Yor Chapter 13: What It Means to Take a Life

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Hello everyone!
This time, we will learn one major lesson...

The night we talked about revenge ended up being left vague. After all, it takes time to build strength, and I didn't even know the faces of my enemies. More than anything, even if I could get revenge, I didn't want to think about what would happen to me afterward.
(...If I could actually kill them, there might be no reason for me to live anymore.)
The men's faces turned stern all at once at the words I had spoken without thinking. The boss shouted, "Don't ever say you don't care if you die together with them again!" and the others followed suit, lecturing me one after another.
Even though they were bandits, what they said was strangely reasonable. While I pouted, I felt something warm spreading inside me. (Honestly, you're all so unfair...)

Still, the feeling didn't go away.
At the very least, I want to become strong. For the sake of someday. Thinking this, I asked the man who handled the bow—the archer brother—to take me on as an apprentice. However, the boss immediately shook his head. "If you intend to learn archery to get revenge, I can't let you be taught."
"Why not!"
"You've barely managed to hold onto your life. There's no need to throw it away on purpose. You should value yourself a little more."
I was dissatisfied, but I couldn't argue back because I could tell he was worried about me rather than just angry. Before I knew it, there was a warmth in their words that felt somewhat like a "family".

The next day, I ended up going outside with the archer brother. Even though there was supposed to be a ban, for some reason he told me to "follow him." It seems he couldn't completely give up on me, so he decided to teach me a little bit.
Deep in the forest, where only the sound of the wind echoed, he quietly drew his bow. He killed his presence, sharpened the strength in his fingertips, and released the arrow.
—Swish.
The moment the released arrow pierced the prey's body, my heart skipped a beat. The sound of it falling. The smell of blood. The reality that a life was ending right before my eyes.

He said without looking back,
"This is what it means to end a life. We do this to survive. ...Yor, if you say you want to learn archery, think carefully about what that means."

Those words settled quietly in my chest.
For the sake of revenge—I thought that was what I wanted, but when I actually saw the moment a life was lost, the depths of my heart were terribly unsettled.
(This is... what it means to take a life...)
That day, for the first time, I learned the weight of the words "to become strong."

Watching the archer brother's every move, I suddenly realized. I realized how superficially I had looked at "archery" until now, and that I had never deeply thought about how my father felt when he drew his bow.

When he asked me casually, "Did your father use a bow too?", I nodded slightly. "Yeah... my father looked so cool when he drew his bow, and I can't forget that image," I said, as the memory ached warmly deep in my chest.

The moment that arrow flew, his movements were dignified and, indeed—beautiful. But for the first time, I also understood that behind that beauty existed the resolve to face life. When I witnessed the moment the prey fell, a sensation like my heart freezing over ran through me. The smell of blood, the fading breath, and the certain end. I learned with my body, literally, that this is what it means to "take a life."

He explained calmly, "This is what it means to end a life. We do this to survive. If you want to learn archery, you have to understand that weight." He then lectured me that, in a different sense from hunting, handling a bow involves ethics and responsibility.

A conflict greater than ever before welled up in my heart. The anger and hatred haven't disappeared. Facing those who took my family, the thought of (I want to pay them back with these hands) is vivid. But at the same time, having witnessed a life end before my eyes, the simple image of "revenge" crumbled away. If I were to end someone—even if it were my enemy—with these hands, how would I carry that weight?

At dinner, I thought about it while helping to butcher the prey. My hands trembled as I peeled the skin and cut the meat. The work is part of making a living, but at the same time, it is a scene of carnage and a place of education. He silently added his hands and taught me the steps. It was less about "how to do it" and more about the actions to make me internalize "respect for life."

That night, I realized how shallow the simple view of revenge I had been holding was. Revenge can certainly be an outlet for anger, but it also creates a new chain. The sweet fantasy that everything might be settled if I could get revenge here faded away after seeing the end of a life right in front of me. In the end, if I were to ask if revenge accomplished solely through physical force is realistically achievable—probably not.

(I want revenge. But how? Can I endure the price for it?)
The question was heavy, and I couldn't see the answer. However, knowing that weight itself was a big step for me. Learning how to live little by little while holding onto revenge—that seemed to be the path I had chosen for now.

This was the event that became a major turning point in facing my feelings of revenge...!

That is all for this time. Thank you for reading until the end.
Well then, I hope today and tomorrow will be a good day for all of you.