Key

Rangnan traced a very short line in the air with his finger.

“A seal is not simply ‘blocking’ something.”

Bido’s hand went rigid.

Rangnan did not stop speaking.

“The blade has to touch flesh. It doesn’t need to pierce deeply.”

“A graze is enough. But it must definitely make contact.”

Bido swallowed.

The word “graze” sounded light,

but in the end, it meant putting a sword to someone’s flesh.

Bido looked down at the sword.

It wasn’t the sword that was heavy, but what came after.

“…That means stabbing someone.”

Instead of answering, Rangnan looked toward the entrance of the training ground.

Footsteps came from the doorway.

Quiet, but unmistakably present.

It was Miryeong.

Miryeong looked once at Bido and Rangnan,

then walked silently up to Bido.

She looked at Bido’s sword,

at his hand, and at his hesitation.

She came to stand before him.

“I’ll do it.”

“What…?”

Miryeong looked at Rangnan and said,

“I’ll offer my body. You need to learn, don’t you?”

Bido immediately shook his head.

“That’s… not okay.”

Miryeong laughed, short as a breath.

“Not okay?”

Then she did not look away.

“I’m volunteering.”

Bido could not answer.

Because the word “learn” sounded too cruel.

Rangnan cut in between them.

“Good.”

Bido looked at Rangnan.

He did not mix any emotion into his words.

“You cannot avoid this training.”

“Real combat is rougher.”

Bido swallowed as if his throat had gone dry.

Then something suddenly occurred to him.

“But…”

Bido’s gaze fixed on Miryeong.

“Miryeong… you’re not a Mirkin.”

“Can the seal… work?”

Miryeong parted her lips, then stopped.

Perhaps she wasn’t certain either.

But Rangnan answered at once.

“Don’t worry.”

Rangnan’s voice rang low.

“Whether Mirkin or Arkin.”

“Handling one’s own spiritual power is the same.”

Bido held his breath.

Rangnan continued.

“If your Mirkin stops the opponent’s Mirkin,”

“then this locks the very path through which spiritual power flows with the sword.”

“So it doesn’t have to be Mirkin. No, conversely, the power of that sword is not limited to Mirkin.”

Rangnan glanced once at Bido’s sword and added,

“There is only one thing you must do. Find the flow, and lock it.”

Rangnan looked once at Miryeong.

“If you can seal Miryeong’s Arkin.”

“That will be success.”

Bido’s fingertips trembled slightly.

Those words felt even heavier.

Miryeong stepped forward.

“You.”

Miryeong looked at Bido.

“You won’t be able to stab deeply anyway.”

Bido could not deny it.

She gave a small tilt of her head.

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Bido felt a strange sense of relief from those words.

Miryeong had told him “it’s fine” many times before.

Always when Bido was in danger.

This time it was the opposite.

It was Bido’s turn to put Miryeong in danger.

Bido inhaled, then slowly exhaled.

“…I’ll be careful.”

Miryeong laughed briefly.

“Who are you worrying about right now?”

Then, letting the smile fade, she said in a low voice,

“Do it with everything you have.”

Rangnan raised a hand as if measuring the distance between them.

“The first step is cutting off Idrin and Arkin.”

“Idrin…?”

“The flow that controls life force.”

Rangnan pointed at the tip of Bido’s sword.

“Only that sword can sever it. Like a graze, one point.”

“The closer to the heart, the stronger the effect will be.”

Miryeong rolled up her sleeve and extended her arm.

“Here. Hurry.”

Bido swallowed.

Then he drew out the sword’s resonance.

His eyes reddened and scales emerged,

and in that state, Bido focused.

‘Block the Idrin.’

Then he carefully made the tip of the sword “touch” Miryeong’s arm.

“Ah.”

Miryeong blinked briefly.

“What… I really can’t feel my Idrin.”

“Miryeong. Wind, very weakly.”

At Rangnan’s words, Miryeong raised her palm.

A breath-like wind gathered faintly.

“This time, Arkin.”

Miryeong looked at Bido and said.

This time, Bido found the “flow” more clearly.

The moment the sword tip touched again—

Miryeong’s wind cut off with a snap.

It was not an explosion, nor a tremor.

It simply “vanished.”

Miryeong looked down at her palm.

The wind did not rise again.

“…This is.”

“A seal.”

Rangnan answered shortly.

Miryeong briefly pressed her temple.

Then Rangnan said,

“Now release it.”

“…Release it?”

“A seal is a lock. A lock must be something you can open.”

Bido recalled the spot he had touched earlier.

This time he did not sharpen the blade further.

He changed only the sword’s “presence” into something thin.

As if feeling along a tied knot,

and carefully lifting only the place where it caught.

At Miryeong’s fingertips, wind came faintly back to life.

Miryeong exhaled.

“Phew… it’s back.”

More than those words, Bido was surprised by the sensation he heard within himself.

He had locked it.

And,

he had opened it.

Bido looked down at the sword and murmured softly,

“…So it could be released too.”

Rangnan said lowly,

“Yes.”

“That is how you can use it in real combat.”

Rangnan looked straight at Bido.

“Now, the second step.”

Bido’s heart began to beat faster again.

Rangnan added,

“Next, while moving.”

Miryeong took a step back and assumed her stance.

“Sparring.”

Miryeong looked at Bido and said,

“Now.”

“Try to catch me.”

Bido raised his sword at once.

This time, the training ground seemed wider.

And the sword in his hand felt heavier than before.

Miryeong took one step back.

As the tip of her foot brushed the floor, the air moved first.

“Do your best.”

Miryeong said.

“Because I don’t intend to go easy on you.”

Bido raised his sword.

Whenever he raised his sword,

the world always slowed a little.

But today was different.

It was not the world that slowed, but Bido himself.

Miryeong was too fast.

Bido had seen Miryeong fight many times.

He had seen her become the wind,

and seen her send people flying with a single compression.

So he thought he understood, to some extent.

But “watching” and “facing” were different.

Miryeong raised her hand.

It was only that movement, yet Bido’s breath fell one beat behind.

The air pressed thinly, then released, shaking Bido’s toes.

Bido thrust his sword out by reflex.

A stab.

The moment the sword tip extended forward,

Miryeong was already beside him.

It was not the wind; Miryeong moved first.

And only belatedly did the wind follow.

Tak.

The wind pushed Bido’s sword line once.

The sword tip shifted by a span.

The edge of Miryeong’s hand tapped Bido’s forearm.

It did not hurt.

His arm simply grew heavy for an instant.

Bido lost his balance.

Miryeong slipped into that opening.

Wind coiled thinly around him.

Miryeong’s foot brushed past the side of Bido’s knee.

Bido nearly had his knee buckle on the spot.

“Get up.”

Miryeong said.

Her voice was cold.

But that coldness was not meant to cut Bido down;

it was the coldness that held the training in place.

Bido clenched his teeth and stood again.

Miryeong did not wait for him.

Again.

This time, Bido did not swing his sword broadly.

One point.

Like a graze.

‘It only has to touch.’

Those words echoed in his head.

Bido lowered the sword tip and aimed for Miryeong’s side.

But Miryeong was already reading that direction.

Miryeong’s hand moved first.

The air folded once in front of her palm.

In that instant, Bido felt pressure on his chest.

He could not draw breath.

Bido reflexively pulled his sword back and set it before his body.

Miryeong “pushed” that sword line.

The instant the sword line was pushed,

Miryeong’s elbow tapped Bido’s shoulder.

Bido was forced backward.

His heels scraped and slid across the floor.

Miryeong did not stop even once.

She closed in, then pulled away,

closed in, then closed in again.

When Bido created distance, Miryeong pressed the air from outside that range.

When Bido entered within range, Miryeong cut the wind inside it.

Miryeong was not going easy on him.

Bido attempted to thrust several times.

Several times he thought he had almost touched her.

Each time, Miryeong erased the very distance in which Bido could make contact.

Every time the sword tip grazed empty air, Bido’s shoulders grew heavier.

His breath shortened.

His focus split apart.

The sensation of maintaining the cut-off scattered from his fingertips.

Bido clenched his teeth.

It did not need to be “maintained”; it only had to be “one instant.”

And yet before Miryeong, that one instant never came.

Bido took one step back.

His body was trying to give up first.

His arms trembled.

His palms were damp.

It felt as though the sword hilt would slip, so Bido gripped it harder.

Without even catching her breath, Miryeong said,

“Not coming?”

Bido bit his lip.

I’m not going.

I can’t go.

If I go, I’ll be pushed back again.

If I go, I’ll collapse again.

In that moment, Bido heard a very small voice inside himself.

‘Are you going to give up like this?’

And Rina’s name came to mind.

Miryeong’s eyes that had not stopped.

And the memory of Bido standing beside her.

Bido inhaled.

The breath did not enter right away.

Still, he drew it in.

And then,

he said to himself.

I have to do this.

No one will do it for me.

Bido raised himself onto the balls of his feet.

As if it were his last chance.

Miryeong saw it.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

That expression was not “wariness.”

It was, “Yes, come.”

Miryeong came in first.

This time, the wind did not come first.

Miryeong’s body came in a straight line.

Bido did not avoid that line.

If he dodged, it was over.

Bido lowered the tip of his sword.

Then raised it one beat late.

Not “late,”

but “in time.”

The moment Miryeong’s attack reached him,

the moment Miryeong’s elbow pressed into Bido’s chest,

Bido brought the sword tip beneath Miryeong’s collarbone.

Miryeong was not someone he could face halfheartedly.

If he was pushed back once, it was over.

If he was disrupted once,

there would never be another place to touch.

Bido did not close his eyes.

He did not run.

In that instant—

“Kh…!”

A dull impact slammed into the center of his chest.

His breath caught in his throat.

Bido’s body was shoved backward as if sent flying.

The moment his back hit the floor,

his vision shook once.

It was not wind,

but the feeling of his body’s weight dropping all at once.

For a while, Bido could not breathe in.

The inside of his chest felt stifled, as though it had been bent out of shape.

‘Failure.’

Bido clenched his teeth and barely found his breath.

Short and rough.

His fingers trembled, still unable to let go of the sword hilt.

Even so, he did not let go until the end.

Lying on the floor, Bido looked up at Miryeong.

Miryeong was standing.

Her breathing was not ragged.

As if the collision just now had not reached her at all.

Looking down at Bido, Miryeong said,

“That’ll do.”

Bido did not understand what she meant.

His chest still hurt,

his body had been pushed back,

and Miryeong was standing there perfectly fine.

Bido lifted his gaze.

Only then did he see it.

Below Miryeong’s collarbone,

a faint red line.

No blood flowed.

But it was clearly the trace of the blade having “touched.”

Bido’s eyes widened.

“Miryeong…?”

Instead of answering, Miryeong extended one hand.

Bido hesitated for a moment.

Miryeong’s hand waited.

In the end, Bido reached out and took her hand.

Miryeong’s hand was warmer than he had expected.

And firm.

Miryeong pulled Bido up.

She did not yank him roughly.

Only as much as necessary.

When Bido stood, Miryeong said,

“You did well.”

Bido’s expression froze as it was.

Because he did not think this was a situation where he deserved to hear that.

Bido parted his lips.

“I just…”

As if cutting him off, Miryeong added shortly,

“It touched, didn’t it?”

Miryeong very lightly touched the red line below her collarbone with her fingertip.

At that moment, Miryeong’s face creased for the briefest instant.

Not from pain—

but like someone feeling suffocated.

Miryeong pointed with her chin at Bido’s sword.

“Now.”

Bido still could not follow the situation.

“Release it.”

Miryeong added one more sentence.

“This… is more stifling than I expected.”

Bido gripped the sword hilt again with trembling hands.

“…Yes.”

With trembling fingertips,

Bido felt for the “knot” he had tied earlier.

The sensation of locking was rough.

It felt like pushing something in by force.

But the sensation of releasing was different.

It was not force, but precision.

Bido took one long breath,

and raised the sword’s presence into something exceedingly thin.

As if untying a thread,

finding where it caught,

and lifting only that caught part slightly.

In that instant,

wind came faintly back to life at Miryeong’s fingertips.

With a soft whoosh,

a breath-like wind rose over her palm.

Miryeong opened her hand and looked, then said briefly,

“That did it.”

At those words, the strength left Bido, and he only turned his head.

His vision was still faint.

Miryeong looked at him.

Her expression was still cold—

but today, that coldness was a little different.

Miryeong moved the corner of her mouth just a little.

“You’re kind of… like a key.”

Bido’s breath escaped once.

“Locking and opening.”

After saying that,

Miryeong tilted her chin toward Bido.

“Instead of standing there dazed, shall we go eat?”

Just then,

from one side of the training ground, Rangnan’s voice fell low.

“A key.”

The two of them turned their heads at the same time.

Rangnan was looking at Bido without emotion.

It was neither praise nor consolation.

Just eyes that summarized a conclusion.

“Good.”

Rangnan said shortly.

“With that key… lock Roan.”

Bido’s fingertips went cold again.

Rangnan added,

“Do not ask if it is possible.”

“Because we will make it possible.”