I Can See the Sword’s Memories

Chapter 2: The Girl Ran Toward the Starting Point (2)

I realized I was alive. I could feel the biting wind of the frigid tundra, and the cold of my body slowly growing numb.

As my sense of touch returned, so did my hearing, smell, and sight.

“Ah…!”

I inhaled sharply, like someone who had held their breath for far too long. 

My lungs, which had collapsed, expanded beyond their limits, causing my chest to swell.

The first thing I did upon rising was to survey my surroundings. I had fallen in battle against an enemy; it was only natural to check for threats.

However, there were none. The area was eerily silent and utterly devastated. I was the only survivor.

They’re all dead…

I stood and scanned the area. My gaze fell upon the lifeless bodies of my siblings, now cold and still.

Then, my eyes caught sight of a corpse that felt strangely familiar. 

Though I recognized all my siblings, this particular body gave me an unsettling sense of looking into a mirror.

I slowly approached the corpse. Its hair was white—like snow blanketing the ground. In our tribe, only three people had this hair color: myself, my sister, and our mother.

I frowned. My mother and sister were women, but the corpse before me had a clearly male physique.

No… it can’t be.

Despite my denial, I turned the body over. The stiffened, lifeless corpse felt unnaturally heavy.

The face of the corpse was revealed. Rigid from rigor mortis, the expression was frozen, but I recognized it all too well.

The corpse’s face was my own.

My breathing quickened. I panted, my hands trembling as I touched my own body.

The arms that had once been muscular were now frail. The scar across my chest from the sword strike was gone. 

My face felt smaller, and my body was adorned with an unfamiliar array of trinkets.

It was then that I realized the truth.

This body was my sister, Saeran’s.

It was incomprehensible. Why had I awoken in my sister’s body after my death?

“Saeran… Saeran… are you there?”

I touched my face as I asked the question. But no answer came. The unfamiliar yet familiar voice emanating from my throat sent chills through me.

At that moment, I sensed a presence behind me. It was light yet weighty, faint yet distinct—a feeling hard to describe in words.

I quickly turned around.

There stood a wolf as white as snow. It was unlike the ordinary wolves of the tundra. It showed no hostility, nor did it flee.

Instead, it circled around me, exuding a faint sense of warmth, almost as if it felt affection for me.

Then, in an instant, the wolf dissolved into the wind. I realized that it was no ordinary wolf but a spirit.

It must see this as Saeran’s body.

I was breathing and seeing the world through my sister’s body. It wasn’t an impossible thought.

After a brief hesitation, I began to move. Standing idle here wouldn’t erase the danger that had come upon me.

For now, I worked hard to move my small, unfamiliar body and began organizing the surroundings.

The first thing I did was build graves for the fallen tribespeople. With the untrained body of a young girl, I couldn’t create proper graves.

Instead, I covered them with snow and erected a simple marker made of intertwined branches at the village entrance. It was the best I could do at the moment.

I gazed at the solitary marker I had erected. It bore my name. 

Even though I was still alive, I had carved the marker because Saeorin’s body was no longer among the living.

Then, what was I now? The whereabouts of the soul that should have belonged to this body remained unknown.

I began to wonder if I was losing my mind.

For now, I moved for survival. I gathered the food that remained intact and the weapons still usable. After all, I had to survive—I couldn’t let my sister’s body perish as well.

“This is the limit.”

After gathering the necessities, I left the tribe. Staying within the tribe’s ruins would have been more practical for survival; the walls and roofs, though damaged, could still shield me from the biting cold.

However, I couldn’t stay because of the other tribes.

The White Frost Tribe had suppressed other tribes by force for generations, extracting food and women as tributes. Their resentment must have reached its peak by now.

If the other tribes discovered the White Frost Tribe’s downfall, I could imagine all too clearly the fate that would befall my sister’s body.

I could not allow my sister’s body to be defiled.

“She must have used some kind of shamanic spell.”

As I trudged through the snow-covered plains, I thought about my sister. 

Saeran had been praised extravagantly by the tribe’s shamans—clearly capable of spells deeply entwined with the soul and body.

After leaving the tribe, I made a small cave my shelter. 

Though my once-strong body was gone, my knowledge and accumulated experience remained.

“I have enough food for now; I can survive for the time being.”

Immediate survival wasn’t an issue, but the future was uncertain. How would I endure the harsh tundra with such a fragile body?

Perhaps I would need to leave this land where I had lived my entire life. 

Beyond the vast mountain range lay foreign lands, warmer regions free of snow, where survival might be easier.

***

Saeorin’s life in the cave began. I rationed my food carefully and set traps outside.

Though it relied heavily on luck, it was the best hunting method available to my feeble body.

The only game I could realistically catch were snow rabbits. However, even that was too challenging initially.

My body was untrained and not fully grown. My limbs were shorter, and my physique unsuited for hunting.

Furthermore, everything I had mastered over a lifetime was gone. 

The way I walked, breathed, and concealed my presence—all the movements ingrained into my body—had vanished.

So, I started training again, beginning with how to breathe. The White Frost Tribe had modeled all their techniques after the predators that thrived in the tundra.

The Breath of the White Stoat.

The stoat was a cunning hunter, adept at silencing its presence and erasing its scent. At times, it would boldly reveal itself to intimidate stronger foes. 

The White Frost Tribe had incorporated these traits into their unique skills.

“Hoo…”

A soft breath escaped my lips, forming a white mist. As my lungs compressed to their limits, the fresh blood that coursed through my body slowed to a halt.

With blood circulation ceasing, my bodily functions gradually diminished. 

I maintained this shallow breathing state for as long as possible.

It wasn’t difficult—it was like retracing a path I had already walked. 

The knowledge hadn’t disappeared; it was just a matter of familiarizing my body with it again.

After mastering my breathing, I practiced walking. 

Keeping my breathing shallow, I moved with steps so light they barely touched the ground.

The Step of the Frost Wolf.

Combining silent breathing and noiseless footsteps, I glided through the dark cave like a ghost.

I repeated the actions until they became second nature. Even while eating, I maintained the stoat’s breath.

Late at night, just before sleep, I talked to my sister.

Leaning against the cold cave wall, I spoke to no one but myself.

“Today, I relearned how to breathe. If you ever return to your body, it’ll feel strange at first.”

“Walking too. No one will sense your approach.”

Of course, there was no reply.

After mastering breathing and walking, it was time to train with weapons.

I looked at the weapon I had brought with me. I had always used a spear, but this time, I had chosen something else.

The cold steel could effortlessly slice through thick hides. It was a weapon known as a sword.

I had never used a sword in a hunt before. Yet, I was confident. I had long known what my true talent was.

I stared at the sword, its metallic scent mixed with the faint odor of oil. It was the sword of my father, the former chieftain.

The sword was crude—not a remarkable masterpiece. Yet, having been wielded by the chieftain for countless years and soaked in the blood of many, it exuded an eerie aura.

A small hand gripped the blade.

“Ah…”

I could see it. I couldn’t help but let out an involuntary gasp of amazement. 

How could I not? The countless memories etched into the sword revealed themselves to me—the battles my father had fought and the thoughts that had driven his swings.

Hunts for survival, murders for the tribe’s sake. That was how my father had lived his entire life. 

Efficiency over elegance. Surviving to strike down the enemy’s neck was his sole priority.

When the blood-soaked chieftain wielded the sword, death unfolded in silence.

Straight lines and speed.

The crude, direct swordsmanship sought only the fastest possible strike.

It was a technique enhanced by the Breath of the White Stoat. The wielder held their breath until the moment of attack, then explosively surged their heartbeat to flood their body with blood.

Shhkk—!

I mimicked the swordsmanship from the memories, executing it just as I had seen. 

But it felt awkward. Clumsy. The technique, as performed by my delicate hands, was incomplete.

The sword slipped from my weakened grip and fell to the ground.

“Hmm…”

There was still a long way to go. I sighed, rubbing my sore wrist.