Honbul: Flame of the Soul

The stranger who had flung off his conical hat turned to Myojeong with a bright smile.

The face that had been hidden beneath the hat was strikingly handsome.

The moment the boy heard his teacher’s name come out of the stranger’s mouth, the stream of savage curses and threats he had been spewing like a man possessed stopped dead.

“Myojeong? You two... you know each other?”

At the same moment the boy asked, Myojeong rose from where he had been kneeling. Standing face to face, he and the stranger threw their arms around each other without hesitation, each gripping the other tightly.

The boy’s eyes went wide.

Myojeong pulled the stranger hard against him and said,

“How long has it been?”

The sight of them embracing in delight left the boy utterly dumbfounded. Just moments ago, they had looked like enemies, and now it turned out they knew each other.

That was not the only reason he was stunned.

Now that the stranger had removed his hat and revealed his true appearance, the boy saw that his hair was very short—cropped only to about his ears. He had never seen anyone cut their hair like that before.

“Haha. Have you been well all this time?”

the stranger asked with a broad smile.

There was something clear and warm in the air around that smile. A breeze coming down the mountainside stirred his short hair softly.

“I have always been well.”

Myojeong answered gently.

The stranger gave Myojeong’s back a few friendly pats, then looked over at the boy, who was still sitting there in a daze.

“But, Myojeong. At this rate I feel like I’m either going to get my bones crushed or suffocate to death, so unless you’re planning to dispose of a corpse, perhaps you should let go first.”

At that, the boy blinked stupidly. The tone was warm enough, but there was something oddly sharp tucked into it. Even though they were embracing each other, it was really the stranger who looked buried in Myojeong’s arms.

Myojeong was simply much taller.

Once he was free of Myojeong’s embrace, the stranger looked toward the boy. The boy flinched, then immediately lifted his chin and glared right back at him. He was relieved to know the man was not an enemy, but he was still wary.

So that child is the one?

That was what the stranger had whispered in Myojeong’s ear a moment earlier.

While they had still been trading blows and pretending otherwise, Myojeong had suddenly tossed the boy his sword. Myojeong had not said a word, but the stranger had immediately understood what that meant.

Teach my disciple a lesson or two.

Myojeong was a mischievous teacher.

The stranger already knew about the boy. Myojeong had sent him letter after letter before, all of them saying the same thing—that he had taken in a child as his disciple. But this was the first time he had ever met the boy in person, the one he had only heard about through writing.

“So your name is Gyeom, is it?”

The stranger asked it like he was making sure.

Instead of answering, Myojeong gave the slightest movement of his eyes.

At that, the stranger brushed a hand through his short hair and strode over. Then he crouched down in front of the boy, who was still seated on the ground exactly where he had fallen.

“So you’re Myojeong’s disciple. The one I’ve heard so much about.”

“Who are you? How do you know me?”

the boy snapped.

The stranger threw his head back and laughed heartily.

Then he glanced over at Myojeong and raised a finger to point at the boy, as though asking if he had heard that.

“What a remarkably ill-tempered disciple you’ve got.”

The question came with a teasing edge to it. Myojeong only smiled.

“So it would seem.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Hwirim.”

Having introduced himself, the stranger extended a hand as though asking for a handshake.

The boy only glared at it with a sullen face.

One of Hwirim’s brows went crooked.

“Well now. Look at you.”

As the silent standoff continued, Hwirim suddenly reached out and, without permission, squeezed the boy’s cheek.

The boy jerked and smacked his hand away.

“Well, would you look at that. Maybe it’s because you’re young, but you’re just like a rice cake.”

Chuckling, Hwirim reached out again.

The boy sprang up and ran straight to Myojeong. Grabbing hold of his sleeve, he asked, 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

“Wh-what kind of person is he...?”

Myojeong smiled as he answered.

“Hwirim is an old friend of mine.”

What?

The boy was startled. He had never imagined Myojeong had friends.

It struck him all at once how little he actually knew about his teacher. Which made sense. Myojeong had always seemed reluctant to speak about his own past, or about himself in general. Even when the subject came up by chance, he would always steer around it as though nothing had happened.

So despite having lived together for years, the boy had not even known Myojeong had an old friend.

He had just learned something new about his teacher, and instead of feeling pleased, he felt oddly hurt.

And a little jealous too.

I’m the only one without any friends. Must be nice for Myojeong, having one.

Whether he knew what his disciple was thinking or not, Myojeong simply smiled, rested a hand lightly on the boy’s head, and then turned to Hwirim.

“Hwirim, now that you’ve crossed swords with my disciple, what do you think? Is he any good?”

At that, Hwirim looked quietly at the boy.

The boy swallowed before he even realized he was doing it. Waiting for the answer made him strangely tense.

Hwirim stroked his chin in thought for a moment, then smiled with his eyes.

“Well, naturally. Like teacher, like disciple.”

At that measured praise, the boy’s eyes began to brighten—

“Since he takes after his teacher, his swordsmanship is awful. Just awful.”

Hwirim added it playfully, waving a hand as if dismissing the matter.

“......”

“......”

The boy slowly looked up at Myojeong.

I must have heard wrong just now.

Myojeong calmly folded his hands behind his back.

No, you heard exactly right.

“What?! Who are you calling awful? Hey! Are you that great or something?”

In the end the boy exploded, face flushed red. He looked ready to lunge at Hwirim at any second.

“Oh dear.”

Myojeong laughed awkwardly and caught him by the shoulder.

“Myojeong is incredibly strong! You’re nothing!”

Fine, he could let it go if the insult was aimed at him. But insulting Myojeong too? That he could not tolerate.

“Myojeong, what are you doing? Hurry and get your sword! Your sword!”

The boy stamped and struggled furiously.

“Gyeom. That is enough. Calm down...”

Myojeong sighed as he tried to soothe his young disciple.

“He’s looking down on you! Fight him and beat him!”

“Gyeom. If I do that, this teacher of yours will lose his head.”

“Huh?”

The boy stopped short and looked up at him.

“Even I have no chance against Hwirim when it comes to swordsmanship.”

His teacher calmly told him the truth.

And, in the same breath, offered a quiet apology as well.

I am sorry.

There was not really anything to apologize for, but somehow it still felt like the sort of thing he ought to say.

“What? Really?”

the boy asked blankly, unable to believe it.

Myojeong bent closer and whispered into his ear.

“Hwirim is the greatest swordsman under heaven.”

The greatest swordsman under heaven.

The boy’s eyes flew wide.

In that instant, his entire impression of Hwirim changed. His heart swelled all at once. Before he knew it, he was looking at Hwirim again.

Hwirim saw it and gave him a crooked, mean little grin.

“When it comes to the sword, there is no one under this sky who can compare to him. So to Hwirim, even a fairly talented fighter looks clumsy. There is no need to take it to heart.”

That was not it at all.

He was not hurt, and he certainly was not disappointed in his teacher.

If anything, Myojeong seemed even more impressive now.

So that’s how strong you have to be to become Myojeong’s friend.

That was what the boy found himself thinking.

When Myojeong saw his eyes shining in that odd way, he spoke in a voice laced with amusement.

“So Hwirim looks a little different to you now, does he?”

The boy did not answer, only fidgeted with his fingers. He stole another glance at Hwirim.

It was true.

All of a sudden, Hwirim looked cool.

Myojeong did not let the opportunity slip by. In a smooth, gentle voice, he began quietly fanning the flames.

“Do you know why Hwirim’s hair is cut so short? He says it is a nuisance when it falls out of place every time he swings his {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} sword, so he cut it himself. It is exactly the kind of spirit one would expect from a man worthy of the lofty title of greatest swordsman under heaven.”

That’s so cool.

He cut it himself?

The boy stared in admiration.

Myojeong looked a little excited too.

Ordinarily, although Myojeong clearly knew he was strong, he was not the sort to say so out loud or show it off himself. Part of that was simply his temperament, but more than that, Myojeong was always taciturn when it came to himself.

But when it came to his friend Hwirim, he suddenly had plenty to say.

Whether he was advising the boy to learn from him or simply boasting that his friend was extraordinary, Myojeong clearly wanted him to know just how strong and impressive Hwirim was.

Hwirim, who had been trying to act nonchalant through most of it, finally seemed to decide that this would go on forever if he let it.

He cleared his throat.

“That should be enough, I think. Any more than this and it’ll be embarrassing to listen to...”

muttered Hwirim, rubbing the back of his neck.

At that, Myojeong fell silent and looked at him quietly.

Avoiding his eyes a little, Hwirim added,

“Ah, and these are the things you left with me before...”

He handed over the entire pack slung over his shoulder.

A thick stick, something like a heavy switch, was sticking conspicuously out of the cloth pack. Taking the bundle, Myojeong slid the long rod out.

“Oh. What’s that? What is it?”

the boy asked, hurrying closer with naked curiosity.

“Ah, that’s a bow Myojeong has used for a long time,”

Hwirim answered helpfully from beside him.

“A bow? Why is the stave so straight? And it doesn’t even have a string...”

Myojeong smiled, then said,

“Watch closely.”

He caught both ends of the rod and bent it hard, as though he meant to snap it in two.

The boy’s eyes went round as a rabbit’s.

The rod, which by all rights should have broken cleanly, remained perfectly intact. It only bent with smooth, impossible flexibility under the pressure.

“Whatever it looks like, it is more precious and more useful than any other bow.”

Myojeong was still examining the stave from one end to the other when Hwirim suddenly reached out and kneaded the boy’s cheek again, just as before.

“You little fool. Are you any good with a bow?”

Awful again.

The boy, sitting there and letting his cheek be pinched, grumbled sourly under his breath, and Myojeong burst out laughing.

“Our Gyeom may be somewhat clumsy with a sword, but when it comes to the bow, he is exceptionally gifted. He has an unusual talent for it. I suppose that too must come from resembling his unworthy teacher.”

When he finished speaking, Myojeong placed the bow stave in the boy’s hands.

“So I will pass this on to my disciple, who takes after me.”

The boy flinched in surprise, his eyes going round.