Soul Summoning Sword Spirt

Chapter 2: Soul-Summoning Arts (2)

Gugwi’s heart thumped loudly. But his mind was as cold as ice. His head was filled with the image of his blood-covered father lying collapsed and the fractured voices of the masked men.

It had always been like this. When fighting beasts, when his life was in danger, sharp judgment naturally surfaced as if by instinct. It was a sense honed through countless games of hide-and-seek with wild animals in the mountains.

Before he realized it, the masked man approached.

The curved sword in his hand gleamed under the moonlight.

His father’s blood had soaked the blade. The man’s steps were slow but menacing.

“You’re of Yeonghu’s bloodline too, aren’t you?”

The man murmured. Words he couldn’t understand.

“Yeonghu’s bloodline?”

Gugwi repeated the man’s words.

He didn’t know what they meant, but he instinctively sensed they were a crucial clue.

His father’s sudden death, the actions he had taken… The Soul-Summoning Arts and Yeonghu’s bloodline were clearly connected.

He gripped his father’s broken sword and stared straight at the man.

His heart, cold as ice… saw the situation clearly.

‘I can’t win.’

His father’s strange martial art resurfaced in his mind.

Was it called the Soul-Summoning Arts?

The sight of blue veins spreading across his skin, his body twisting unnaturally. Yet even then, his father had fallen.

With skills only good enough to bring down wild boars… his hand holding the sword trembled slightly.

‘I have to escape.’

Gugwi clenched his teeth.

It was shameful to flee in front of his father's murderer, but dying here would be even more foolish. If his father's death was not to be in vain, he had to live.

Gugwi hurled the sword forcefully toward them. There was no chance such a clumsy throw would hit its mark.

Clang!

The sound of the sword hitting the ground echoed.

The men’s eyes filled with confusion—“Why?” But Gugwi didn’t miss that brief opening.

Just for a moment, their attention shifted.

Gugwi immediately broke into the sprint his father had taught him.

…Inhale, three steps. Hold breath, three steps. Exhale forcefully while taking five big strides… His legs moved on their own. Every step along the mountain path brought his body to life.

Tap!

He kicked off the ground and shot forward like an arrow.

Things rushed past him. He ran with every ounce of strength. His breath caught in his throat.

‘There!’

Crack!

Gugwi darted into the bamboo forest.

Leaves rustled. The wind brushed past his ears. The earth beneath his feet gave way softly.

“Catch him!”

A man’s shout rang from behind.

His rough voice shook the forest.

But Gugwi didn’t stop. He weaved through the trees.

This was the bamboo grove he’d played in as a child. No one knew the hiding places here better than he did. He’d once hidden here to escape a black bear. Not a single scratch on him.

Deep in the forest, Gugwi hid behind an ancient tree.

“Huff! Huff!”

His breath was ragged. Sweat soaked his forehead.

Crack! Crack!

The footsteps of the masked men grew closer. Branches snapped.

“This way!”

Someone shouted.

Torchlight seeped between the trees.

Gugwi clenched his teeth and held his breath.

His hands dug into the bark, dirt lodging under his fingernails.

The men scoured the area with torches. The flames flickered.

Gugwi lowered himself between the roots of the old tree. The torchlight grazed his shoulder. But they didn’t see him.

He closed his lungs. It was a technique from his father.

‘Just like Father taught me… count to three, then close the lungs.’

Even the rustle of his clothes ceased. The pounding of his heart spread quietly.

‘So this is why Father trained me like that.’

How to hold one’s breath, how to erase all traces.

His father's teachings came alive.

“Search wider!”

One man growled.

Footsteps gradually receded, and the torchlights vanished into the shadows.

Gugwi leaned against the tree.

He caught his breath. His heart pounded. Anger and sorrow stabbed his chest. His hands trembled.

“To the Cold Wolf Sect…”

His father’s final words echoed in his mind.

Suddenly, he choked up, and tears fell. They streamed down his cheeks and chin.

He pulled out the secret manual from his robes.

His fingers traced the leather cover.

The manual his father had handed him with bloodied hands. It still seemed to carry his warmth.

Then, suddenly, the air turned frigid.

‘Wh-What is this? Why is it suddenly so cold?’

An intense chill surged from the manual, piercing his bones.

It felt as though a blizzard in midwinter had wrapped around him, pricking his skin.

“Ugh!”

Gugwi held his breath, clutching the manual.

His vision blurred. Things drifted away. His consciousness was being sucked into darkness.

---

Cold mist enveloped Gugwi’s body. The ground beneath him vanished. He was floating in the air.

His ears buzzed.

“Where is this…?”

Gugwi’s voice echoed like it had in the cave.

But his breathing… it now resembled his father’s just before he died.

His breaths had grown shallow.

A light flickered in the distance. Then a figure faintly emerged.

‘Father?’

Yes… it was his father. A semi-transparent body, glowing eyes. But unlike the last time Gugwi saw him, he was not drenched in blood.

“Gugwi.”

His father’s voice echoed softly. Even the familiar scent of alcohol was absent.

“Father! Is it really you?”

Gugwi shouted.

He wanted to run to him—but his body wouldn’t move. His legs felt paralyzed.

His father floated toward him.

The face that had always been flushed red from alcohol now looked clear and gentle. Unlike his usual drunken state, his eyes were warm. It was like looking at an entirely different person.

“This is the Realm of the Threshold. A gray zone between the living and the dead.”

His father spoke. Even his voice was calm. It had always been rough and coarse.

“You were able to come here because you are a descendant of Gatekeeper. The Gatekeeper's blood.”

Gugwi’s eyes widened. His heart thumped loudly.

“The bloodline… of the Gatekeeper?”

His voice trembled.

His father smiled. The corners of his lips lifted slightly.

“You’re not like ordinary people. You were born with the aptitude for Soul-Summoning Arts. Perhaps even more than I.”

His father extended his hand.

Light gathered in the air. A warm energy flowed from his fingertips.

“There’s no time. Listen well. Soul-Summoning Arts are divided into four stages: First Contact, Spiritual Sensitivity, Resonance, and Dark Control. You’ll learn the details at the Cold Wolf Sect… For now, I’ll teach you the Illusory Name Command.”

His father’s hand touched Gugwi’s forehead.

It felt like molten metal pouring into his body—painful yet not unpleasant. Despite the heat, it felt refreshing.

Warmth coursed through his veins. From his forehead to his soles, and back to his head. His entire body burned.

“Focus.”

His father’s voice firmed.

“Open your heart, and call for me.”

Gugwi closed his eyes.

He steadied his breath and called with all his heart.

“Father.”

Thump!

His heart pounded heavily.

His father’s form grew clearer. The mist seemed to lift.

He reached out his hand and touched his father’s.

It was warm. His fingertips trembled.

“…Are you alive?”

His father held Gugwi’s hand.

There was a chill, the cold of the dead.

His father gently shook his head and continued.

“The Illusory Name Command is a technique that opens the door of the heart.”

He pulled Gugwi closer.

Then slowly spun in the air. Mist wrapped around them.

“Spirits resonate with your bloodline. Call my name.”

His father's hand pressed against his chest.

Thump!

His heart beat again. His chest was aflame.

“Haah!”

Gugwi gasped for breath.

A memory of his father swinging his sword flashed before him.

“Father, my heart… it's too hot.”

“Focus! Say my name! My name!”

His father whispered. The voice echoed in his ears.

Gugwi furrowed his brow. Say his father's name? It felt awkward, but Gugwi did as he was told.

“Gu…Un!”

Thump!

The air trembled.

His father's form brightened.

A powerful light pierced his eyes. His father gripped his wrist. His grip was strong.

“Good. Draw out the energy.”

Gugwi moved the energy he felt at his fingertips. His arm moved on its own, as if someone else controlled it.

“This is the Illusory Name Command.”

His father spoke.

His voice was filled with strength.

“Try it again.”

Gugwi steadied his breath. His chest calmed.

“Guun!”

Thump!

A hot energy burst out.

His father's form became clearer.

He looked more like he did in life. Gugwi could even faintly smell the familiar scent of alcohol.

“Well done.”

His father smiled. Wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“Now you understand?”

His father asked.

Gugwi nodded.

The Illusory Name Command was a spell that summoned a spirit by raising energy.

Once heart and bloodline connected, one had to call the name. Without the name, the spirit could not come.

The clearer the name, the more vivid the spirit appeared in life.

“Father, why did you tell me to go to the Cold Wolf Sect?”

His voice cracked. His throat choked up.

“The Cold Wolf Sect will protect you. But before that… seek a spirit at a nearby grave. You’ll need its strength.”

His father said.

The secret manual glowed warmly. He could feel the heat in his hand.

“This manual will guide you.”

Tears welled up in Gugwi’s eyes. His cheeks grew wet.

“Will… I ever see you again?”

His voice trembled.

His father smiled.

“Someday.”

Ssshh—

His father’s form began to fade. A touch brushed his head. It felt like a cold breeze.

“Gugwi, you must survive.”

His father’s voice faded into the mist.

---

Startled!

Gugwi opened his eyes. He was slumped beneath the old tree. The bark had pierced his palm, drawing blood.

“Hoo!”

He panted, sweat running down his forehead.

But… the manual was in his hand. His fingertips burned.

‘It wasn’t a dream.’

He felt a certain energy. The heat in his veins stirred. His heart pounded loudly.

His father's touch remained.

That sensation, like a cold breeze, brushed past his head.

Gugwi raised his hand to touch his head. Nothing was there. But a distant sorrow filled his chest.

His father’s voice echoed in his ears.

–Gugwi, you must survive.

It was the same voice that had once taught him to hunt as a child.

He missed him. He wanted to hold that warm hand again.

–Will I ever see you again?

When he had asked in the Realm of the Threshold, his father had said, “Someday.” Did that mean they would meet again? A faint hope began to bloom.

Gugwi clenched his teeth. His eyes moistened.

He slowly rose.

Moonlight illuminated the forest. Light streamed through the leaves.

He heard footsteps in the distance. The enemy was closing in. Trees rustled around him.

He tucked the manual into his robes.

Shhh!

He leaped between the trees. The sprint began once more.

His breath caught in his throat. But with each step, wind surged beneath his feet. The trees whispered, swaying with his speed.