Chapter 6

Rae ran his hands over his body in sudden panic.

Arms. Legs. Chest. Neck.

"…Okay," he muttered. "All there."

"Stop wasting time," Roa said flatly. "Climb again."

I just fell twenty feet and he could not care less. 

Rae looked up.

The mountain path was narrow and uneven, carved by water and time. Stones jutted out at sharp angles. Loose gravel shifted constantly, waiting for the smallest mistake.

Instead of the pole, Roa had fitted him with a weighted stone vest. Flat slabs of rock pressed tightly against his torso and back, dragging his center of gravity downward.

Not pulling me sideways. Straight down.

Rae stepped forward and began climbing.

His foot slipped almost immediately.

The weight yanked him off balance and slammed him into the rock. Air burst from his lungs as he slid several paces before managing to stop himself.

Too fast. I placed my foot before checking friction.

He adjusted and climbed again.

Hands scraped stone. Fingers searched for holds that barely existed. Each movement demanded intention.

If I rush, I fall. If I hesitate, I lose strength.

Each day passing felt the same.

If he was not on the ground, he was climbing.

Slip. Recover. Climb.

Roa never intervened. Never corrected him. Never explained.

He only watched.

And said one word.

“Again.”

I hate that word. 

Rae's hands bled constantly. Skin tore open and reformed. Nails cracked and split. His shoulders burned beneath the steady pressure of stone.

But his body began moving on its own.

His eyes tracked every surface automatically.

That rock is hollow. That ledge will hold weight for half a second. That angle redirects force instead of resisting it.

His mind stopped narrating.

It calculated.

The mountain is not an obstacle. It is a puzzle. Every rock has a pattern.

One wrong step sent him sliding again. His grip caught just in time.

Too much weight on the toes. Shift hips first.

He adjusted. Continued.

Days passed.

How many times have I climbed this? Fifty? A hundred?

My hands do not shake anymore. My feet know where to step before I tell them.

Then one climb ended differently.

Rae reached the upper ridge and froze.

He was standing.

No stumble. No slip.

I did it.

The stone vest still dragged downward, but his body compensated without conscious effort. Micro-adjustments flowed through his legs, spine, and shoulders before imbalance could form.

I did not think. I just moved.

Roa stood nearby, waiting.

"It took you long enough," he said.

Two weeks of bleeding hands and that is all he says?

Rae dropped to one knee, chest heaving.

"So that was it?" Rae asked between gasps. "The climb?"

"You made it to the top without falling," Roa said. "What changed?"

Rae frowned. What did change?

He thought back. The first attempts were chaos. Panic. Grabbing any handhold. Placing feet anywhere.

But today...

"I knew which rocks would hold," Rae said slowly. "Before I touched them."

"How?"

"The color. The texture. The angle." Rae stared at his hands. "I stopped guessing. I started calculating."

Roa nodded once. "The mountain taught you to read it. Stone has a language. You learned to speak it."

Not strength. Knowledge.

"Every surface tells you what it can bear," Roa continued. "You finally listened."

"And the weight?" Roa prompted.

Rae touched the vest straps. "At first, the weight was the enemy. I fought it. That made it heavier."

He paused, searching for the right words.

"But when I stopped resisting... when I accepted the weight and adjusted to it..." Rae looked up. "The weight became part of me. Not something I carry. Something I am."

The vest stopped being a burden and became my center.

"Correct," Roa said. "When body and mind work as one, movement becomes natural."

He tapped his staff once against stone.

"You finally understand it."

Not just words anymore. I felt it. My body learned something my mind could not teach.

Roa turned away. "Rest. Then we descend."

The descent was worse.

Gravity pulled relentlessly. The stone vest tried to drag him forward with every step.

Do not fight it. Guide it.

Short steps. Controlled angle. Redirect momentum.

Let gravity flow. Use it instead of resisting it.

He slipped twice.

Only twice. Progress.

When his feet finally touched level ground, his legs buckled and he collapsed into the grass.

I am not moving again. This grass is my bed.

Roa watched him silently.

Then he turned and walked toward a rack carved into the rock wall.

"It is about time you learn martial arts," Roa said as he reached it.

He picked up two wooden swords.

Rae lifted his head.

Finally.

His breathing steadied.

Carrying weight built the body. Now I learn what the body can do.

Roa tossed one of the wooden swords toward him.

Rae caught it awkwardly, still lying in the grass.

"Stand," Roa said.

Rae pushed himself upright, legs trembling.

My body is screaming but I cannot give up. 

He gripped the wooden sword with both hands.

Roa studied his grip. "Wrong."

Of course it is. It is my first time holding one.

Roa stepped forward and repositioned Rae's hands. Fingers wrapped differently. Thumb placement shifted.

The weapon suddenly felt more balanced.

"A blade is not a tool you hold," Roa said. "It is an extension of your body. The same as your arm. The same as your breath."

He stepped back. "Now stand properly."

Rae adjusted his feet. Shoulder width apart. Knees slightly bent.

Like carrying the pole. Like climbing the cliff. Weight centered.

"Better." Roa circled him slowly. "The Stone Bearing Method was not just about weight. It taught your body how to hold structure under pressure."

He stopped in front of Rae. "Everything you learned on that mountain applies here."

Roa raised his own blade. "Strike me."

You asked for this.

But Rae lifted the blade and swung.

Roa's weapon moved minimally, redirecting Rae's strike away with almost no effort.

He barely moved. But my strike went nowhere.

"Again."

Rae struck again. Same result.

He is not blocking. He is guiding my force away.

"Again."

Each time, Roa's blade moved just enough. Never met force with force. Always redirected.

Structure over strength. He keeps showing me the same lesson in different forms.

"You see it," Roa said.

Rae nodded slowly. "You are not fighting my strikes. You are letting them flow past."

"Good. Now move while you strike."

Rae stepped forward and swung.

His foot tangled. His balance shifted wrong. The blade went wide.

Roa's weapon cracked against his ribs.

There it is.

"Your body and weapon must move as one," Roa said. "Not separately."

He demonstrated. A single smooth step, blade extending naturally with the motion. Connected. Fluid.

It looks simple when he does it.

Rae tried to copy it.

His feet went left. His blade went right. His body somewhere in between.

I look like a drunk fool.

"Again."

Worse somehow.

"Again."

How is this harder than climbing a cliff with rocks tied to my chest?

But slowly, something clicked.

The world shifted.

Rae blinked.

For less than a second, he saw movement differently. Not just Roa's blade coming at him, but the flow of it. The weight behind it. The momentum. The exact point where force would transfer.

And his own body. He could feel how it needed to move. Not thinking. Knowing.

Then the sensation cut off abruptly.

Something inside his chest locked tight.

What was that?

But his body had followed the vision anyway. Footwork connected to blade movement. Weight transferred naturally as he stepped.

Not smooth. Not graceful.

But connected.

The pressure in his chest remained. Heavy. Restrictive.

Something tried to wake up.

"Better," Roa said. "You are learning."

Interesting. For a moment, he moved like he could see it.

Then he attacked without warning.

His blade came straight at Rae's head.

Rae threw his weapon up desperately.

The impact jarred his arms, but he blocked it.

I blocked it.

"Good instinct. Terrible execution." Roa struck again from a different angle.

Rae barely moved in time.

"Faster."

Strike after strike came.

Rae stopped thinking. His body moved on reflex.

Predict. Calculate. Adjust.

Like the mountain. Every move has a pattern.

Most blocks were clumsy. Some he missed entirely, earning bruises.

But he was fighting.

Roa's blade cracked hard against his shoulder, spinning him around.

He landed face-first in the dirt.

I am still getting destroyed.

"Enough," Roa said. "Your body needs rest. Training exhausted builds bad habits."

He walked toward the cave. "Tomorrow we continue."

Rae lay there, gasping.

I will be able to fight back soon.

But something felt different.

The cliff taught me structure. The blade is teaching me how to use it.

This is what martial arts actually is. Not just strength. Not just endurance.

Movement. Calculation. Making the body into a weapon.

He pushed himself up slowly.

His hands were torn from climbing. His shoulders ached from the vest. His ribs throbbed from Roa's strikes.

But his mind was clear.

One step at a time.