Park Jiyoung
The sound of my boots rang and echoed in the quiet hallway, the rhythmic noise continued on until I moved along the corridor as I reached for the room a few spaces away from Jihye’s room.
I stood outside for a brief moment, cradling the bouquet of flowers carefully in my hand, a short pause as I looked at the name plate for a passing moment, as if that thing was a reminder of who was inside, yet not, easing my emotions as I took a breath and entered.
No matter how many times I came here, no matter when, the growing frustration and sorrow gripped at me like a fresh wound stabbed by a knife.
I was frustrated at myself, my mother laid in there, with no hopes of waking up, but all I could do was continue to visit her, to not be swallowed whole by this guilt and frustration. I knew I was powerless, I didn’t have any way of saving her.
Father had done everything he could to save mother, but even he couldn’t find any solution for the condition mother was in. Ever since the incident involving mother where she had suffered a fatal attack from a high ranking demon, she had been influenced by a curse left by that demon and it’s effects got more potent as time passed.
And since then father had changed—no, perhaps he hadn’t, but he was afraid just like us, that mother’s condition might worsen the cracks already between us, which might tear the family apart.
I knew deep down that my father is a good man—a loving husband and a protective guardian, he was caring and kind when mother was still around, but he blamed himself since forever for our mother’s condition—he buried himself in work and tried to find a cure for mother, but his efforts hadn’t bore fruit.
I felt my brows knit intently, as I quickly corrected my expression and opened the door.
I stepped quietly into the hospital room—in the intensive care unit—, my heart tightening as I took in the sight of my mother lying motionless in a bed placed a few feet from the wide windows through which sunlight filtered inside, the subtle apricity lightened the bleak environment inside, giving the silent room a more lively vibe.
My gaze immediately jumped to my mother as I felt my eyes waver and body grow heavy, a certain longing bloomed from the deepest pit of my heart, as my face shook with a flurry of emotions. I inched closer to her bed side, as I placed the bouquet on a table lying on the foot of her bed, taking my coat off and leaving it beside the flowers.
I focused on her auburn hair, once so rich and full, now lay thin and wispy, gently cascading down her shoulders. Her skin, once so warm and vibrant, had faded to a pale, almost translucent hue, a stark contrast against the sterile white sheets which encompassed her. She had an ethereal beauty, preserved in perfection—she looked like a fragile memory, preserved in time, yet somehow slipping away, no matter how much I begged and pleaded, she continued to vanish like the sand from the gaps between my fingers.
I took a stool lying near the bed and took a seat as I grabbed her hand and gently cradled it in my hands, as if she might break if I exerted even the minimal amount of force.
I swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in my throat, as if I'd swallowed cactus. Seeing her like this—so frail, so vulnerable each time—cut deeper than I could bear.
Gently, I brushed my hand along her arm, hoping my touch alone could somehow bring warmth back to her faded face and cold body.
I felt a weak smile pull at my lips, as I felt a pang of helplessness whirl inside my heart.
Memories of her laughing, full of life and grace when we were kids—me and Jihoon—, flooded my mind, making the sight before me all the more unbearable as I touched her cheek. The warmth that mother had show us, the care she gave us, I still remembered it vividly like yesterday, when we first cooked together—how she had taught me to use the knife, encouraged me on every achievement I made, big or small. She was the light of our world, and her absence had made clear cracks in all of us.
Words hovered on my lips, I forced them to form as I felt my throat constrict, things I’d held inside for so long, but instead, tears blurred my vision as I whispered, “Please...come back...mom.”
My voice came out weaker than I'd intended, my eyes felt warm, the stream of tears rolled down my cheeks, as I brought her hand close enough and felt her skin against mine.
The light beeping of the machine assured me as I felt her pulse as if it could give me a semblance of hope that she might come back one day—I hoped for it.
She was alive, but in a state where her waking up could only happen with a miracle. Both she and Jihye were in a similar condition, no cure, and in an indefinite coma, but for a moment I remembered about Jiwoo. If it was him, he might have some clue, that’s why he disappeared.
I wanted to believe, to believe that Jiwoo could find some way to cure Jihye—and perhaps for mother as well.
But when I thought of asking Jiwoo for help, I was always reluctant—I didn’t want to burden him, when he already had so many things weighing him down. But when he had helped Han Shu-hui in the basilisk dungeon, where he had gave him a mysterious potion which had regrown Han Shu-hui's arm, I held some hope that Jiwoo might have some way of acquiring a cure for my mother.
He had so many mysterious items, like the herb he had given me to help me break through. Jiwoo always had such special items and at the right time too.
But alas, it was too late for that. He wasn’t anywhere to be found.
I wiped my eyes and replaced my expression with a smile. I laid her hand back on the bed, as I fixed her bed sheets and stood to change the flowers with the new one’s I'd brought.
Afterward, I sat there for another half an hour and talked about my time in the academy, the recent events which are going on as the tournament for the first years was near, which would be held at the end of march—only two weeks away.
I gave her a final look as I bent forward and gave her a peck on her forehead as I touched and caressed her cheek, hoping she might spring up from her slumber any minute and hug me like old times.
“Bye, Mom.” I said with a soft smile as I wore my coat and walked to the door and exited as I looked over my shoulder one last time, still expecting something like every single time, but to my disappointment there was nothing.
I steadily covered the distance and took the elevator which brought me to the reception area quickly, I exited through the main gate and looked upon the packed streets and packs of pedestrians walking along the streets. The bright sunlight rayed down, as I covered my eyes before they adjusted to the brightness.
Today was a holiday, so everyone was out to enjoy their day. Amelia had asked me to spend time together, but I had to decline her requests, because I had more important matters to tend to. My reason for coming to Korean on a weekend held priority, I did visit Jihye and mom once very few weeks, but this time around, father had been the one to contact me and had asked me to come by the guild—and he had called me at a convenient time, because there was also something that I wanted to discuss with him too.
I imbued mana into my dimensional artifact and brought a scarf out as I wrapped it around my neck and fixed my coat to keep the cold out, as a chilly breeze blew past me as I saw the roads and different districts covered with a layer of snow.
I took my phone out of my coat's pocket, as I checked the time and confirmed that I still had an hour to get to the guild—it was around noon.
Suddenly, my phone began to vibrate as I saw someone had called. I realized immediately who it was and answered.
“Good afternoon, Baek-Hyun.” I said with a calm tone, greeting my family's oldest butler.
“[A very good afternoon to you too, Young miss.]” He replied with his tone as graceful and respectful as always.
Before I could ask why he was calling, he asked immediately as his voice rang from the phone.
“[Young miss, if you are free after your visit to the hospital, may I come pick you up?]” His tone levelled and solemn as he spoke. “[Master Yujin has been awaiting your arrival.]”
I thought, but from the environment outside and the refreshing breeze in the air—albeit cold and chilly, felt soothing and fresh, I made up my mind.
“No, it’s fine, I can reach the guild on my own, it’s within walking distance, so you don’t have to trouble yourself. Tell father I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I mused as I strode deeper into the streets of Seoul, as I passed pedestrian after pedestrian, as the loud noise of car engines and other vehicles reverberated in the air.
“[I understand, Young miss. Then, please be careful on your way to the guild, I'll inform Master Yujin of your time of arrival.]” He said as I thanked him and hanged up the call as I slowly vanished into the crowd of people.
***
After a twenty minute walk, I finally reached the guild. The scenery was the same as I’d seen a few months ago.
But there was the addition of a small fountain, encompassed by a circular pattern of grass and flowers, making the outside look more favourable and comforting, as water spewed out of the fountain, the droplets sparkling like gems in the sunlight.
I covered a slow stride, as I approached the entrance, two guards standing post outside, draped in black suits and wearing black shades. They gave me a passing glance, but didn’t stop me from entering.
I passed them and entered the reception area as the hall appeared quiet, only the noise of muttering broke the silence every few seconds.
I walked through the hall and approached the corridor, turning as I made my way toward the elevator. Entering, I pressed the button for the floor where my father's office was located. With a soft ding, the elevator’s doors closed and it began its ascent. A few seconds later, the doors opened with a low hum, and I stepped out onto a quiet hallway.
It appeared simple, unadorned, a single door stood ahead, a polished nameplate embedded in the frame beside it that read, GuildMaster.
Taking steady steps toward it, my footsteps echoed gently across the small hall. I flicked my hand over the access panel, and the door hummed open.
Inside, my eyes swept across the brightly lit office, sunlight streaming through glass walls that overlooked the city below. A sweet floral scent filled the room, fresh and soothing as the room appeared heated and warm. To my left, a new set of sofas had been arranged, with a broad coffee table between them—the decor had changed since I was last here a few months ago. To my right were bookshelves, neatly stacked with documents and thick volumes.
‘Baek-Hyun must have been the one to change the decorations.’ I thought as I looked around. ‘Father isn’t one to care about decorations and pleasantries.’
At the far end of the room, a wide desk lay covered with carefully arranged stacks of papers, a laptop, and a tablet. Behind it sat a familiar high-backed chair. Moving closer to the desk, my gaze fell on two small frames beside the documents, previously hidden from view. One was a photograph of the four of us—father, mother, Jihoon, and me—taken when we were young. I remembered that day, the memory as clear as the image.
In it, mother looked so graceful and young, her smile like the most dazzling of stars. Father, on the other hand looked the same, but gone were the vicissitudes of time not yet lived.
My eyes lingered on the other frame, which held a picture of our mother alone. Her gentle smile stared back, somehow vibrant in the quiet space, and I felt an ache settle in my chest as I focused on her hazel eyes I'd inherited from her.
I let my mind settle on the moment, feeling a weird sense of nostalgia as I took the frame in my hand and caressed the photo within.
After a few minutes passed on in silence, I heard the sound of footsteps reverberate from outside the office, and when I looked up, there he was—my father, standing just outside as the door hummed open, his face lighting up faintly when he noticed me near his desk.
“Jiyoung,” he greeted, his voice warm through the stoicism, but a little uncertain. “It’s good to see you. How… how have you been?”
I observed him for a passing moment, he looked the same as few months ago, his hair styled perfectly, a black suit adorning his well-built physique, and his ocean blue eyes burning with knowledge and wisdom, and something alien.
I offered a small smile, trying to shake off the feeling of formality between us as I stepped aside and took a small step closer to him. “I’m doing well, Father. Things at the academy are… busy, as usual.” I paused, and he nodded, looking thoughtful yet uncertain on how to drive a proper conversation with me like usual.
I was the same. The feeling of awkwardness and unfamiliarity bubbled inside me as I looked at him appear reluctant, feeling a smile pull at my lips.
“And your studies? You’re finding time to manage everything?” He asked, though he seemed almost nervous asking, as if unsure on how much to inquire about.
“Yes, it’s manageable.” I nodded with a thin smile. “I actually enjoy the coursework and the subjects I’ve chosen, they keep me busy and interested, allowing me to learn something new everyday.” There was a beat of silence, and we both shifted slightly, neither of us quite sure how to bridge the small chasm that always seemed to be there in moments like this, the awkwardness and unease.
“How is Jihoon? Has he gotten familiar with the academy life yet?” He asked after a pause, his voice softer this time, trying to appear more caring and fatherly. He approached the sofas on the side and waved a hand for me to join him.
“He’s doing well,” I replied, glancing to the side with a small, amused smile as I approached and sat opposite to him. “Probably staying up too late again, but he’s fine, and more so, enjoying his time there, he’s made a few good friends.”
Father’s lips curved into a subtle, almost shy smile that caught me off guard—the curve barely visible. It was a rare expression on him, and somehow, it made this moment feel strangely wholesome, like a shared understanding without words—like we both were trying our best in our own ways to mend the cracks and start anew.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He cleared his throat, glancing at me almost as if he were caught off guard by his own smile.
“Good to hear,” he said quietly as his azure eyes moved and met mine. “I hope you will take care of your brother...if he needs your help.” He said after a pause, his expression softened. “I, huh... don’t tell him I said this, but I do worry about you both.”
For a moment, the lingering awkwardness faded into something gentler, and I found myself smiling back, holding back a small laugh—as I looked at his expression convey his care, awkwardness and unfamiliarity with saying such things out loud. It felt like, in our own way, we were finding a rhythm, even in the awkwardness.
“Would you like anything to drink?” He asked suddenly, but I shook my head and decided to break the ice.
I straightened against the sofa as I broke the growing silence. “Father, I have something to discuss with you.”
He straightened right after, his eyes turning expectant and curious. “Sure. Is it something important?” Unknowingly, his business like demeanour returned to him for a quick second, realizing his own actions he took a breath and relaxed, his eyes wavered momentarily before that chasm vanished, which gave him away.
I relaxed myself, trying to appear more familiar and graceful. This man was my father, not some stranger I needed to be wary of. I knew if I asked, he would listen to me.
He stayed silent, expecting my words with an attentive expression.
“I have been thinking about it, and after everything that has happened, or might happen in the future...” I looked up and realized a crease ran allowing his brows, eyes turning full of guilt as if my words were heavier than the weight he could bear.
I didn’t hold back and poured my heart out. “Father, after the attack on the academy, that dungeon incident, I had come to realize just how weak and powerless I actually am—it goes on it say that it took me several months to come to this decision, showing my indecisiveness.” I paused, my hands clenched my knees as I put more strength into my words, and father listened quietly, without interrupting me.
"The academy is truly helpful in my progress, but I believe I need to do more. Because, I believe that times are changing, the demons are getting more active in our world, a force we need to prepare ourselves for, and not even them, there are also individuals who are just as much a threat as the demons, despite being of the same race.” I said, raising my head to match his eyes, showing my conviction as he crossed his arms and solemnly looked ahead.
“I believe my strength is severely inadequate and lacking, compared to the individuals out there...” I mused, my voice growing a pitch higher. “How can I hope to protect the people I care about when I cannot even protect myself? I was frustrated when we were stuck in that dungeon, unable to do anything, only having to solely rely on Jiwoo.”
Father’s brow shifted slightly on Jiwoo’s mention, but he continued listening in silence.
I increased my grip over my knee, feeling the next words turn heavier. “Even when the academy was attacked, I couldn’t help anyone in any way, having to rely on others to protect me. I don’t want that...not anymore.”
My face grew heavy with emotion, my frustration visible in my eyes, but also my desperation to better myself, and father nodded in acknowledgement as if he understood.
“I understand your point,” he said. “I admire your choice to become strong, and the reason behind it too. But only becoming strong cannot give you the freedom you want, unless you become a force which others can’t ignore. There are two types of strong in our world.”
He said as he raised two fingers forward, his words ringing through the air, as I listened attentively.
“First of all, absolute strength, unignorably dominating might which others cannot ignore no matter what—a force which they are wary against, but cannot fight directly. Second, the garnered strength where you pool in strong individuals, forming a group which is able to dominate certain aspects and choices.”
He trailed off, I followed along, finding the true meaning and message behind his word.
“The World Union does the same thing. While it is a joint organisation formed by the hunter’s association, where they use both two aspects to influence the world, its laws and regulations, they are still wary of each other—keeping each other at arm's reach. Truthfully, I’m the same.”
He admitted as he rested his hands down, legs crossed as he eased. “But your individual strength and influence determines your worth in the bigger field. And for that I want to prepare you, Jiyoung. The inevitable future, because you are my successor.” His words seemed to carry strength and a certain care, as if he was trying to encourage me from telling me all this.
“You are already in the second year of the academy, your strength is sufficiently increasing, just by your recent break through to the next subsequent rank, people will put their eyes on you the stronger and more influential you become. They would either try to influence you for their gain, or make you an enemy instead if necessary. Everything is politics in this world—a game of chess, where the way you place your next move on the board determines your worth and influence—but, where you have to be two steps ahead each time to show no weakness and vulnerability that they can use to their advantage.”
I gulped hard, my mind felt overwhelmed by the true nature—I had an idea of such things, but hearing them from a person who had been directly involved in such matters made me reluctant for a moment.
“By the time you reach the third year of your academic life, you will be properly viewed as the representative of our family and guild, who will have to take decisions which will properly affect our reputation, creed and other such matters. You know yourself, that Jihoon is different, he isn’t well suited for such responsibilities, he is more oriented toward other matters which don’t require physical strength." He paused, his hands clasped together as he straightened. “And for that I’ve already made up my mind. The reason I called you hear today is to discuss with you a decision I have come to.” Father said, his tone sharp and precise.
“And what is that?” I asked, curiosity bleeding from my demeanour so obviously, that I had to correct my posture.
“I will teach you the Samarthyang Surta Style, a style of fighting which has been inherited by each member of every generation throughout our family.” He said, his tone levelled.
“It’s a style of fighting, which your great-great grandfather created far before the cataclysm happened. And when it did, your grandfather was the one in possession of the fighting style at the time, which he later refined and strengthened when mana arrived in our world. Making it a lethal force if wielded properly and precisely. Ultimately, through your grandfather's effort and strength, the Samarthyang style was able to reach new heights than ever before, allowing the Park family to rise in rank and influence.”
I listened to father explain the history of our family's secret art which is only taught to one person through each generation—people were aware of the fighting style, but not aware of what and how it operated, it was still a mystery even to me.
I felt my face turn in flabbergast, true that I'd come to father with the hopes he could help me train—to help me get stronger—but I'd never imagined that he will take the decision to teach me the Samarthyang Surta Style, and so early.
“Jiyoung, do you think you are up for the challenge. I am offering you a path to even more strength, something you desire.”
I thought for a moment, the wheels of my mind turned as I thought and answered after a few seconds. “If you think I'm ready, then I am.”
“Good,” he said with a subtle expression of approval and satisfaction. He suddenly stood, as he gestured.
“Let’s go,” he mused and I nodded, not asking any further, as I stood and followed suit behind him through the door until we reached the elevator.
***
I followed father into one of the many training facilities inside the guild. We entered through the arched entrance, and a white room bloomed in my vision, but there was a glass panel on the left edge, a spot for spectators to observe, but at this moment there was no one present except for us two.
“I will show you the Samarthyang style, you just need to watch for now, and try to replicate the movements I make if you can.” Father said, as he took off his coat and threw it on the floor, as he loosened his tie and rolled his cuffs, I did the same as I stored my coat and scarf inaide the dimensions artifact.
He imbued mana into his dimensional artifact and retrieved a spear from it.
Without a single word, I focused all my senses toward him.
I watched my father’s spear move through the air, each motion impossibly smooth, like he was tracing invisible lines only he could see. The spear looked unassuming in his hands, just a simple blade, but when he wielded it, it felt like an extension of him, a quiet, commanding strength made real.
“Do you feel it, Jiyoung?” His voice was calm but carried that weight he always had when he was serious. “Every movement needs to flow, unbroken—that’s the first step of learning the Samarthyang style. You carry strength like water in a stream, steady but never rigid.”
I withdrew my own sword and tightened my grip on the hilt, feeling its weight, still foreign in my hand.
“Samarthyang Surta isn’t about striking or blocking alone. It’s about letting strength run through you, becoming part of the motion itself.” He drew his spear in a slow, circular arc, his body moving with a fluid grace that I knew would take me years to mimic just from a glance, it was perfect, with no gaps left.
“This stance,” he said, lowering into a still, almost casual posture, his spear poised and steady, but I couldn’t see any gaps in his guards, “is called: 'Still Waters Guard'. It may look passive, but every bit of energy is gathered here, waiting for release.” He held himself there, breathing slow, his body calm, but I could sense that hidden tension, like a dam holding back a flood, feeling a tingle run through my spine.
“Breathe, centre yourself. Feel the strength gathering through your body like an unobstructed stream, calm and patient at first, like water before a storm.” He mused with an expressionless face, his azure eyes burning intensely, mirroring the stillness of a lake.
I adjusted my stance, trying to mimic his stillness, but my own movements felt stiff and uncertain.
“Don’t tense up,” he murmured. “Just feel the weight of the blade in your hand. Let it become part of you—feel it like its a part of your body—like a third arm.”
Then he moved. It was so sudden that I barely registered the transition—a flurry of small, continuous steps as he circled me, his spear arcing in steady, rhythmic patterns.
He shifted, his movements subtle but deliberate as he flowed into the next stance. “Now, 'Breath of the Stream',” he said, swaying slightly as he moved his spear in a slow rhythm, inhaling deeply. “Align yourself with everything around you. Breathe with it, let your body become part of the flow.”
I did my best to follow, breathing in sync with him, feeling the air around us as if it were pulling us into a quiet rhythm. There was something meditative in it, like the world around us faded until it was just us, moving in harmony.
Then, his stance shifted, and I watched as he began a gentle series of strikes, each flowing into the next with a smoothness that almost made his blade seem weightless.
“This is Ripple Form,” he explained, his voice soft yet firm, holding the sternness of a mentor. “Let each strike build, like ripples on the surface of water. Even the lightest movement can gain momentum, creating a force that can’t be ignored.” He said as he stopped. His breathing was even, like he hadn’t been moving at all. “When you strike, don’t force it. Let your strikes follow a rhythm, building strength as they go. Making one strike feed into the next—with each one stronger than before.”
I nodded, trying to take it all in, my mind struggling to keep up with his movements, his words. His hands shifted on the staff, moving into a new stance that seemed lighter, yet somehow more focused, as he began a controlled spiral around an invisible opponent.
I tried to follow along his teachings, though my strikes felt clumsy compared to his effortless flow—the difference was obvious even from a bystander's point of view. He watched me with a hint of a smile over his hardened features, but I could sense the patience in his gaze, the warmth in his eyes which had felt awkward to me before.
He began moving in tighter circles around an invisible opponent, his steps controlled and precise. “This is Current Coil,” he said, shifting the spear in circular arcs, his voice steady. “You use it when an opponent is close, or even if they surround you, limiting your area to attack. You step inward, turning like a whirlpool, keeping them off-balance and confusing them as you get ready. Every step, every motion has to be smooth—you need to feel where they are, where their energy flows, and adapt.” He moved with an elegant efficiency, his spear an extension of his body, and I felt a pang of frustration, knowing how far I was from mastering this.
He paused, meeting my gaze with that piercing calm he always had, like he could see right through my concentration and my uncertainty. “The Current Coil means being aware of everything around you. You have to become part of that energy, never fighting it directly. Make it an extension of your abilities."
Before I had the chance to get too wrapped up in my thoughts, he transitioned again, his footwork now a smooth, gliding series of steps that seemed to carry him effortlessly.
“Flowing Steps,” he said, his voice softer now, conveying his support. “It’s about conserving energy, moving with purpose.” He circled back to face me, each step light but assured. “Don’t waste a single motion. Every step has its place, necessary according to your need and how you want to place that step to accommodate your next action with a flurry of several others—consequently, even if you were to shift your stance to better position your next strike."
He paused, letting me absorb each movement so far. I was beginning to understand how each part was connected, each flowing seamlessly into the next, but the real beauty of it was still beyond my reach.
After a short breather, he looked straight at me and continued.
“Now, Ebb and Flow Stance,” he explained, his steps shifting to an advancing-and-retreating rhythm, almost like a dance, but where his feet looked like a mirage, vanishing as soon as they appeared, like an illusion.
“Think of it like a tide. Draw back when you need to, then press forward without wasting a single moment. It lures your enemy in, then surprises them when you switch at the final heartbeat.” His gaze met mine, a glint of encouragement in his eyes. “Feel their rhythm, mirror it, and then use it against them."
I tried to follow, feeling my own movements fall into a similar rhythm like his own, advancing and retreating just like he'd shown, but I still lacked the precise speed and momentum he had displayed even with using mans as a substitute—something he had gained after years of training and experiencing dangers, I was unaware of—, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason as I tried again and was barely able to steady my legs, before I almost crashed with my legs hitting each other by mistake.
Then his posture changed again, raising his spear above his head, stance widening, and I felt something change. There was a weight to him now, a power that felt heavy even from where I stood.
A ripple ran through the air, as I felt goosebumps rise on my skin.
“This is Cascade Strike,” he said, his voice lower. “A relentless assault. Each strike builds, one after another, gathering power until it feels unstoppable.” He demonstrated, each descending strike precise, forceful, unyielding which left a tremor in the air where the tip of the spear assaulted it.
Watching him, I felt the weight of each blow resonate through me, even from a distance, I could genuinely feel the shockwaves resonate through the air. This was not a technique to be used lightly, I understood that much.
“Think of it like a waterfall, unyielding and relentless. You strike over and over, each blow connected to the last in a pattern. But there’s control—every strike has a purpose, depending on the intent you give to it. This is for when you know the fight is ending, to deal damage to your opponent to make them unable to recklessly attack you in a bid to catch you off guard or to make you flustered."
He made it look so effortless, his body moving as if it was one with the spear. Each stance, each technique fit together seamlessly, a harmony of power and grace that felt almost unreachable. I could only stare, the awe sitting heavy in my chest as I watched him.
He turned to me again, his gaze softening just slightly. “Do you understand now, Jiyoung? These were seven of the eight styled art.” He said, his voice gentler. “Samarthyang Surta isn’t about force alone. It’s balance. Resilience. The strength to move as one with the world around you, but keeping the balance within yourself and mind is more crucial, to become a part of that balance, but never to let it overwhelm you.
I hesitated, before finally deciding to ask. "Then what about the last movement? There were supposed to be eight movements to this sword style?"
But for a moment, everything around us felt completely still, like he’d brought the world itself to a quiet end as if the world from around me had disappeared —every sound and presence vanished.
I blinked, and father had vanished from in front of me, his whole body becoming a single fluid motion...an afterimage left in his wake.
And just as I realized, father was already standing behind me, as if he had vanished and then teleported behind me without moving an inch from his previous position.
I felt the something touch my neck, as I realized father had placed his hand against my neck in a horizontal stance like a sword. I swallowed hard, a shiver running down my spine as the realization dawned upon me.
"This was the final movement of the Samarthyang Surta style, 'Silent Tide'."
He stopped, his breathing steady, then he turned to me one last time as I looked at him, his expression softened, looking almost serene. “This movement is like a quiet end. You strike without sound, masking your presence as you dwell with the world around you to make yourself vanish for a split second, finishing the battle with one clean motion—before your opponent realises what happened, it would be too late."
I swallowed, nodding slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle within me. I knew this would take me a lifetime to master. But standing here, watching him move, I couldn’t imagine any other path I’d rather walk.
He turned to me, lowering his spear with a gentle nod. “Samarthyang Surta is more than a series of techniques. It’s the way you let every movement complement the last, building strength upon strength, creating something whole.”
I held my sword, feeling the weight of it settle in my hands with a new understanding, the beginnings of the style woven into my memory. Someday, I would make those movements my own, a seamless, perfect flow—just as he had shown me.
Seeing my determined expression, father’s lips curved slightly as he added. “Every movement is made in a way to better accommodate the person performing it, and its made to flow in a way that even if you use a different subsequent movement first, it will still complement the entire sets of movements later. That’s an advantage of this style.”
I straightened as I loosened my grip on the hilt.
Father stood with his spear held loosely. “From now onward, I’ll help train you in the Samarthyang style and different combat situations, once per week on the weekends.” He said, feeling his eyes on me. “If we have a prior engagement, we will inform one another before and reschedule accordingly. Do you understand?”
I nodded in reply as father’s face turned solemn.
I hesitated for a moment, the words stuck in my throat, but making up my mind, I spoke.
“Father...” I said, almost hesitant, clasping both hands together is nervousness, as if these words were something alien—rather the one who they would be directed to felt.
“Thank you.” I finally said, as the building pressure in my chest subsidised.
Father didn’t say anything, as he stood there silently. After a moment, he coughed dryly, as he turned his head sideways for some reason and spoke.
“Sure. Just remember to take it easy once in a while and rest.”
I nodded back in gratitude as father took the stance of the first movement and guided me along the way.