Seeds of Obedience
983 Words
“Are you ready, my son… for the grueling days ahead?”
The question came not as a command—but as a weight.
Prince Young-Sik straightened.
“Y-Yes, Your Highness… I am ready.”
The King studied him for a moment longer, then gave a small nod.
At the eastern face of Mount Yangge lay a modest settlement known as Yangge Village.
It was not a place of nobles.
Nor of ambition.
It was a place of purpose.
Children carried water in pairs, their steps uneven but determined. Others practiced pouring tea with careful precision, their small hands trembling under watchful eyes. Some walked narrow planks, balancing trays, forced to steady both body and breath.
No one played for long.
Here, even childhood was shaped.
“Jin-Ri! Hong Jin-Ri—come out this instant! Must I shout until my voice gives out?!”
Behind a cluster of rocks, two girls lay hidden.
“Jin—mmph!”
“Shhh!” Jin-Ri hissed. “Do you want my mother to find us?”
“Yes!” Yeng snapped. “Training starts today!”
Jin-Ri rolled her eyes.
“I’m just a child. Children should play.”
She stretched lazily.
“I’m Jin-Ri. No one tells me what to do.”
She grinned.
“How hard could it be? Serve tea, carry food—”
Her voice softened into a dreamy tone.
“When I grow up, I’ll be so beautiful my master won’t even notice the work.”
“Really?”
The voice came from behind.
“Then perhaps you should learn magic… to fix that face.”
Jin-Ri froze.
Her mother stood there.
Smiling.
“Mother!” Jin-Ri beamed, hugging her. “I’ve been looking for you! I wanted to start training!”
“Is that so?”
“Yes! Yeng helped me find you—”
“…We may have gone in the wrong direction,” Yeng added carefully.
Jin-Ri shot her a glare—
—and yelped as her ear was seized.
Moments later, she stood before Chief Bong Il-Sung.
“Child,” he asked calmly, “how long have you hidden?”
“…Since dawn,” she admitted.
Silence.
Then laughter.
“You hid well,” he said, ruffling her hair. “There is spirit in you.”
Jin-Ri blinked.
“But spirit alone is not enough.”
He gestured to the village.
“We survive by providing what others lack.”
“Why obedience?” Jin-Ri asked.
The chief met her gaze.
“Because those who hire you do not value your thoughts—only your compliance.”
The words settled.
“Even soldiers obey. Even entertainers perform. Disobedience… has a cost.”
Jin-Ri frowned.
“…Do we learn to fight?”
“A little,” he said. “Enough to survive. Not enough to defy.”
They walked through the training grounds.
This time, Jin-Ri watched closely.
Children bowing in perfect unison.
Others enduring correction in silence.
No resistance.
No argument.
Her steps slowed.
“…This is strange,” she murmured.
Ahead, the chief stopped.
“That is Madam So. A former court lady.”
Jin-Ri’s gaze lingered.
“The palace…” she whispered.
“If you are to enter such a place,” he said, “you must first learn how to disappear within it.”
Jin-Ri tilted her head.
Disappear?
The thought stayed with her.
“Go,” the chief said.
The girls bowed—
and stepped forward.
Dawn broke cold over the palace grounds.
Prince Young-Sik stood waiting.
General Shin approached without ceremony—and placed a sword in his hands.
Young-Sik took it—
—and dropped it.
The impact rang sharply.
He stared.
Tried again.
It would not rise.
“Master… it is too heavy…”
“How do you expect to wield a blade,” General Shin said, “if you cannot lift it?”
Young-Sik clenched his jaw.
“You fail not from weakness—but from ignorance.”
The general drew his own sword.
“Watch.”
His grip was precise. Balanced.
“The blade is not forced upward. It is guided.”
Young-Sik adjusted.
This time—
it rose.
Barely.
“…Good,” the general said.
“Now hold it.”
The sword trembled violently.
“This blade weighs three times a standard weapon.”
Young-Sik’s breath caught.
“You will train with it for thirty days.”
His arms shook.
“If you cannot wield it with one hand by then…”
The general turned away.
“…I will no longer teach you.”
The sword fell.
Young-Sik gasped.
Then—
he lifted it again.
One second.
Dropped.
Again.
Two.
Dropped.
If I had been stronger…
Three.
Four.
If I had been wiser…
Five.
The sword fell.
He collapsed—
then forced himself up again.
By sunset, his body trembled.
“…fifty-eight…”
“…fifty-nine…”
The sword slipped.
He smiled faintly.
“Progress…”
He stepped—
and collapsed.
Attendants rushed forward.
“Your Highness—!”
“Stop.”
General Shin’s voice cut through them.
“No one helps him.”
The Queen stepped forward.
“He is a child.”
“He is a prince.”
“Do as the general says.”
The King had arrived.
He looked down at his son.
“This is only the beginning,” he said. “Can you endure it?”
Silence.
Then—
movement.
Young-Sik rose.
Shaking.
“…Yes… Your Highness…”
He bowed.
Then walked.
The Queen watched him leave.
A suffering child seeks comfort…
And comfort can be shaped.
She turned away.
Inside his chambers—
the doors closed.
Young-Sik took one step—
and collapsed.
His body gave out.
But his hand—
still curled, as if gripping the sword.
The pain faded.
Breathing slowed.
And on the cold floor—
he slept.
Not as a prince.
But as something being forged.
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