Flashback– Eight Years Ago– The Training Ground at the Jang Residence
It was still dark when Eun Sook stood alone in the training ground near the Jang Residence. She was just sixteen years old. The sky was heavy with clouds, the air still and cold. Her hands were wrapped with cloth, her breath short and shaky. At the edge of the training ground stood Gwang Woo, tall, huge and stern, with a wooden sword in his hand.
He didn't speak. He never did before training. His eyes were sharp, hard like stone, always watching, always judging. The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of her feet against the ground.
They began. Like every other day, his strikes were strong and heavy. She tried to block, but the force sent her stumbling back. Again. And again. She was fast, but he was faster. Or maybe it was his years of skill that made it look so easy. It never ever felt like he was training her more like he wanted to crush and kill her.
"You are weak," he said plainly, his tone without even a flicker of emotion. "Too soft to fight. Lord Jang must've lost his mind bringing you in."
Eun Sook swallowed her pain. Her hand hurt. Her wrist had been twisted during their last spar, but she didn't complain. She never did.
"What use is a woman with a sword? You are weak!" Gwang Woo scoffed. "You'll never be strong enough."
She tightened her grip on the sword. Her hands trembled slightly, but she raised it again. She didn't look him in the eye. She just waited.
They fought again. She tried to land a strike, but he caught her mid-motion, pushed her to the ground, and pinned her throat with the wooden blade.
"You should give up," he said, pressing down until she gasped. "You're wasting both our times. You don't belong here.. You should be busy wearing silk, hairpins and perfume. You should be learning how to manage the kitchen and preparing to get married. You shouldn't be handling a sword."
She lay there, with her eyes wide and burning with rage and sadness. She wanted to cry, but she didn't. She turned her head away and coughed as he stepped back.
That day, she didn't return to her chambers. She went behind the stables where no one could see her. And she screamed. Once. Then hit her fists against the tree until her knuckles bled.
But the next morning, she was back.
She had known it the day she first held a sword—no matter how hard she tried, she'd never match a man's strength. But she didn't need to. She didn't want to win with brute force. She just needed to be smarter.
She began watching carefully. Studying how Gwang Woo moved. She noticed his footing, how his shoulder dropped slightly before every swing. How his knees stiffened before each step.
At night, when the entire household were asleep, she practiced. She moved barefoot across cold stones, training her feet to be swift and silent. She struck thin poles wrapped with cloth, trying to hit with precision instead of strength. She memorized every weak point she could. She memorised all his movements. She thought of every way she could make her size an advantage. Her body became lighter. Faster. Sharper.
She was improving greatly.
During one of their spars, Gwang Woo furrowed his brows. He could see it. He noticed. Her movements were quicker. Her reactions were sharper. But he didn't say anything. He tried to crush her even more.
"You're getting faster," he muttered once. "Yiu are still too heavy on your feet."
And she knew he was right.
That night, she thought deeply. She remembered something else—her training in sword dancing. The way her feet moved like wind, how her body flowed without weight just like a feather. It wasn't fighting. But what if she made it so?
She combined the two. She practiced for nights without rest—sword in hand, feet light like in a dance. She twirled, ducked, moved like a shadow. Silent. Controlled. Dangerous.
She didn't tell anyone. She just waited.
The final spar came without warning. She was called to the courtyard one morning. Lord Jang was seated under the pavilion. His eyes were unreadable.
Gwang Woo stood, sword in hand. He looked the same as ever. Cold. Distant.
They began.
This time, she didn't rush. She circled him slowly. Her sword was low. Her eyes on his every movement. He came first, heavy and fast, like always. She dodged. Barely. His blade grazed her sleeve. She could feel the wind of his strike against her cheek.
She twisted away, slid to the side, struck—but he blocked it. She spun, ducked his next blow, and went low to strike his leg. He leapt back, scowling.
It went on. Minutes passed. Sweat dripped from her brow. Her arms ached. Her breath was thin. But she moved like a ghost, light and sharp.
Gwang Woo didn't hold back. He was stronger. Every hit she blocked rattled her bones. Her knees wobbled from the pressure. He landed a blow to her shoulder. She stumbled. Her blade almost slipped.
"Still weak," he hissed, raising his sword.
But she didn't stop.
She remembered Master Lee's teachings. She waited. Watched. Just for a second—Gwang Woo stepped with his usual stiffness. His ribs were exposed.
She struck.
One hit. Quick. Clean.
He gasped.
Then she ducked and slid past him, turned, and placed her blade to the back of his neck.
He froze.
The courtyard was silent.
Lord Jang stood and clapped slowly. Pride in his eyes.
Eun Sook stood there, panting, her arms weak, her heart beating like a drum. She didn't smile. She just looked up at Jang Hyun—at the only man who ever believed in her.
And in that moment, for the first time in her life, she felt like she had finally become something more than what they said she'd be.