Soul Summoning Sword Spirt

Chapter 1: Soul-Summoning Arts (1)

* The essence of Soul-Summoning Arts: the ability to contact spirits and harness their power

Gugwi was seventeen years old and lived alone with his father deep in the mountains. It was a remote area rarely visited by people.

His mother had died when he was five, supposedly attacked by a wild beast.

Since then, his father had raised him, teaching him the skills of a hunter. By the age of ten, he could skillfully handle both bow and blade, and hunt wild boars and deer.

On a night when moonlight illuminated the dirt path, Gugwi walked along the mountain trail.

In his hand was a bamboo pole tipped with an iron point—his father’s weapon.

Whiiing!

The wind whistled through the forest, carrying a chill. The rain from earlier had left the ground damp.

Spotting a pheasant feather fallen by the roadside, he picked it up with the pole. It reminded him of his father’s fondness for pheasant. He especially loved pheasant broth.

“Owls could be caught tomorrow.”

Gugwi muttered to himself.

“Using feathers for medicine... does that even make sense?”

He recalled how, earlier that evening, his father had suddenly told him to catch an owl. Gugwi was skeptical that owl feathers had medicinal value. Though there were rumors the village herbalist paid a high price for them.

Gugwi gave a faint laugh and thought,

“Even if we get money, it’ll end up spent on booze again.”

His father enjoyed drinking, and whatever money he earned from hunting was gone by the next day at the tavern.

Gugwi didn’t like that, but he never said anything. He simply hid the liquor bottles.

When he did, his father would laugh while finding the hidden bottle, and Gugwi had grown used to that laugh.

He looked down at the pole.

Though rusted, the iron tip still held its edge.

Crack!

Suddenly, the sound of a branch snapping echoed.

Gugwi stopped in his tracks. He tightened his grip on the pole and scanned the surroundings.

As he held his breath, the sound of footsteps mixed with the wind.

“Who’s there?”

There weren’t many people one would encounter in the forest at this hour.

Instead of an answer, the stench of blood hit his nose.

The bamboo grove rustled, and a man in a mask emerged. Blood was clearly smeared on his blade—a menacing figure.

“Found you.”

The man spoke in a low voice, devoid of emotion.

‘Found me? Why?’

Before Gugwi could make sense of it, the man’s blade flew at him. Gugwi’s eyes widened.

He swiftly swung the pole and struck the man’s arm. The man raised his sword again, but Gugwi ducked and evaded it easily.

‘What kind of swordsmanship is that? Slower than the boar I hunted before.’

In that instant, the man changed his stance.

‘Dangerous.’

Gugwi gritted his teeth and adjusted his grip on the pole.

The man’s gaze was cold as ice, and Gugwi’s breathing grew heavier.

Then, from the distance, his father’s voice rang out.

“You brat! Get home!”

Gugwi hesitated for a moment but remembered that his father’s phrase “get home” was a code telling him to flee to the cave dwelling.

More than anything, his father’s voice had sounded desperate.

Something had clearly happened to him. Gugwi launched a fierce attack to push the man away, then dashed up the mountain path instead of heading to the cave.

Mud splashed and soaked his ankles.

When he arrived home, the broken gate came into view.

Inside, the clash of metal rang nonstop. The fight was so fierce that he could even hear the fluttering of clothes.

Gugwi held his breath and entered.

Blood stained the courtyard, and his father was fighting masked assailants. Gugwi kicked open the door and rushed in.

“Those Heavenly Sound Cult bastards!”

His father shouted harshly.

An old sword slashed through the air and brought one down. Blood sprayed.

Though drenched in blood, his father didn’t stop. He moved with all his might.

Gugwi looked at his father’s sword. It was old but still sharp. Once, in a drunken state, his father had said it was the weapon he used back in the martial world during his youth.

“Gugwi, don’t mind them—go home now!”

His father yelled again.

But Gugwi didn’t run. Instead, he darted to a corner of the yard.

He found a pile of firewood and some rope, then tied the rope around the logs.

Thud! The logs rolled and struck down two men, who stumbled.

Gugwi ran at one of the fallen men and swung his pole.

The strike hit squarely on the head—blood spurted. He panted and grabbed a stone, hurling it with a twist of his wrist. Thwack! The stone hit another man’s leg, drawing a scream.

“Not bad.”

A masked man muttered, charging at him.

As the sword flashed, blood burst from Gugwi’s arm. A sharp pain followed.

He thrust the pole by instinct, like a beast, but the man easily dodged the attack with a playful step back.

Such speed!

Gugwi caught his breath and looked around.

The courtyard was littered with firewood and blood.

A masked woman drew a blade and hurled it at his father.

Shwik!

The sword pierced his father’s shoulder, blood gushing.

“Father!”

Gugwi shouted.

He tried to rush forward, but the masked man blocked his way.

Gugwi shoved him aside with the pole and pushed through.

“I said go home, now!”

His father kept shouting. Though his body trembled violently, he didn’t collapse.

Then, his father’s gaze changed, and mist escaped from his mouth.

Under the moonlight, the shadows lengthened, and cold air seeped from his father’s body.

The shadow writhed like a snake, and a black hand emerged from the ground. Whether it was real or an illusion, an unbelievable scene unfolded.

Gugwi blinked. He couldn’t make sense of it.

When his father stretched out his hand, his body twisted and his eyes turned red. Smoke escaped from his mouth.

“Spirits, grant me strength!”

His father murmured a chant in a low voice.

From that moment, the tide turned. The old sword moved with lightning speed.

The masked man tried to block it with his blade, but his father’s sword deftly bypassed it and pierced the man’s chest.

Blood splattered, and the man collapsed.

Gugwi was stunned.

“What… is this?”

He murmured.

His father, swinging the sword relentlessly, no longer looked like himself.

“It’s Soul-Summoning Arts!”

The masked woman shouted.

She stood calmly on one side of the courtyard, staring at Father. She seemed to recognize the technique he used as Soul-Summoning Arts.

Father extended his hand and chanted a spell.

“Spirit of the Mountain, wield me!”

His pupils turned red, and his body trembled.

Then came another movement. This time, he struck a man’s neck with his bare hand. The sound of bones breaking was as sharp as bamboo splitting.

The man collapsed, spewing blood.

Gugwi was confused.

‘Father has this kind of power…?’

He had known his father wasn’t an ordinary hunter, but he had never imagined he possessed such strange power.

“It’s the Martial Arts of the Mountain Spirit!”

The masked woman shouted.

She drew a dagger and backed away.

Father brought his hands together before his chest.

His body contorted, and his eyes burned. He assumed the posture of an archer. And then… as his fingers pulled the air, a rushing wind shot forward like arrows.

Shwik! Thud!

The arrow pierced a man’s shoulder.

Blood spattered.

“Graaah!”

The man screamed and fell.

Gugwi crouched low. His mind went blank. None of this made sense.

“The power of a spirit is terrifying indeed!”

One of the masked figures shouted in fear.

As Father swept his hand, his body hunched, releasing a burst of smoke.

He charged with a dagger grip and stabbed the man’s abdomen—once again, blood spilled.

Gugwi was shocked. But he realized he couldn’t just stand there.

He ran forward and picked up a fallen sword.

“Father, there are too many of them! Run!”

Gugwi shouted as he swung the blade.

A masked man rushed at him and slashed downward.

Gugwi dodged the falling sword and counterattacked, slashing the man’s arm—blood spilled.

The man ignored the wound and lunged again, but Gugwi quickly evaded him.

Yet, countless enemies remained.

Like a pack of wolves, the masked ones closed in.

Shwik!

In the chaos, a dagger thrown by the woman embedded itself in Father’s leg.

He staggered.

Gugwi jabbed his pole into a man’s side. The man stumbled backward and fell. But another enemy immediately stepped in. They kept coming.

“There are just too many!”

Gugwi yelled at his father.

His breathing became labored. He had only hunted beasts before—he had never fought a person. Never cut or killed another human.

Then, his father chanted a strange spell.

“Mountain Soul, grant me the power of wind!”

As Father extended his hand, a gust of wind rose and slammed into the men.

Two more collapsed, bleeding profusely. It was only wind, yet it brought them to the brink of death.

In the meantime, Gugwi hurled a stone and struck a man’s head.

But then… a blade suddenly pierced his father’s chest. A cowardly strike from behind.

He saw the masked woman readying poison darts. Just one glance made it clear—the black darts were extremely dangerous.

“No!”

Gugwi shouted and threw the sword at her.

Shwik! Thwak!

The blade flew toward the woman, and the dart toward his father. She dodged the sword, but the dart struck his father’s neck.

Father’s skin turned black, like ink spreading.

“Even a Soul-Summoner can’t survive this! Hoho!”

The woman laughed.

“Father!”

Gugwi screamed.

Clang!

Father’s sword dropped to the ground. Poisoned, he staggered as if drunk.

Gugwi grabbed the pole and stabbed a nearby enemy.

“What are you doing? Kill that boy already!”

A man shouted, and the masked ones surged toward him.

Then, despite being on the verge of collapse, Father hurled himself forward. Was it the threat to his child that spurred him? He stabbed a man instantly—blood splattered.

Gugwi ran to his father’s side, trying to block the enemy’s blades. But—

Whizz!

An arrow flew and pierced his father’s back.

Swoosh! Thud!

Another pierced his chest.

“No, no!!”

Gugwi cried in agony.

Suddenly, Father grabbed him by the scruff and sprinted. They broke past the courtyard, over the wall, and into the mountain path.

From his coat, Father pulled out an old book and shoved it into Gugwi’s hands.

“Seek the Cold Wolf Sect… you know the Western Mountain? They’ll protect you there.”

He looked Gugwi in the eyes as he spoke. His gaze was full of desperation.

He looked like he might stop breathing at any moment.

Whizz!

Another arrow shot through Father’s back. The blood spread even darker.

Whizz whizz whizz!

Three more arrows pierced through his body.

Father shoved Gugwi away and collapsed to the ground.

“Live…! You must live!”

Father finally fell.

Gugwi’s chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe. His father’s body had gone limp.

“Father!”

Gugwi cried out in anguish. His voice cracked as tears streamed down his face. He dropped to his knees and held his father’s hand. It was already beginning to grow cold.

Gugwi clenched his teeth. His chest burned.

But the sound of footsteps approached. The masked ones echoed through the mountain path, pulling him back to reality.

He looked at his father one more time.

His father’s unclosed eyes seemed to command him.

‘Live!’

Gugwi wiped his tears and picked up his father’s sword. His hands trembled.

His father’s final words echoed in his mind. He had to survive. To honor those words, he had to run.

“Cold Wolf Sect… Western Mountain…”

But his body burned with rage. His father’s sword felt like a perfect fit in his hand.

The enemy approached.