Goi traveled north along the main road until he came upon a fork where two paths diverged. To the northeast, mountains loomed, their peaks shrouded in mist, while to the northwest, a quiet town lay nestled in the valley.
A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the faint chime of bronze bells in the air. Pausing for a moment, Goi muttered to himself,
"Hmm... nothing seems amiss that way."
Before he could make a decision, a group of traveling merchants resting beneath a grand zelkova tree called out to him, gesturing warmly.
Goi wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve before making his way toward them. As he approached, the merchants shifted slightly, making space for him to sit among them.
Settling beside an elderly trader, Goi welcomed the generous shade of the tree.
The old man handed Goi his gourd canteen. Goi accepted it with a nod of gratitude and took a sip, savoring the refreshing water.
The merchant, observing the two swords strapped to Goi's back, remarked,
"Carrying two blades, I suppose you're on a journey to hone your skills. Surely you're not heading to JeArk Garrison, are you?"
Goi shook his head, sealed the gourd, and handed it back.
"No," he replied. "I'm bound for Mt. Mami."
The merchant let out a relieved chuckle.
"Good. If I were you, I wouldn't even glance toward JeArk Garrison, let alone set foot there."
Intrigued by the man's caution, Goi asked,
"Is there something notorious about the garrison?"
The merchant's eyes lit up, clearly delighted by the question.
"Ah, so you're not from Golpo," he said, leaning in.
"Three years ago, the governor of JeArk Garrison was appointed—a man who was once a nameless wanderer. He traveled across Golpo, using his martial arts and mystical skills to save people from disasters and earn countless merits. For his deeds, he was given the governorship of JeArk, the heart of western Golpo. But..."
The merchant paused, taking a swig from his gourd before continuing.
"All he knew was how to wield a sword and throw a punch. And now, look at the place. In just three years, it's fallen into ruin."
As Goi listened, his attention was drawn away by the sound of hurried footsteps. A young woman, clutching a child no older than three or four, ran toward them in desperation, her face etched with fear. Behind her, a dozen soldiers gave chase, their armor clanking with every step.
Goi felt the firm, calloused hand of the merchant press against his own.
"Don't get involved," the old man murmured.
"We severed our ties with JeArk long ago."
Goi tightened his fingers slightly before releasing his grip, offering the merchant a reassuring smile and a small nod. Then, with measured steps, he turned toward the approaching woman.
From behind him, the merchants' murmurs drifted to his ears, spoken just loudly enough for him to hear: "A kind-faced youth..." "You should stop him."
"Let the boy learn how the world truly works."
But Goi paid them no mind. His gaze remained fixed ahead as he strode forward, undeterred.
The young woman could feel her strength waning, her arms trembling as she clutched her young son. Even as despair closed in around her, her eyes found him—just him—among the figures beneath the zelkova tree. He seemed to glow against the dying light, as if the world itself wanted her to see no one else.
"Please, save us! At least spare my child—please!"
she cried out, her voice breaking. Behind her, the soldiers' mocking laughter and scornful breaths grew louder, closer.
Summoning the last of her strength, she stumbled toward the young swordsman, standing firm with his steel blade drawn.
But then, she felt a strange dissonance—something unnatural. The swordsman had been far away just moments ago, yet now he was closer than the soldiers chasing her.
"Hurry. Get to the tree," his whispered voice echoed in her ears, and just as quickly, he vanished from her sight.
In the space of a heartbeat, she heard the whisper of robes cutting through the air—five, perhaps six swift motions—before the agonized screams of the soldiers filled the air, followed by the dull thuds of their bodies hitting the ground.
Though desperate, curiosity overcame her. Holding her child tightly, she turned to look. The sun was setting, its golden light fading, but the young swordsman seemed to glow with a soft, golden aura. The remaining four soldiers collapsed, their faces blank, and they began to weep like children.
The swordsman sheathed his gleaming bronze sword and turned to face her. At that moment, a thunderous cheer erupted from beneath the zelkova tree. Her knees buckled, and she nearly dropped her son—strength abandoned her all at once.
Again, she felt that strange dissonance. The swordsman, who had been far away, was now beside her, catching her child before he could fall. Tears streamed down her face. "Thank you, thank you so much!" she sobbed. Goi held the boy gently, patting his back as the mother tried to compose herself. By then, the merchants had gathered around her like a murmuring cloud, their voices murmuring with concern.
When at last her tears slowed, she took her son into her arms and bowed deeply.
"Thank you, warrior."
"What happened here?"
Goi finally asked, his voice steady but gentle.
She swallowed hard and began to explain.
"Four months ago, during the New Year's Full Moon Festival, a fire broke out in the granary—perhaps from the torch festival. The stores of food were lost."
The merchants sighed in sympathy, exchanging glances of pity.
"The entire town tried to find food elsewhere, but hunger came for us all."
Her voice quivered.
"Then, the governor issued a decree: all children under seven were to be buried alive. So, I..."
Her voice broke, and she let out a mournful sigh.
The elderly merchant shook his head.
"So, the fool wasn't just incompetent—he was a monster..."
he muttered bitterly.
Goi turned to the woman.
"Take your child and flee to another village," he said firmly.
Then, addressing the merchants, he added,
"Please, look after them."
The merchants assured him they would.
As Goi turned to leave, the woman called out, her voice desperate,
"My husband—please, my husband was taken too!"
Goi did not stop. He did not turn back. Only a single hand rose in acknowledgment as he walked toward JeArk Garrison.
The sun dipped lower, and soon his figure disappeared into the gathering dusk.