Chapter 7: The Soldier's Trial

Gun-woo traversed the battlefield remnants, his path marked by the stirring whispers of past wars. He reflected upon the once vibrant souls that now lay silent beneath the earth—their tales woven into the sanguine fabric that blanketed the desolate moor. The dying light of dusk adorned the scene with a somber shade of reverence; even the raconteur winds hushed their ballads to honor the fallen.

As the last glimmers of daylight surrendered to twilight's embrace, the natural chorus of nocturnal life tentatively resumed—a stuttering symphony played on the instruments of cricket legs and the distant hoot of an unseen owl. Yet, Gun-woo's senses were alight with an acute awareness that draped his every move in caution.

He had not trodden far from the clearing when flickers of movement, accompanied by low mutterings, accompanied his journey at the edges of perception. He quickened his pace, ready for the clasp of conflict should it come—the stratagems of Sun Tzu, the tactics of Genghis, and the lessons of modern martial arts danced like fireflies through his thoughts.

Then, as if emerging from the shadows themselves, a cadre of soldiers blocked Gun-woo's passage, their worn armature and sturdy stances evincing their identities. They bore the crest of the bear with eagle's wings—the legions he had only just read about. The men appraised Gun-woo with a mixture of suspicion and consideration. His towering presence, though unarmed, was imposing enough to elicit a second thought, a hesitation in their approach.

"Ho there, giant!" called a soldier, his voice bearing the gruffness of command. "What banner do you serve? Are you deserter, spy, or specter?"

Gun-woo weighed his words with care, for each utterance might prove as critical as a move on the chessboard. "I serve no banner," he stated with an authoritative rumble that matched his size. The weary steel in his tone conveyed a gravity that resonated with respect amongst the men of war.

The leader—a grizzled bear of a man, with a scar trekking across his jaw like a caliginous river—leveled a skeptical gaze at Gun-woo. With a terse nod, he signaled his men. "Then you shall come with us. The night is full of dangers, and the morrow will prove your truth."

Herded by the guard, Gun-woo was led deeper into the heart of the forest. Every step was a covenant sealing his fate. Claustrophobic canopies gave way to sprawling valleys as they journeyed through the night. They marched until a campfire's glow, flickering like a beacon of civilization amidst the thicket, heralded their destination—a military encampment pitched on the cusp of the woodlands.

The camp was abuzz with activity; soldiers mended gear, medics tended to the wounded, and scouts reported in hushed tones. Gun-woo's arrival stirred a murmur of curiosity that threaded through the camp as surely as the cool night breeze. In the midst of this organized chaos, Gun-woo was thrust forward to stand trial before the assembled gathering.

Their leader, who introduced himself as Captain Hyeon, questioned Gun-woo with the cunning of a hawk. Each query was a veiled blade seeking an opening in Gun-woo's narrative, yet the giant met each interrogation with a candor that seemed to bemuse and intrigue his host.

"When dawn breaks, you will prove your worth," declared Captain Hyeon. "The battlefield is the crucible that will test the mettle of your spirit. Should you pass, you shall rise as a brother among us."

As the congregation dispersed, Gun-woo was assigned a space by the fire. The heat was both a balm for his weary body and a muse that stirred his remembrance. In the stylized dance of the flames, he envisioned the practice of forms and katas—the dance of combat that had hitherto been a performance without an audience. Tomorrow, this would change.

Sleep came fitfully to him that night, a mercenary interloper stealing into the quiet corners of his readiness. His dreams were interlaced with the pages of "The Endless War Chronicles," a presage of the preordained encounter that awaited him with the first light.

Dawn stretched its rosy fingers across the sky, and with it, Gun-woo awoke to a world of expectancy. There, in that half-light, he steeled himself to seize destiny's challenge. Should he face an army or the trial of single combat, he vowed to emerge tempered and indomitable.

Today, he would start as a soldier in this surreal saga. But with determination as his armament and his intellect as his adviser, there was no intermediary verdict—Gun-woo would rise, ascend, and cast his own shadow across the vast theater of war.