Did he think his turn had come? The fifty-man leader approached as if accepting a command.
Facing him, I turned to look at our dear Jungnangjang Heo.
Heoseokgyeom’s eyes were filled with astonishment. Having sparred with me before, he must have noticed my skill had surpassed that time.
I glanced at Nangjang Yu.
Yu Geung was also astonished, but differently from Heoseokgyeom. There was no agitation—pure amazement, pride, and self-respect. His eyes showed it clearly.
It seemed I’d secured a place in Yu Geung’s heart.
I don’t yet expect recognition as a lord.
But as a person, I’d risen above being just a mad prince.
Not completely, but I felt I’d taken a step forward.
Son Cheongeum, the Lord of Wolhanseong, didn’t miss a moment, watching the mad prince.
She’d heard he was a mad prince. To her eyes, Grand Prince Ikwon didn’t seem as bad as his notorious reputation, but she thought those rumors weren’t entirely baseless.
Tales of his laziness and reckless behavior, or how he repeatedly lost to his younger brother, Grand Prince Jean, in martial contests.
She assumed those had some truth.
But it was different.
The mad prince had already defeated three soldiers without showing any fatigue.
They were only low-ranking soldiers. Wolhanseong’s proud generals hadn’t yet faced him.
Still, these were men who’d survived battles with magical beasts—not opponents easily felled by someone with minimal sword experience.
The prince subdued them effortlessly.
And claimed victory.
Son Cheongeum looked at the prince’s followers.
They were proud of their lord.
Was she too young? If she hadn’t honed her ability to read people, she wouldn’t be the Lord of Wolhanseong.
To her eyes, the prince’s followers, despite his reputation as a mad prince, looked up to him.
But they weren’t afraid.
Awe without fear.
Pride over reverence.
Were their eyes following the prince because Wolhanseong’s soldiers were their common enemy?
Were they thrilled because he was defeating their foes?
If so, Son Cheongeum could do that too. She could always stand at the forefront, fight, and win Wolhanseong’s heart if that’s what it took.
But was that all?
How long had she struggled for Wolhanseong? What did she hold in her hands now?
Even unanimous support from the Elder Council was a dream. She had fine generals and many troops, but that was it. Had she ever been truly recognized as a lord?
Who am I, and why am I here?
Am I lacking?
The respect that young mad prince easily earned—why couldn’t she…
Son Cheongeum began to sink into melancholy.
But she wasn’t given long to dwell. The mad prince raised his sword, and the fifty-man leader raised his in response.
“You should tell me your name too. What is it?”
“I’m Ji Jungui.”
“How long have you been a warrior?”
“I became a soldier at fifteen, and fourteen years have passed since.”
The prince nodded, smiling, but his eyes were fierce.
What had this young prince experienced to have such a venomous gaze?
The prince exhaled briefly and attacked. His sword surged cunningly. The fifty-man leader’s tense arms swelled, blocking the strike. Unlike with the earlier soldiers, his eyes wavered like a boat in a storm.
Clang! The mad prince’s sword met the fifty-man leader’s. It was a different fight from before. He was now showing his true skill.
Clang, clang! Blue sparks flew, and each screeching clash churned her stomach.
The situation intensified. It felt like something big could happen.
If the prince were injured fighting her soldiers, the responsibility would be hers. Yet she wasn’t worried about the consequences—she was captivated by the spectacle.
It wasn’t grand attention, like watching a trained animal or a performer.
The difference was one thing: fighting spirit.
If not for the smile on the mad prince’s face, would she have stopped the duel? He was laughing, unable to contain his excitement.
That spirit infected her, tightening her chest.
Son Cheongeum glanced at the capital’s officers again, curious about their skill. Were the capital’s swords as strong as the prince’s? Was Wolhanseong’s fame for having the sharpest blades fading into history?
While the northern wall held back magical beasts, had these southern swords been honed under the sun?
Over those long years, while Wolhanseong fought the harsh frontier and lost chances to grow, even the mad prince had reached this level.
If the mad prince was this skilled, what level were the soldiers who accompanied him?
Son Cheongeum felt herself shrink with deprivation.
My chest pounded. Not just emotionally—my pulse raced physically. Sweat dripped down my face, my lips dry. My chest ached. I was short of breath.
In a brief pause, I caught my breath and gripped the sword hilt again. My opponent was as tired as me, if not more. His flushed face seemed to wait for my surrender.
But I’d defeated Heoseokgyeom and Yu Geung, at least nominally. My pride wouldn’t allow me to admit defeat before this opponent.
I turned, breaking his encirclement, and swung my sword at his side. The blade pushed toward his torso.
The fifty-man leader twisted his waist, arching his back like a shrimp, glaring at me with venom. Even if beaten to a pulp, he wouldn’t back down easily.
That’s the stubbornness of the frontier.
Though it was more scorching sun than harsh cold.
The fifty-man leader charged again.
“Ugh.”
I was starting to tire. I was moving my body, but it felt like my soul was animating a puppet.
The blood-point technique’s effect seemed to end here. Still, it was impressive for just pressing points on my skin. Sun Gang was a true master.
The fifty-man leader was more exhausted. I raised my sword with all my strength and brought it down.
The blade fell vertically, gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
Clang! He couldn’t fail to counter such a simple move. As expected, he parried, staggering but lifting my sword. Using the gap, I pressed the hilt down.
Crack.
The hilt struck his forehead, snapping back. It felt like slow motion. His eyes rolled back, and a few drops of blood spurted from his brow.
With a thud, his body collapsed flat on the ground, perfect for sleeping.
Man, I want to lie down too.
“He won again!”
“Your Highness won again!”
Some shouted. My head rang. The buzzing in my ears, twice as strong as before the blood-point technique, made my stomach churn. I staggered and sank to the ground.
A hand slipped under my armpit. I looked up to see Yu Geung.
“Grand Prince.”
My vision shook, making me doubt it was him. But that clumsy face—definitely Yu Geung.
“Yeah, I’m the Grand Prince. Right.”
“You defeated four warriors!”
Yu Geung was smiling. Others gathered around—Heoseokgyeom, Lee Gyeonui, other officers, and even Wolhanseong soldiers.
What’s with them? I was kind of bullying them, so why are they smiling?
Lee Gyeonui spoke.
“Congratulations.”
He looked pleased. I let out a chuckle. Congratulations for what? No big deal. But being weak to praise, I grinned.
“Not resting once, defeating four in a row!”
Yeah, really. I beat four. Thinking of the scolding from my grandfather, that’s big. Compared to my brother who’d thrash me, I’ve done something huge.
Leaning on Yu Geung, I smirked.
“How dare anyone touch the Grand Prince…”
My insides were a mess, but I felt good.
I looked up to see the Lord of Wolhanseong approaching briskly.
“Grand Prince.”
I stared without answering. She didn’t seem to expect a response and continued.
“You achieved a complete victory.”
Right, exactly. I nodded.
“I beat your soldiers, so I should apologize.”
The others sighed in unison. The lord lowered her eyes and replied, “Victory is always victory. It’s a truth we follow.”
My insides churned more. I raised a corner of my mouth, feigning calm.
“You really think so?”
“If it’s not unjust, it’s always a rightful victory. If both sides showed their all without deceit, there’s no regret or shame.”
I chuckled and nodded.
“Right.”
Beyond the crowd, I saw the defeated fifty-man leader being dragged away. They didn’t even glance at him—here in Wolhanseong, they favored victors and were harsh to losers.