The training ground stretched out in front of a large residence that stood quietly behind a low stone wall. The building was spacious yet simple, without any striking ornamentation. Its roof soared with clean, sharp lines, while the wooden pillars supporting the main structure bore the marks of age and long use.
The surrounding grounds are neatly maintained, free of weeds, as if this place has long been accustomed to hosting many people and activities. There is no sense of emptiness or mere showmanship. The residence feels alive.
In front of the building, the training field was bustling with activity. Several people were running laps, their strides steady even as their breathing grew labored. On the other side, a line of soldiers stood in neat formation, bare-chested, their bodies drenched in sweat streaming under the scorching sun.
Though their fatigue was clearly visible, not a single one dared to slacken their posture. The ranks remained straight, the spacing maintained, and their gazes fixed ahead. Such discipline could only come from prolonged training and strict supervision.
Standing at the head of the ranks was a rather elderly man with a sturdy build. His long hair was tied back low; some of it had turned white, matching his coarse beard and the thin scar that ran across his forehead.
The blue and cream-colored clothes he wore looked simple and worn, covered by a tattered black cloak that fluttered gently on his back.
Strapped beneath that cloak were two swords neatly crossed—weapons rarely carried by ordinary soldiers. He didn't touch them, but their mere presence was enough to make the ranks hold their breath.
His gaze swept across the field calmly, yet intently.
One soldier whispered to his comrade, almost inaudibly.
"If the Chief Guard is standing alone up front… that means today's training is no joke."
"Shut up," the other replied quickly. "Do you want to get reprimanded on the spot?"
Before the conversation could continue, the old man took a step forward and stood before the ranks of soldiers.
The atmosphere, which had previously been filled with whispers, slowly fell silent again.
"I hope you're still able to move," he said calmly.
Several soldiers straightened their posture.
"That wasn't the warm-up."
His tone wasn't loud, but the entire field immediately tensed. His gaze swept across the ranks before him before he continued.
"Now, move into the stances."
He paused briefly.
"It doesn't matter if your legs are shaking or feel like they're about to give out. Hold on."
His voice remained flat, without a hint of pity.
"Get your bodies used to enduring pain. If you give up just because your legs are shaking, how will you stand your ground when a sword is actually pointed at you?"
He looked at the entire formation.
"DO YOU HEAR ME?"
His shout echoed across the entire field.
"YES, MASTER!"
The reply came in unison, firm, without a single voice lagging behind.
A male attendant standing slightly in the back gazed out at the field as he said softly,
"Their discipline has improved since the current chief guard has been personally overseeing their training."
The chief guard in front of him didn't turn around.
"Discipline alone isn't enough," he said curtly.
"Their bodies still give them away when they're tired."
The attendant smiled faintly.
"As always… your standards remain high."
The man's gaze settled on a single figure in the ranks.
A young man.
He was smaller than the others, his breath held, sweating far more profusely. He stood stiffly, as if forcing his body to remain upright.
The man approached.
"Young master," he called out.
His tone softened slightly this time.
"If you can't take it anymore, rest. There's no need to push yourself."
The young man lifted his head. His breathing was still labored, but his gaze remained steely.
"I can still do this."
He tightened his grip on the reins once more.
"Don't stop me."
A few soldiers in the ranks glanced briefly in his direction, but none dared to comment.
"Very well, if that is the Young Master's wish."
The captain of the guards turned and walked back toward the front of the formation.
The attendant standing beside him spoke up again.
"Young Master Daehyun's desire to learn martial arts is indeed strong. Even the Head of the Family himself was unable to stop him and eventually allowed him to train."
He glanced at the young man who was still holding his fighting stance.
"So… there's no harm in being a little stricter with him."
"I know," the man replied briefly.
His pace didn't slow.
"Precisely because it's the Young Master who's training, I've chosen to supervise him myself."
The man's gaze returned to Daehyun.
"However, the martial arts world is no playground for a merchant's son."
His tone remained calm.
"Even the son of a prominent martial arts family wouldn't receive special treatment once he sets foot in the martial arts world."
The servant turned to look at him. There was a slight shift in his gaze, as if he were recalling who the man standing beside him truly was.
"Harsh words… but they're fitting coming from a martial artist like you."
He gave a faint smile.
"After all, you're not just the head guard of the Eunha family."
His gaze shifted to the two swords crossed on the man's back.
"Asura Blade."
The name was spoken with a tone full of respect.
"The figure who once slaughtered one of the Unorthodox sects, faced off against the shining stars of the Orthodox faction, and even fought against one of the Thirteen Dragon Ruler Pillar Masters."
The servant then glanced at Daehyun.
"If you personally train the Young Master, I'm certain that one day he'll reach the pinnacle of the martial arts world. At the very least, he won't be easily defeated when facing disciples from the major sects or the children of prominent families in the martial arts world."
For a moment, the man didn't answer.
He simply gazed at the training ground, as if all his titles and stories about himself had long since lost their meaning.
The man finally turned his head. His gaze was calm, yet stern.
"That's all in the past," he said coldly.
"Now I'm just an old man speaking from what I've learned throughout my life in that world."
The servant fell silent.
"You may be right. With the right training, the Young Master might have considerable potential."
The man's gaze returned to Daehyun.
"However, potential won't change the fact that he can still get hurt."
His voice remained calm.
"One day, he might face someone far stronger than him. And when that time comes, no matter how hard he trains with me, I can't guarantee he'll come out unscathed or even return home safely."
He let out a short sigh.
"That's why I don't want the Young Master to face threats he isn't yet capable of handling at such a young age."
The servant fell silent for a moment before offering a faint smile.
"I didn't expect you to care so much about the Young Master… like a grandfather worried about his grandson."
The man fell silent for a moment.
"Ha… maybe that's true."
For the first time, the coldness in his voice faded slightly. However, his gaze remained fixed on Daehyun, who was still standing on the field.
"Unfortunately, he's stubborn. Just like his older sister, Miss Seo-rin. I don't know what drives him to want to learn martial arts so badly either."
He let out a soft sigh.
"Still, he has a long way to go."
His gaze dropped briefly, observing Daehyun's footwork and posture.
"And his body… is already at its limit."
He then turned to the servant beside him.
"Get ready."
The servant was startled.
"What—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Daehyun's body suddenly wavered. Both his knees gave out. His body staggered before finally crashing to the ground.
Eunha Daehyun fainted instantly.
"Young Master!"
A panicked shout broke the silence of the field.
Several soldiers were about to move toward him, but the chief guard had already stepped forward.
"Part the ranks," he ordered succinctly.
The servant immediately followed, his face filled with concern.
"It's exactly as you suspected, Chief Guard Jang Do-woon."
Shortly afterward, Eunha Daehyun was rushed inside the residence. The servants quickly scattered some called for a physician while others helped carry his body to one of the rooms.
The field, which had previously been filled with the sounds of training, had now descended into chaos.
However, Jang Do-woon remained standing where he was, watching Daehyun walk away with a calm expression.
He did not immediately resume training.
For a moment, his gaze remained fixed on the door of the residence where Daehyun had been led inside.
Then, he turned his attention back to the soldiers who were still
standing in formation.
"Continue training."
No one dared to ask a question.
The field was once again filled with the sounds of footsteps and commands. It was as if what had just happened was simply another part of an ordinary day for these martial artists.
However, for Jang Do-woon, Daehyun's condition was clearly not something to be taken lightly.