I Can See the Sword’s Memories

Chapter 1: The girl ran toward the starting point.

When the boy turned seven, he was given his name by the man called “father.”

“You will be Saeorin from now on.”

The boy, Saeorin, looked up at his father. To Saeorin, his father’s face was unfamiliar. His father was always busy and rarely paid him any attention.

They seldom crossed paths.

Thus, Saeorin remembered him by his scent—a sharp, somewhat familiar, yet unpleasant smell.

“Saeorin…”

“You’re becoming more like your mother…”

Thunk—

A large hand patted Saeorin’s head. The hand, bigger than Saeorin’s face, conveyed no affection. It merely turned his head this way and that, inspecting his face as if appraising an object.

Saeorin watched his father’s retreating back. He still didn’t know his father’s name. No one else ever called his father by it.

To Saeorin, his father was known only as “The Chieftain.”

From then on, the chieftain lost interest in Saeorin. Saeorin understood why—he had too many siblings.

The chieftain only paid attention to children who stood out from a young age. Saeorin was outside that sphere of interest.

This indifference was also due to Saeorin’s origins. His mother was an unknown woman whom the chieftain had brought back from a hunt—she was his catch instead of prey.

Saeorin was born that way.

Most of Saeorin’s siblings were born in a similar manner. Naturally, the eldest son, a legitimate heir born to the chieftain’s official wife, garnered the most attention.

There was no overt discrimination. The succession line was clear, and Saeorin lacked any threatening talent.

Even in the harsh region where snow fell year-round, Saeorin ate well and grew up strong.

By the time Saeorin turned ten, he began going on hunts with the tribe’s other children. Due to his young age, his role was limited to carrying loads or skinning animals.

Following his siblings, Saeorin learned the ways of hunting. It was during this time that his unexpected talent was discovered.

He was exceptionally skilled at skinning animals. Without being taught, he used a dagger to separate the animal’s hide and flesh with precision.

Skinning animals without damaging the hide or meat was a skill highly valued by the tribe.

“You’re pretty good!”

His siblings began showing him kindness. Saeorin gradually carved out his place within the tribe.

Saeorin thought this was his only talent. Most of his siblings excelled at just one thing.

But he was different.

Saeorin discovered this by chance when he held a carving knife for the first time. The moment he grasped the blade, an instinctive realization dawned on him.

He felt the same resonance he had experienced when holding the obsidian dagger to skin an animal. A faint memory flowed into his mind, and his body moved as if on its own.

Saeorin didn’t resist the phenomenon.

That day, he carved a small wolf out of wood. Though crude and riddled with mistakes, it clearly bore the touch of a talented artisan.

Saeorin looked down at the wooden figure he had created. Then, he picked up an old, rusted iron sword once wielded by tribal warriors.

“Ah…”

And then he realized—his true talent must never be revealed.

Especially not to his brother, Hakam.

Saeorin had seen it before. Siblings who posed a threat to the chieftain’s position eventually disappeared without a trace.

So Saeorin kept his head down. Without any thirst for power, he was content with his current place in the tribe.

“Didn’t know you could carve too. How about carving my likeness?”

Hakam, the eldest son, said after seeing Saeorin’s wooden carving. Hakam had inherited all of the chieftain’s talents and was a natural leader.

Hakam held Saeorin in high regard—not as a threat, but as a compliant and talented individual who was beneficial to the tribe. 

Hakam thought Saeorin would be a valuable ally when he eventually took over the tribe.

That evening, Saeorin fulfilled Hakam’s request and carved a statue of him. A small block of wood was transformed into a miniature version of Hakam, showcasing a level of craftsmanship far superior to Saeorin’s first attempt at carving a wolf.

Hakam was greatly satisfied and gifted Saeorin a necklace made from wolf claws—a token reserved for those Hakam considered loyal allies.

Time passed swiftly. When Saeorin was fourteen, he gained a younger sibling—a sister who shared the same mother. She was born with the same hair color as Saeorin’s.

A pure white, like snow.

The aging chieftain no longer ignored Saeorin. Growing old and frail, the chieftain realized that his position could be taken away at any moment.

An old wolf loses its strength but gains wisdom, and the chieftain was no different. He gradually withdrew from tribal affairs, effectively passing on his role to Hakam.

With Hakam assuming the role of chieftain, Saeorin’s status within the tribe also rose. Unlike his own childhood, Saeorin’s younger sister grew up without neglect, surrounded by care and affection.

She grew up happy under everyone’s watchful eyes.

Saeorin’s sister grew especially attached to her brother. Once she began walking, she would toddle after him, and whenever Saeorin returned from a hunt, she would run to him and wrap her small arms around him.

Saeorin didn’t dislike his little sister. Watching her dash around with her tiny body often brought a smile to his face.

The more time they spent together, the deeper Saeorin’s affection grew.

Time continued to pass. The endless winter persisted, and the unrelenting cold brought food shortages. Yet Saeorin’s tribe remained well-fed, being the most powerful in the region.

The offerings extorted from weaker tribes kept Saeorin’s people well-provisioned.

When Saeorin’s sister turned seven, she was given her name.

Hakam named her himself.

“Since she’s Saeorin’s sister, a similar-sounding name would be nice. Let’s call her Saeran.”

Like most in the tribe, Saeran soon showed a talent in a specific field. Hers was a natural affinity for shamanism.

Saeorin didn’t like this. The tribe’s shamans were eerie and gloomy, and their heavily painted faces unsettled him.

Still, he couldn’t voice his dissatisfaction. It was tribal tradition, and more importantly, Hakam had approved it.

From that day forward, Saeran began her training as a shaman.

A week had passed since Saeran began her training with the shamans. The shamans were full of praise and awe for her.

“Incredible! Communing with a spirit after only a week!”

“She’s the reincarnation of the great shaman Hamon!”

Saeorin’s life was perfect. A peaceful, untroubled existence, abundant food, a secure future, and even a talented younger sister.

While it was unfortunate that he never received his parents’ love, it no longer bothered him much.

Saeorin wished for this peaceful life to last until the day he died of old age.

***

Late one evening, Saeorin and his siblings returned from a hunt only to face a ravaged tribe.

The sight was horrific.

The snow-and-ice walls had been shattered, and every structure built of wood and animal hides had been burned to the ground.

Saeorin, Hakam, and their siblings fell silent. Their stances lowered, and every muscle in their bodies tensed.

Saeorin caught the metallic scent of blood mingling with the burnt air. It wasn’t the stench of beasts or animals—it was the distinct smell of human blood, from people who shared the same anatomy as himself.

It was the smell of death.

Saeorin had always been sensitive to smells.

His grip on his spear tightened until his hand bled, the blood sliding down the shaft.

Saeorin, Hakam, and their siblings were seething with rage.

At that moment, a man emerged from the ruins of their tribe.

The man wore a jet-black coat, an unfamiliar garment to Saeorin, who had spent his entire life on the snowy plains.

“Ah, there you are.”

The man’s tone was calm, neither taunting nor angry. He looked at Hakam, Saeorin, and their siblings as if they were mere objects.

“They said they needed a barbarian’s body, so I was curious… A replacement vessel, perhaps? Interesting.”

Barbarian. Saeorin knew it was a term outsiders used to describe them, and it enraged him.

Hakam and Saeorin remained in low stances, circling the man. All the siblings had been trained in hunting techniques modeled after wolves.

This was no different, even when hunting humans. Like a pack of wolves, they began encircling their prey.

The man remained unperturbed. Instead, he wrinkled his nose and covered it, glancing at Saeorin’s siblings as they drew closer.

“Don’t come any closer. You stink.”

Swish—!

Saeorin didn’t understand what had happened at first. Something flashed before his eyes, and then the sibling beside him collapsed.

The spray of blood woke him from his stupor.

Swish—!

Once more, there was a flash of light. Another sibling, standing next to Hakam, fell.

Swish—!

Again, the same thing happened. Another sibling dropped to the ground. It was then that Saeorin finally recognized what the man was holding.

The object had a graceful curve, with a rippling pattern running along its blade. Saeorin realized it was a sword.

It was, however, a sword unlike any he had ever seen before.

At that moment, Saeorin realized that the world around him had slowed down immensely.

The man holding the strange sword lowered his stance. Amid the slowed-down world, he alone moved freely, as if detached from the constraints of time.

Maintaining his low stance, the man pulled the sword in his right hand back. The long blade rippled gracefully as it was sheathed, only to be drawn again in a single, seamless motion.

Flash—

Yes. That’s it. As Saeorin fell, he thought: this slash is what felled his siblings.

And now, him too.

The spear in his hand shattered. Though the strike had broken Saeorin’s weapon, it didn’t stop there. It continued, cutting through the leather clothing he wore, the skin and muscle beneath, and even his bones.

Time, which had slowed, returned to normal. Saeorin found himself lying on the cold snow. His body was growing cold, and his vision blurred.

Saeorin knew he was dying.

Amid his fading consciousness, he heard the voice of his brother, Hakam. It was a beast-like howl of rage, laced with curses, the harshest he had ever heard.

But even Hakam’s cries didn’t last long. Soon, silence fell.

Sigh…

Saeorin let out a faint, shallow breath. With each exhale, it felt as if his soul was slipping away from his body.

At that moment, someone approached him. Light, delicate footsteps, accompanied by a scent similar to his own.

There was no mistaking it. It was his sister, Saeran.

“Sa… Saeran…”

Saeorin smiled faintly. He turned his fading gaze toward where he knew his sister was. His eyes no longer had the strength to see, but he was certain of her presence.

Run.

The words never left his lips. His body was failing him.

But Saeran didn’t run. She didn’t cry. She knelt before her brother’s broken body and dipped her hands into his spilled blood.

Sssk—

With small, deliberate movements, her fingers inscribed symbols onto her own flesh. The first symbol represented the soul.

Her small hands continued, engraving another symbol that represented binding.

With bloodstained fingers, she connected the two symbols, then drew a circle around them.

To bind the soul and imprison it within the body.

Saeran didn’t want her brother to die.