Jo Jegun visibly flinched at my suggestion.
“How could I, a lowly man, dare to brandish a blade before Your Highness?” he said, bowing deeply.
“Please retract your words,” he added.
I tapped the sword at my waist, Eunryun, and asked, “I want to see how skilled you are with my own eyes. Is that so hard?”
“I, Jo Jegun, am the eldest son of Oroseong’s lord. How could someone like me wield a blade before Your Highness unless it’s to protect you? It’s unthinkable and impossible,” he replied.
His tone suggested he wished I’d disappear.
“Scared?” I taunted.
He raised his head but didn’t answer.
“Really scared, huh?” I pressed.
I sighed. “I’m curious about your skill, but also mine. No one spars with me properly, so I don’t know if I’m any good. Living as a prince is tough, isn’t it?”
Jo Jegun spoke reluctantly. “I’m ashamed, Your Highness.”
He wasn’t going to agree easily.
I shifted the topic abruptly. “It’s rare for me to leave the capital and travel like this. You know that, don’t you?”
Every person was a precious opportunity. But I wasn’t here to embrace just anyone.
“Why waste this rare time on nonsense? For me or you. Where else will you meet me again?” I said.
A clearing lay a dozen steps ahead. I walked toward it. Jo Jegun followed silently.
“Can you handle a spar?” I asked.
He paused, then gripped the sword at his waist. I grinned, drawing Eunryun.
“My place or yours?” I asked.
“Do as you please,” he replied.
I exhaled sharply, kicking off the ground. Moonlight glinted on my blade as our swords clashed, the impact jarring my hands.
“I’m ashamed,” Jo Jegun muttered.
In the next moment, his fierce thrust came at me, as if he’d forgotten he was holding a blade. It was almost reckless.
It’d been a while.
I inhaled quickly, spinning my sword. The blade’s tip aimed for Jo Jegun’s throat. He raised his sword vertically, deflecting my strike. The lord’s praise wasn’t empty—Jo Jegun’s skill was real, his movements sharp.
Dozens of exchanges followed. Our blades gleamed under the moonlight, sparks flying like mist. Sweat dripped down my forehead. As a bead fell, I raised my sword, and Jo Jegun’s blade came crashing down.
The final clash was deafening.
The fact we were in Oroseong’s remote clearing faded. All I saw was the blade before me.
The wind split by our swords howled, and dust stung my face. Our blades locked, then parted.
His sword came close, grazing my cheek.
In the next instant, a faint sound rang out, and a drop of blood fell.
Jo Jegun’s sword hit the ground with a clatter.
“I’m ashamed,” he said, kneeling and bowing low.
I stood dumbfounded, slowly lowering my sword, my face flushed.
“Did I win?” I muttered.
I exhaled heavily. My cheeks felt hot.
Got carried away and almost got hurt.
Was this level not enough? Had I been a frog in Hyeolyunseong’s well, thinking I was strong, unaware others were just as skilled?
No, it’s this prince’s frail body.
He was a mess, not exceptional, but decent enough. If he’d trained his body or shown diligence, he could’ve been average. With even modest talent, sincerity would’ve earned respect. If he’d lived properly, my grandfather might’ve backed him.
What a pathetic guy.
At least I’m fixing him. Neither Yu Geung nor Jo Jegun could match me. If that guy had fought him, he’d have been floored long ago.
“I’m ashamed,” Jo Jegun said, his voice tight.
It was just a scratch, easily fixed with a dab of spit, but he kept his head down, staring at the ground.
“Jo Jegun,” I called.
“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied.
“I may lose this time, but I’ll win next time,” I said.
He raised his head.
“Don’t look at me like a wastrel. And I didn’t come out here just to find you,” I added.
His face flushed red, visible even in the moonlight.
I wiped the scratch on my cheek and returned to my quarters.
The next day, before dawn, it was too early to rise.
Waking, the air felt unusually crisp. The castle seemed oddly noisy, stirring unease. I dressed quickly and left my quarters.
Outside, my entourage’s area was quiet. Something must’ve happened with the lord.
The atmosphere was heavier than when I’d woken.
Something was wrong. I grabbed a servant and asked, “What’s going on?”
Before he could answer, Jo Jegun appeared. He wasn’t looking for me, just passing by. Unlike last night, he wore formal robes, as if roused from sleep.
“My father—” he hesitated.
I cut in, “I’ll come with you.”
He wavered, then nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Following him to the lord’s quarters, I saw Oroseong’s lord, who’d seemed fine yesterday, lying in bed, his breath thin and reeking of medicine.
Jo Jegun knelt by his side. The lord opened his eyes.
“Father,” Jo Jegun said.
The lord’s gaze shifted to me. “Grand Prince.”
Jo Jegun scolded, “This isn’t important enough to involve His Highness.”
“Don’t chide him. I couldn’t sleep and came out, meeting your son by chance,” I said.
Jo Jegun’s expression was grim, not as stoic as I’d thought.
“I’ll stay,” I said.
The lord blinked slowly. “I’m grateful Your Highness stays by this old man.”
I nodded and sat by his bedside. He stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Jo Jegun said nothing.
“No last words?” I asked.
From his deathbed, he shook his head weakly. “Everything’s arranged. Don’t worry.”
I glanced at Jo Jegun, but he showed no reaction.
“Alright,” I said.
Since I’d chosen to stay by the dying man, I should say something. We had a shared topic. I began slowly, “You said you spent your youth in Seopyeong.”
“Yes, Your Highness remembers,” he said.
“Just yesterday. Did you visit west of the border?” I asked.
“West of Seopyeong? That’s no place for people,” he replied.
“Right, I was curious. Is it really uninhabitable? North of the border, people live, but isn’t Seopyeong less harsh than there?” I said.
I started the talk to lighten the mood, but speaking of Seopyeong, I grew more engaged. The lord had a deeper attachment to it than I’d thought, though not as much as I did for Hyeolyunseong.
The wastrel prince and Oroseong’s lord began to talk. Unlike the banquet’s one-sided chatter, this was a true conversation.
They shared what they had. A prince and a lord, vastly different in status and age, their paths worlds apart. They seemed to have nothing in common.
But they did.
Jo Jegun watched silently. His father had long prepared for death. Jo Jegun had accepted it long ago, knowing his father’s frailty.
There was no reason to grieve. He’d imagined this moment countless times, thinking it had finally come.
He simply watched the wastrel prince and his father. They were close in age, yet the lord’s eyes sparkled at the prince’s words.
Jo Jegun thought his father seemed young again. Had he shone like this in Seopyeong’s days? Jo Jegun wondered vaguely.
“Yes, indeed,” the lord said, laughing with the prince.
“Oh, was it that long ago?” he marveled.
“Damn vermin,” he grumbled, venting old frustrations.
Jo Jegun shifted his gaze to the prince. He seemed to enjoy it, laughing and fuming alongside his father, even looking wistful.
How did the prince know such distant affairs? Jo Jegun was puzzled. His father didn’t ask.
In that moment, Jo Jegun realized duty wasn’t needed. His frail father was happy in his final moments—that was enough. Yet duty lingered.
Jo Jegun felt a strange pull toward the first prince.
Then, the lord’s breathing grew fainter. Jo Jegun knew his father’s time was near. He grasped his father’s dry, bark-like hand.
Jo Jegun spoke calmly, “Rest easy.”
The wastrel prince said, “Thank you.”
The lord’s eyelids trembled.
“This old man can rest now,” he said, smiling faintly like a child.