Free Web NovelThat was the day the man gave him the bow.
The boy and the man ate breakfast as usual that morning, then headed into the mountains. The sky was clear and wide, full of billowing clouds, and a few plump rabbits nosed through the grass nearby. Their little mouths moved busily as they nibbled at tender leaves.
“Gyeom. What are you doing?”
The man, who had been walking ahead, turned back when he noticed the boy lagging behind, distracted by the rabbits.
“Rabbit meat.”
The boy’s eyes lit up as he pointed, and the man let out a sigh.
“We came here to train. Not to hunt.”
Lately, the two of them had been wholly absorbed in martial training. The disciple who had once been so tiny had grown steadily; where he had once only reached the man’s waist, now he was up to his chest. He ate well, slept well, and although the prickly disposition he had been born with had not gone anywhere, he smiled easily now too.
“So my disciple wants to keep training until the moon comes up.”
At that gentle threat, the boy grumbled and obediently fell in behind him.
It had already been nearly a year since they had settled here. The boy and the man moved often, sometimes once a year, sometimes three or four times. Every time they built a new nest, the man would scout the surrounding terrain and find a place suited for training. After crossing one mountain ridge, the two of them reached the spot where they usually practiced. The ground was flat, the place deserted. Perfect for training.
Today, they had decided to spar for real with swords.
“Come at me, you little scrap. You weakling.”
Sword in hand, the boy struck a bold pose and shouted.
“......”
The man, just drawing his blade from its sheath, stared at him in disbelief.
“Well, look at you. Is that any way to speak to your teacher?”
“Oh? And where do you get off pretending to be my teacher? You and I are enemies now, sir!”
“......”
The man slowly shook his head. Ah. So that was it. If this was supposed to be role-play, he might have appreciated some warning first...
The boy, meanwhile, was utterly serious as he adjusted his grip on the hilt. Focusing himself, he fixed his teacher before him with a clear, unwavering stare.
There was weight in that gaze now.
The boy had grown quite strong.
At first, their spars had ended almost immediately. But as the boy gradually became someone who could genuinely stand against the man, the bouts grew longer and longer. Now he could write talismans smoothly on his own, and if the occasional stray ghost proved annoying, he knew how to drive it off without much trouble. Unlike before, when he had struggled to rein in his force, he could now not only hide it but handle ghostly force with enough skill that the man no longer had to correct him.
Sometimes, he even went down to the village and handled little requests for people.
Naturally, he did it all behind his teacher’s back.
Every so often, he would lie and say he was going out to gather firewood, then slip into the village to earn a little money. It was never much, but even so, the boy harbored a grand ambition: one day, he would save it all up and buy his teacher something truly precious. If he ever got caught sneaking off to the village like that, he would be in serious trouble. Fortunately or unfortunately, the man still knew nothing about it.
The moment the spar began, their swords clashed.
Clang!
The sharp ring of metal echoed again and again. The boy kicked off the ground and swung. The man blocked his blade with a rough, powerful hand. The boy ducked his upper body and pushed forward again. The man sprang lightly backward, avoiding the incoming strike.
“Haah! Take my blade!”
The boy rushed in with a playful shout.
“You murderer! You killed my parents!”
The man’s arm halted in mid-swing.
There was an opening.
A beat too late, the man twisted his body. His sword came down hard and knocked away the boy’s blade as it tried to slip through the gap. Unable to withstand the force, the sword flew from the boy’s hand at last. The well-honed longsword spun several times through the air with a chilling sound before stabbing into the ground.
The man’s blade came straight in and leveled itself at the boy’s throat. The keen edge looked as if it could bite in at any second.
Expressionless, the man looked down at him.
For some reason, his eyes had gone cold.
“......”
“......”
The boy cast a sidelong glance at the gleaming blade, his face stiffening.
Then at last—
“Ah, I thought I could win that one!”
He flopped down onto the ground in visible frustration.
“You said I was the one who killed your parents?”
The boy, who had been muttering complaints and flinging little pebbles in equal parts sulk and affection, looked up.
The spar was over.
And yet the man had still not lowered the sword aimed at him. Startled by the coldness in his voice, the boy blinked blankly. He had only said it as part of the game.
“What’s wrong? Are you mad?”
The boy glanced up at him cautiously.
“Against the enemy who killed your parents, you ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ gave up the moment you lost your sword. Is that the resolve with which you intend to take revenge? If you had not slowed your hand just now and had thrust straight through, you might have lost your sword, but you would still have wounded me.”
Cold eyes looked down at him.
The boy had not even realized that he had held back. He had hesitated without meaning to. It had only been for an instant, but the man had seen it all the same.
Did I?
While the boy replayed his own movements in his head under that harsh rebuke, the man said,
“If you ever seize a chance for revenge, do not hesitate for even a single moment. Do you understand?”
It’s just a game. Why is he taking it so seriously...
The boy looked up at him with a sullen face and gave a reluctant nod.
Then—
“Huh?”
He suddenly spotted something and pointed. Jumping to his feet, bright-faced, he grabbed the tie fastener of the black robe the man was wearing.
“This. This was me, right? Right? It was, wasn’t it?”
One of the man’s brows rose. He lowered his head and looked at the tie. The end of it had been sliced slightly on the diagonal. free𝑤ebnovel.com
The boy’s sword had cut it.
“Huh? Right? Right? I did that, didn’t I?”
The boy thumped the man in the chest as he asked.
“......”
The man looked down at him in silence, then finally let out a small laugh.
“Yes. Looks like you did.”
A moment ago the boy had still been sulking, but now he threw both arms wide as if in triumph, delighted. The man flicked the sword in his hand off to the side.
“Well done.”
He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his disciple’s head.
“Are you that happy?”
“Of course I am. Praise me more. Come on, praise me more.”
The boy had never once beaten the man. But today’s defeat was different from yesterday’s. He had lost, yes, but it was not as though he had failed to lay a finger on him.
“All right. You did well.”
The boy giggled and kept fidgeting with the man’s robe tie.
That was when it happened.
“Don’t move.”
A strange voice cut in from directly behind them.
Startled, the boy turned his head—and froze where he stood.
Someone had stepped between him and the man, sword raised.
More precisely, the blade was aimed at the back of the man’s neck.
It was the same sword the boy had been holding only moments ago.
The killing intent was utterly still, utterly sharp.
The smile vanished from the man’s face in an instant.
When did he get there...?
The boy’s eyes shook violently.
He had not sensed a single trace of the stranger’s approach. It was not strange that someone would target his teacher; the man was strong. But even setting himself aside, the fact that his teacher had not noticed either was impossible to believe. Their opponent had to be someone formidable.
The boy stared at the man, his face gone pale.
Their eyes met.
Slowly, the man closed his own.
Then, as if surrendering, he raised both hands to shoulder height.
The stranger’s face was hidden beneath a conical hat. His clothes were neat, and a large pack hung over his back. Compared to the tall man, his build was somewhat slight.
But his bearing was as fierce as a tiger.
The sword at the man’s neck looked as though it might pierce his throat at any moment. The boy’s hands shook. Danger rushed through him to the bone. He was so afraid he could barely breathe.
Then, in the blink of an eye, the man moved.
The man, who had seemed perfectly still, seized the stranger’s wrist and twisted his body as if to throw him. The stranger’s body lurched forward, nearly losing balance, but he planted one hand on the ground in a flash, held himself up, and kicked hard at the back of the man’s knee.
The impact knocked the strength out of the man’s leg, and he dropped to one knee.
The stranger raised the sword to the man’s neck again.
In that brief opening, the man snatched up the remaining sword lying on the ground.
The stranger paused.
But in that posture, unstable and precarious, the man could not properly match blades with him.
So instead, he threw the sword through the air toward the boy.
“Gyeom!”
The boy sucked in a breath and stumbled backward.
The hilt landed squarely in his hand.
Seeing that, the stranger laughed softly without taking the sword off the man.
“You’re clinging to a brat like that?”
Ignoring the mockery, the man only looked quietly at the boy. The boy gripped the hilt with trembling hands.
Then the stranger suddenly bent at the waist and whispered something into the man’s ear. Whatever trick he was playing, the man went still.
The stranger began striding toward the boy.
“Let’s see what you can do, brat.”
Adjusting his conical hat, he raised his sword.
And in that instant, the boy understood exactly what it felt like to be a rabbit in the sights of a tiger.
A suffocating terror flooded all the way into his skull. If he were honest, he wanted to turn and run that very second.
But he could not.
He had to stay calm.
His teacher surely had something in mind. There was no way he would simply give up like that. Obviously, he had drawn the stranger’s attention on purpose so he could strike at an opening from behind.
At last, the trembling stopped.
At the same instant, the stranger leaped like a butterfly.
The sword came surging in without mercy.
Clang!
The boy swung his arm desperately.
But the teacher he had thought would step in from behind did nothing.
If the man’s swordsmanship was rough and forceful, the stranger’s was fluid and seamless. It was almost like watching a sword dance. His footwork was uncanny, gliding as though he were slipping across the ground.
The stranger’s sword coiled around the boy like a snake and subdued him completely.
Even when sparring with the man, he had never felt this helpless.
But against this stranger, he could do nothing at all.
In the end, the hilt slipped from his hand all too easily. The boy fell backward hard onto the ground. The murderous point of the sword drifted soundlessly toward his face.
There was venom in the boy’s eyes.
“Hm. At least your eyes are still alive.”
Murmuring that, the stranger tugged the brim of his conical hat lower.
“Are you not afraid to die?”
At that question, the boy gritted out an answer through clenched teeth.
“That’s right. I’m not afraid. I’ll die and become a terrible evil ghost. I’ll chase you to the end of this world with my resentment and ruin everything you try to do. I’ll torment everyone around you. I’ll make your descendants suffer for generations. So kill me. Kill me, and I’ll make you bitterly regret killing me and my teacher. So do it.”
What?
The stranger blinked blankly beneath the shadow of the hat.
The boy’s eyes had rolled white as if he were possessed, and he was pouring out curses and filthy abuse without end.
“My God.”
The stranger lowered his sword and took a step back. Then he turned his head and looked toward the man, who was still kneeling quietly behind him.
“......”
“......”
When their eyes met, the man bit his lip without a word.
He was plainly holding back laughter.
The stranger drove the sword in his hand deep into the ground.
A muffled snicker slipped out from beneath the conical hat.
“Well, I’ll be damned. In all my life...”
At last the stranger tore off the hat and laughed openly.
“Myojeong, what kind of kid even is this?!”
It was a warm smile, bright as sunlight.
