Chapter 5

Roa pulled a book from his bag.

The cover was patched leather and cloth, stitched crookedly as if it had been repaired a dozen times. The edges were worn smooth by careful hands.

It looked painfully familiar.

Rae Jin froze.

His chest tightened, breath catching before he could stop it. He recognized it instantly.

The picture book his mother made for him.

He had thought it was gone—burned along with everything else that night. The realization struck him all at once, sharp enough to blur his vision.

“…You had that?”

Roa held it out carefully, as if it were fragile.

“I kept it.”

Rae Jin stared, throat tightening.

“Why?”

Roa’s eyes remained flat.

“Because you were clutching it when I pulled you from the river. Even when you were half dead.”

He paused.

“I figured it was important to you.”

Rae Jin took the book with both hands, afraid it might vanish if he didn’t. His fingers traced the worn edges. The uneven stitching. The faint ink lines hidden beneath childish drawings.

For a moment, the cavern smelled like candlelight.

Like his mother’s hands.
Like home.

He swallowed hard, forcing the feeling down before it could crack him.

“…Thank you,” he said quietly. “It is important.”

Roa turned away.

“Keep it close. You won’t have time to read once training starts.”

Rae Jin hesitated.

“…Did you read it?”

Roa paused.

“I looked. I was curious why you wouldn’t let it go.”

Then, flatly—

“I couldn’t read it. I didn’t understand it.”

Rae Jin looked up, startled.

“…You didn’t understand?”

“It’s just drawings,” he said. “It’s a child’s book.”

Roa snorted softly.

“You’ll learn to look past appearances. In this world, things are rarely what they seem.”

Rae Jin frowned.

Not what I see…

Roa’s gaze lingered on the book a breath longer than necessary.

“That book was meant to teach you something,” he said at last. “But only when you’re ready.”

His eyes sharpened.

“Right now, you’re too weak.”

Rae Jin lowered his gaze to the worn pages.

“…I’m not that weak.”

Roa picked up his staff.

“You are,” he said calmly. “But not for long—if you do exactly as I say.”

He turned toward the cavern’s mouth.

“Enough talking. We have a full day ahead.”

Rae Jin carefully placed the book on his folded cloth bed and rushed after him.
The moment his feet touched the ground outside, a fresh spring breeze wrapped around him.

Sunlight flooded his vision, forcing him to squint. The sky stretched wide and pale above, and the last traces of snow clung only to shaded stone, as if winter had never truly been there.

Birdsong echoed through the mountain.

For a brief moment, it felt like the world was welcoming him.

A new beginning.

A new Rae Jin.

He stood there, uncertain, unsure what to do with the quiet.

Then—

Tap.

Roa’s staff struck stone.

“It seems I’ve been too easy on you,” Roa said. “You look too comfortable.”

Rae Jin flinched.

“That won’t do.”

Roa pointed.

Rae Jin followed his gaze.

A wooden pole lay on the ground—thick, crude, heavy. At each end, sacks bulged with stones packed so tightly the fabric strained.

Rae Jin stared.

“…What’s that?”

Roa lifted it with one hand and dropped it onto Rae Jin’s shoulders.

The weight slammed down like a hammer.

Rae Jin’s knees buckled instantly.

“Training.”

He gasped, teeth clenching as the pole dug into his shoulders.

“I—I can’t even stand—”

“Then stand,” Roa said. “And start running around the lake.”

Rae Jin staggered upright, legs shaking violently.

This man is a monster. He has no pity for children.

“…How far?”

Roa considered for a moment.

“Until the sun reaches its highest point.”

Rae Jin swallowed.

“…That’s eight hours.”

“Correct. You should start.”

Rae Jin muttered under his breath and began moving.

The first ten steps were pure agony.

Each step felt heavier than the last. His breath tore out of his chest, uneven and panicked. After three laps around the lake, sweat soaked his clothes completely.

The pole bounced against his shoulders. The stones shifted, threatening to throw him off balance with every step.

Inhale—

Pain stabbed his chest.

Hold—

Exhale—

His vision swam.

Roa’s voice drifted up from behind him, calm and infuriating.

“Focus. Not on the pain. On your breath. Slow. Deep. Quiet.”

Rae Jin growled and forced himself to obey.

Step by step, he continued.

When his legs finally gave out, he collapsed face-first into the dirt. The pole rolled off his shoulders with a dull thud.

He lay there, gasping.

“…I think this counts as attempted murder.”

Roa looked down at him.

“But you’re still alive.”

“…That’s debatable.”

A wooden sword landed beside him.

“I want you to take this sword,” Roa said. “And swing it.”

Rae Jin stared at it.

“…I’ve never used a sword.”

Roa stepped forward, positioning himself before an immense oak tree.

“Do not think of it as a weapon,” he said. “Anything you hold becomes an extension of your body.”

“Look closely. I’ll show you once. Remember everything.”

Roa raised the wooden sword.

One smooth motion.

No sound.

The air shifted.

The tree split cleanly in half.

Rae Jin’s breath caught.

“…You cut it,” he said slowly. “Without touching it. With a wooden sword.”

Roa handed the sword back.

“Your turn.”

Rae Jin stared at the blade, then at the broken tree.

“That doesn’t make sense. How is that even possible?”

Roa’s gaze remained steady.

“What did I tell you before?”

“…Look past appearances.”

Rae Jin tightened his grip. His stance was stiff. His balance was wrong.

He inhaled and swung.

Whoosh.

The sword cut air.

Nothing happened.

“…This isn’t possible.”

“Stop thinking,” Roa said. “Swing. Cut the tree.”

Rae Jin clenched his teeth.

Questioning Roa never brought answers. Only more work.

So he swung again.

Nothing.

Frustration boiled over.

He swung wider now, aggression replacing focus, breath scattering with every motion. Each strike grew heavier, anger bleeding into exhaustion.

The sun sank lower.

Roa said nothing. He didn’t correct him. Didn’t stop him.

Rae Jin’s hands blistered raw. His arms trembled every time he lifted the sword. Sweat soaked through his clothes, ran down his spine, blurred his vision.

The tree remained whole.

By the time the sky darkened, Rae Jin collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving, limbs numb. He stared up at the fading light, too exhausted to curse, too tired to move.

Roa stood above him, his silhouette carved against the dying sun.