may achieve greatness. You, perhaps."
Soun looked down at his own hands.
"Will you try?"
"I am ashamed. I trained alone without a master; it is crude and disorderly. Though I gained insight from your demonstration, it is not fit to show."
"No. Yi Hui said he learned much from watching yours. He said your movements connected without internal power, and that you were more precise in interpreting the text. Show me. I would learn as well."
"That is impossible. How could I—"
After several urgings, Soun finally drew his sword. Jin Mugwang's eyes widened. He had taught a saber method, yet the boy drew a sword.
"Is that not a sword…?"
"Yes. It was given by my father. A blade passed down in my family…"
"The saber method… with a sword?"
It made no sense. Saber and sword differed in form and method of use. Though both thrust and slash, each had its own specialization.
"I had no choice… but will you watch?"
"Very well. Let me see."
Soun drew the sword, recited the mnemonic verses, and gathered his breath. Similar yet slightly different, he performed his own sword method—or rather, saber method. Faster than Jin Mugwang's, the form not entirely complete, yet filled with room for interpretation. He exhaled heavily, sweat beading upon his brow. Knowing the general was watching, his arms tensed and his footwork tangled.
Where he was uncertain, he moved slowly; where he understood clearly, he stepped swiftly and swung. The mnemonic verses did not explain every connection between breath and movement. They spoke of one, then moved to the next. Since Soun had interpreted much through breathing alone, his movements were bound to deviate. He corrected them by recalling the general's demonstration.
It was clearly different now. The frustrating slowness had quickened; the connections became smoother; the movements more precise. His breathing remained the same. Strangely, though he possessed no internal power, a peculiar energy leaked from his body, appearing almost like manifested inner force.
Was it the uniqueness of the method—or of his constitution? Jin Mugwang tilted his head. If this truly arose from correct execution of the method, then perhaps Soun's breathing was more suited to it.
Jin Mugwang had learned a separate mental method and merely overlaid the saber form upon his inherited technique. Perhaps Soun's breathing aligned more naturally. He offered no comment. To judge is often to point out faults. It did not feel appropriate to declare right or wrong in the face of a freely forming style. At the very least, Soun was forging his own blade.
With repetition, Soun's movements grew faster. He did not stop. After finishing, he naturally connected back to the beginning, repeating again and again. Each repetition changed slightly, guided by fresh realizations. His lips moved faintly, reciting the verses. The verses, their meanings, his body, and his breathing seemed on the verge of uniting at some point. The sword tip vibrated faintly, alive.
How much time passed, he did not know. The general stopped Soun's blade.
"Soun… there is a problem. Stop for a moment."
"Yes!"
Blinking as if waking from a dream, Soun looked at him. The general's body had grown rigid.
"What is it?"
"There seems to be a night guest."
Soun recalled the assassin at the Yu estate. He inhaled and broadened his senses. There were presences. One, two, three, four… He could feel them. The general had sensed it already and stopped him. They approached slowly, hiding their presence, holding even their breath, narrowing the distance. It was similar. They meant to come close and finish it in a single strike.
Soun blew the small signaling flute he always carried. The sound was barely audible, yet it would reach the White Dragon soldiers at the inn. Five figures emerged from the brush, dressed in tight night garments, wielding slender swords. Soun raised his blade and stepped before the general, standing in his path. He meant to take his place.
"You again?"
"I will not be caught off guard as before."
"You did well then. Yet you think you were defeated."
"Yes."
"Did you gain insight?"
"A little."
To Jin Mugwang, Soun was exceedingly sharp. Without even assuming a guard stance, Soun shot forward. Knowing the enemy specialized in concentrating attacks upon a single point, there was no need to wait. Before they entered striking range, Soun moved first. He closed the distance in a flash, cutting upward from below toward the chest of the slender man in front. It was an unusual technique. Caught off guard, the man retreated, but Soun anticipated this, spun, and severed his leg as he withdrew.
Small size made such a maneuver possible. As the man fell with a cry, the remaining enemies lunged at Soun as a new focal point. From a tilted position after attacking the leg, he rolled backward, obscured their aim, and used the rotational force to slash diagonally across another's shoulder. Under the moonlight, a dazzling arc traced a half-circle. When his breath cut short, the sword rang with a sharp "chaing."
He cut down one man, then faced three in a reversed triangle. Specialists in combined attacks, they faltered once their formation broke. Now three remained—no great worry. Recalling the phrase "Boundless Sea" from the method, Soun drew a vast horizontal arc at once toward all three.
One blocked on the left; the one on the far right ignored defense and thrust toward Soun's exposed flank. A short thrusting blade might be useful in confined space, but not here. Battle-hardened, Soun turned with the rotation of his blade, evaded, and nearly split two waists at once.
Spinning behind them, he knocked aside a blocking blade and struck down into open space. Reciting the "springing" cadence of breath, another large man collapsed. The last, seeing the tide turned, threw down his weapon and fled.
It was a short time, yet a long moment. The White Dragon soldiers arrived, bound the fallen four together.
Under questioning, they quickly confessed—members of the Black Sword. Asked what that was, they answered: the Emperor's blade, the unseen hand that served him.
The wounded were treated. Yi Hui confiscated their weapons and belongings, left them in undergarments, and drove them off.
"The attack comes from many directions now. Your heart is too soft."
"I apologize."
Soun had avoided fatal strikes, unconsciously easing his strength whenever the blade touched flesh. Thus none had suffered mortal wounds.
"Well done."
"It is near dawn. Should we depart?"
The general nodded. Remaining at the inn would only spread word further.
They had nowhere to go, yet could not stay. The general felt deep turmoil at the thought of returning home. It was not his own life he feared losing, but the safety of his family.
Time felt cruel. He almost longed for the days of facing Gategnip across battle lines. He even entertained the thought of severing his arm, crippling his internal power to ease the Emperor's concerns—or traveling alone to meet an assassin, so others might live in peace.
Meanwhile, from that night onward, Soun's sword aura changed markedly. The yellowish hue shifted to blue, flaring brightly when certain forms were executed. The connections grew precise and free. Above all, there was no obstruction when he gripped and swung the sword. Breath was the form; form and line were breath itself. Even while riding, muttering softly, countless circles formed in his mind.
In walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, cultivation continued unbroken. And because of this, the worries of the ominous future that burdened the general—and haunted their companions—felt relatively lighter.