“Break open the path before the Grand Elder! Do not give ground, Heta!”
“Chung (Loyalty)!”
Do not bend.
Do not fall.
A back that has something to protect does not collapse, and legs that have something to bear do not get pushed back.
Like a single flake of white snow, quiet.
Like the wingbeats of a flock of egrets, not noisy but, when piled up, resembling firm, perennial snow.
White herons take flight—
like a single flake of snow.
Haeta Sect, First Style
Baengno Iljeomseol (White Heron, One Dot of Snow)
The first basic form and first precept every Haeta practitioner learns. Heta moved like birds flying a group dance.
Following the clashing sound of spear and blade, red snowflakes fluttered singly. Beads of blood scattered in specks.
Yet the road ahead was not blocked in the slightest, and the steps supporting her feet formed without delay, solidly.
“Go, Grand Elder!”
Don’t cry.
Your vision must not blur.
Choi Dawit ran.
The First Legion Commander, the Parasite King’s specialty, was contamination. With every meter the distance narrowed as she ran, clots of disease mixed into the very air surged to engulf her.
“Kh…!”