The bunker was dark and cold, the air heavy with dust and the scent of decay. Yeon-ah sat on the cold floor, her back pressed against the wall, staring blankly into the shadows. The exhaustion in her bones was overwhelming, but sleep refused to come. Her mind was too restless, too filled with the images of the Deborer and the wreckage they had left behind.
The woman, whom Yeon-ah still didn't know much about, was standing across the room, sharpening her blade with a slow, deliberate motion. The sound of metal scraping against stone echoed through the empty bunker, a rhythmic reminder of the constant danger they faced.
Yeon-ah's gaze drifted to the woman's weapon—a long, slender blade with intricate engravings along the hilt. It looked old, worn by years of use, but still deadly. There was something almost... mystical about it.
"You're staring," the woman said without looking up, her voice as cold as ever.
Yeon-ah blinked, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. "Sorry. I was just..." She hesitated, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts. "That sword. It's different, isn't it?"
The woman glanced at her, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, she didn't answer, and Yeon-ah wondered if she had overstepped.
Finally, the woman spoke. "This sword has been with me for a long time. Longer than I care to remember." She paused, her eyes flickering with something—perhaps a distant memory. "It's seen more battles than you can imagine."
Yeon-ah nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. She could tell that the woman wasn't one to open up easily, and prying further would likely lead to more silence.
"Why do you fight?" Yeon-ah asked after a long pause, her voice quiet. It was a question she had been wanting to ask for a while but hadn't had the courage.
The woman's gaze hardened, and for a moment, Yeon-ah thought she wouldn't answer.
"Because it's the only thing I know how to do," she said, her voice flat. "In this world, strength is the only thing that keeps you alive."
Yeon-ah's stomach twisted at the cold truth of the words. She had learned that lesson the hard way, through blood and pain. But even so, something about the woman's words felt hollow, as if there was more to it than she was letting on.
"You saved me," Yeon-ah said, her voice trembling slightly. "You didn't have to, but you did."
The woman stopped sharpening her blade, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Yeon-ah. "I saved you because you were useful," she said bluntly. "Don't make the mistake of thinking this is anything more than survival."
Yeon-ah bit her lip, the coldness of the words cutting deep. But she didn't argue. She knew better than to expect warmth or kindness from the woman. That wasn't who she was.
"You want to survive?" the woman continued, her voice sharp. "Then learn to fight. Learn to be ruthless."
Yeon-ah nodded, her hands clenching into fists. She wanted to be strong, to fight, to survive. But the idea of becoming as cold and detached as the woman... it frightened her.
"Teach me," Yeon-ah said suddenly, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
The woman raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing. "Teach you?"
Yeon-ah swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. "I want to be strong. Like you."
The woman's gaze was piercing, as if she were looking straight through Yeon-ah, searching for something. For a long moment, she didn't speak, and Yeon-ah felt her nerves fraying under the weight of the silence.
"Strength doesn't come from wanting it," the woman said finally, her voice low. "It comes from fighting for it. From bleeding for it."
Yeon-ah's chest tightened, but she didn't back down. "Then I'll fight for it. I'll bleed for it. Just... please. Help me."
The woman stared at her, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she sheathed her blade and stood up, walking toward Yeon-ah.
"You think you're ready for this?" she asked, her voice cold.
Yeon-ah nodded, though her hands trembled slightly. "I have to be."
The woman's eyes flickered with something—perhaps a flicker of respect, or maybe pity. But whatever it was, it passed quickly, and her face hardened once more.
"Fine," she said, her voice like steel. "I'll teach you. But know this—if you fail, I won't be there to save you."
Yeon-ah's heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of fear and determination surging through her veins. She had asked for this, and now there was no turning back.
The woman unsheathed her sword again, holding it out in front of her. "This isn't just a weapon," she said, her voice low. "It's a part of me. Just as it will become a part of you."
Yeon-ah's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"
The woman didn't answer directly. Instead, she took a step back, her movements deliberate and graceful. "Watch closely," she said.
And then she moved.
The blade in her hand seemed to shimmer, almost as if it were alive, reacting to her every command. Her movements were fluid, precise, and there was a power behind them—something beyond mere physical strength.
It was as if the blade itself had its own will, its own purpose, and the woman was merely its conduit.
Yeon-ah watched in awe as the woman sliced through the air, her strikes deadly and swift. There was a grace to her movements, but also a brutality—a reminder that every swing of the blade was meant to kill.
When she finally stopped, the air around them seemed to hum with energy, as if the very space they stood in had been affected by the power of her strikes.
The woman turned to Yeon-ah, her eyes cold and focused. "This is what it means to fight. To wield power that can destroy."
Yeon-ah swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never seen anything like it—this wasn't just skill or strength. There was something more to it, something almost supernatural.
"You said you wanted to learn," the woman said, her voice sharp. "Then prove it."
Yeon-ah nodded, stepping forward, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her blade. She wasn't ready—not even close—but she had to try. She had to fight.
Because in this world, survival wasn't just about strength.
It was about power.