By the time I returned home, the sun was high, and my body hummed with the aftershocks of the fight. My hands still trembled — not from fear, but from the rush. The taste of victory was sharp, but I knew it wasn't enough.
Strength had a price, and I hadn't paid nearly enough.
"Seol-Yeong!" My mother's voice pulled me from my thoughts as she rushed toward me. "You're hurt again?"
"It's nothing," I said — the same words I always did. She didn't believe me, but she let it go when I handed her the coin I earned from selling the pelts. I watched the relief wash over her face, and that was enough.
Yoon-Hee watched from the doorway. She hadn't said much since I brought her here, but there was a quietness to her — a stillness that felt familiar.
"Thank you," she whispered when I passed.
I didn't know how to answer, so I didn't.
Later, when the village quieted and the night crept in, I slipped out. There was no training ground this time. No crowd, no wooden swords. Just the woods — silent, cold, and dangerous.
I needed real strength. The kind that didn't come from practice swings.
The kind you earned with blood.
The moon was high when the bandits found me. Four of them — rough men with wild eyes and rusted weapons. They laughed when they saw me, a boy alone in the woods.
They weren't laughing when I killed the first one.
The second came at me screaming, his axe flashing in the moonlight. I ducked low, my dagger slipping into his ribs. He fell with a wet gasp.
The third ran. Smart.
The fourth begged. I didn't listen.
When it was done, my hands were steady. My heart was calm. And my pouch was heavier with silver than it had ever been.
But there was something else — a weight I couldn't see, settling deep inside me.
The price of strength.
And I would pay it again and again.