The column of slaves trudged onward through the narrowing valleys leading to the Iron Pass, the air growing cooler and sharper with each passing league. Cheong Gwang's breath formed faint clouds in the crisp morning, his steps measured to conserve energy amid the lingering ache of his wounds. The march had stretched into its third day, a relentless grind that tested bodies and spirits alike. His ribs protested with every jolt of the uneven path, the bindings chafing against scabbed skin, but the herbal poultices from Hae's dwindling supply kept infection at bay. The hidden dagger in his boot and nails in his sleeve were constant companions, symbols of his growing wariness.
The landscape had shifted from barren hills to rugged terrain dotted with jagged rocks and sparse pines, the shadows of looming mountains hinting at the strategic choke point ahead. Whispers among the slaves painted the Iron Pass as a blood-soaked gateway—where sects clashed over control of trade routes and ancient qi veins said to pulse beneath the earth. Crimson Blade scouts rode ahead, their qi auras flickering like distant lanterns, while Kang and the guards herded the column with increasing brutality. "Faster, you laggards! The Dragons won't wait for your whining," Kang snarled, his whip cracking for emphasis.
Cheong Gwang marched in his chain group, linked to Baek, Jin, Ryu, and a younger slave named Min—a boy of perhaps sixteen, scrawny but quick-eyed, whom he'd saved during the night ambush back at the old camp. Min had been the one cowering by the fire that fateful evening, blade poised over him by an intruder. Cheong Gwang's intervention had disarmed the attacker, earning him a grateful nod and tentative loyalty from the lad. Since then, Min had stuck close, sharing scraps of food and overhearing guard chatter with his sharp ears. "You're like a big brother," Min had said once, his voice earnest amid the chaos. Trust was rare in this world, but Cheong Gwang had allowed it to take root—pragmatically, as another set of eyes and ears could mean survival.
The group had expanded subtly, with Soo-Ah joining their hushed conversations during halts. She walked in a parallel chain, her steps resolute despite the haunted look in her eyes. "The trades are real," she confided during a brief water break, her voice low as guards patrolled. "I overheard Kang talking to a scout— they're selling off the weak at the Pass. Favor goes to those who prove 'useful' in the drills."
Baek nodded grimly, his limp easing slightly with the root chews. "Buildup to betrayal, mark my words. In camps like this, loyalty shifts with the wind." His words hung heavy, a subtle warning that Cheong Gwang filed away. Trust's rarity was a lesson etched in scars; personal growth came from navigating its pitfalls. The march's training had honed his body, but these interactions sharpened his mind—observing expressions, noting alliances, anticipating cracks.
As the day wore on, the column halted in a narrow ravine for midday drills, the overseers unlocking chains partially to allow formations. Kang divided them into squads, pitting slaves against each other in mock combats to "weed out the frail." Cheong Gwang's group was paired with another, including Min, for a simulated skirmish—armed with blunted sticks, they were to practice holds and disarms. "Show me fire!" Kang bellowed, his qi humming as he paced the perimeter.
The drill began with tense circling, sticks clashing in dull thuds. Cheong Gwang faced off against Ryu, their spars familiar now—respectful but fierce. But his eyes flicked to Min, who was matched against a burly slave from the other squad. The boy moved with surprising agility, dodging and weaving, his quick eyes spotting openings. "Good form," Cheong Gwang called encouragingly during a pause, earning a grin from Min. The lad had improved under their group's quiet tutelage, sharing in the survival tactics Baek imparted: "Strike fast, aim low—cripple before kill."
Yet, something felt off. Min's glances toward Kang were too frequent, his posture too eager. The buildup simmered like a pot on the boil—subtle at first, then unmistakable. During a group melee simulation, where squads merged in controlled chaos, Min hesitated when he should have covered Cheong Gwang's flank. An "opponent" slave swung a stick toward Cheong Gwang's injured ribs, and Min called out a warning too late—deliberately, it seemed. The blow landed glancingly, pain flaring like fire, but Cheong Gwang rolled with it, masking the wince.
Doubt crept in, trust fracturing. Personal growth demanded vigilance; he'd saved Min, but favors bred debts—or resentment. As the drill ended, slaves panting and bruised, Kang approached with a smirk. "Not bad, scar-face. But your 'ally' there? He's got potential—for the right side." He clapped Min on the shoulder, the boy's eyes darting away guiltily.
The betrayal crystallized that evening, as the column camped in a sheltered glen near the Pass. Fires crackled under a starlit sky, slaves huddled in groups while guards rotated watches. Cheong Gwang sat with Baek and Jin, tending a small pot of boiled roots—scant sustenance, but shared equally. Min joined them, his demeanor overly cheerful. "Heard something big," he whispered, leaning in. "Kang's planning a cull tonight—testing loyalties. Says the strong get unchained for the front lines."
Baek's eyes narrowed. "Source?"
Min shrugged. "Overheard the scouts. We could... position ourselves."
Cheong Gwang studied him, the buildup reaching its peak. The boy's hands fidgeted, avoiding eye contact—a tell he'd learned from observing guards. Trust was a luxury; here, it was a weapon. "Why share this?" Cheong Gwang asked evenly.
Min hesitated, then smiled too wide. "You're like a brother, remember? We stick together."
But the sting came swift. As night deepened, a commotion erupted near the supply wagons—shouts of theft, guards converging. Kang's voice rose above the din: "Thieves among us! The roots—stolen from the lords' stores!" Slaves were roused, lined up under torchlight. Cheong Gwang's group was singled out, Kang's whip pointing accusatorily. "Search them!"
Rough hands patted them down. From Cheong Gwang's pack, hidden among his rags, emerged a bundle of premium herbs—medicinal roots meant for the warriors, not slaves. His heart sank; he'd never taken them. Eyes turned to Min, who stood apart, expression neutral but with a flicker of triumph.
"Traitor!" Jin growled, but guards silenced him with a cuff.
Kang laughed, his qi flaring as he advanced on Cheong Gwang. "Favor for information, eh? The boy here reported your 'scheming.' Thinks it'll earn him a spot as an enforcer's aide." Min averted his gaze, the betrayal laid bare. Saved by Cheong Gwang, yet turning for personal gain—trust's rarity exposed in cruel light.
Rage simmered, but cunning prevailed. Cheong Gwang didn't deny; instead, he met Kang's eyes. "Proof?" he challenged, voice steady. The confrontation escalated—Kang's whip uncoiled, ready to lash. But Cheong Gwang had grown; no blind fury. As Kang struck, qi enhancing the blow, Cheong Gwang sidestepped with march-honed agility, the whip grazing his arm instead of back. Pain bloomed, but he countered—lunging low, tackling Kang's legs in a move from the drills.
They tumbled, Cheong Gwang's dagger flashing from his boot in a desperate gamble. He pressed it to Kang's throat, not piercing but threatening. "The herbs were planted," he hissed. "By him." Guards froze, qi humming but hesitant—killing an overseer meant mutiny, but doubt seeded.
Min panicked, blurting, "He's lying! I saw him steal!"
But Baek stepped forward, voice calm. "We all did. Min took them during the drill—slipped them in while we sparred." Jin and Ryu corroborated, their alliance holding firm. Soo-Ah, from the shadows, added, "I witnessed it too."
The standoff held, Kang's face purple with rage. "Release me, dog!" But the guards, sensing the shift, hauled Min away instead. Kang rose, brushing off dirt, his authority cracked. "Fine. The boy takes the lashes. But watch yourself, scar-face—next time, no mercy."
Consequences rippled: Min was flogged publicly, his cries echoing into the night, trust shattered. He was demoted to the weakest chain group, isolated. Cheong Gwang's group gained wary respect from other slaves—whispers of his cunning spread. Kang eyed him with newfound caution, perhaps seeing a threat.
As the camp settled, Cheong Gwang sat by the fire, new graze on his arm bandaged by Hae. Baek clapped his shoulder. "Smart play. Growth shows in choices, not just scars."
Cheong Gwang nodded, the sting of betrayal lingering but instructive. Trust was rare, earned through fire. He'd saved Min once, but wouldn't blind himself again. Personal growth meant balancing empathy with vigilance— a lesson forged in this barbaric world.
Thoughts of Myeong-Wol surfaced: her cleverness would have seen the betrayal coming. "Brains over brawn," she'd say. He was learning. The Iron Pass loomed, but so did his resolve—sharper, harder, unbreakable.