Chapter 10: The Wastrel’s Defiance

“Hmph.”

Grandfather let out a scoff, incredulous. But I’d expected this much.

“Your Highness,” he said, voice devoid of humor.

“I am Commander So Ik-gyeom.”

No need for long words to describe a man of his stature.

You’re not someone to challenge lightly. My skill and rank weren’t earned in vain.

That’s what he meant.

His white hair and wrinkled face weren’t just marks of age.

They spoke of experience and achievements earned over decades.

But here’s the thing.

“Yes.”

Baekyeon’s life hasn’t exactly been a breeze either.

“I am Ye-kyeong.”

Ye-kyeong, So Ik-gyeom’s grandson.

Greatness doesn’t always pass through blood, but if his blood runs in my veins, there’s got to be something I share with him.

Grandfather didn’t seem to care much for that, given his coldness toward the deposed queen, but I thought otherwise.

At my cheeky reply, he asked, “What’s this duel with you? What’s its point? Will I see something different?”

“Yes.”

“What’s different?”

“Everything’s different.”

“I beg pardon, but I believe people don’t change easily.”

“Really? I think nothing changes as easily as people.”

I locked eyes with him, his disapproval plain. I didn’t flinch, like we were in a staring contest.

He sighed.

Do old folks sigh more? Short of breath from age?

“If you insist.”

He bowed slightly. “Do as you please.”

The location wasn’t ideal, but no big deal. I stepped into Hyeonnyeongdang’s courtyard, where I’d sparred with Yu Geung yesterday, and faced grandfather.

“Yield the first strike.”

A shameless request, but fair. I’m known as a bumbling prince, while he’s a revered Commander.

He nodded. “That’s only proper.”

Shing. Metal rang as our swords slid from their sheaths.

His blade was simple, reflecting his nature. A plain hilt suited its gruff owner.

Mine?

A sword Eunuch Han scrounged up somewhere.

Crafted with care, but not for me. Unfamiliar in my hand, it held no bond with me.

Fancy looks, no story.

A wasteful prince, all flash and no substance—could anything fit better?

“No need for words. Let’s go.”

Start.

I raised my sword and charged. My strike aimed for his neck, but he didn’t waver.

Clang!

He twisted, dodging the arc, and parried. A sharp vibration shot through my arm.

Pain jabbed my bones. Familiar, yet different. This body’s weaker than my old one.

Damn it.

Strength, speed, flexibility—all far short of my former self.

Obvious, but it stings. All my past struggles feel wasted. Like they never happened. How’s that not bitter?

This clash is for my forgotten past. The next, for that pitiful boy kicked while begging…

Clang!

Blocking his strike, my palm felt like it’d tear. These soft, pampered hands, tender as a baby’s.

Ouch, damn it.

His swordplay was my bitter heart’s only comfort.

Truth is, it wasn’t comfort—just no room to think. Out of respect for my new grandfather, I’ll call it comfort.

Wish I’d had a grandfather sooner. Might’ve avoided getting beaten while begging.

Feeling resentful, I struck back fiercely at his “comforting” blows. A harsh counter.

Pity my body couldn’t match my resentment.

Pathetic. How’s this worse than my beggar days?

“Persistence beats any talent,” he said suddenly.

He’d noticed I was struggling from lack of strength.

And why? Simple—I’d slacked on training.

“I told you.”

I instinctively stepped back.

“Today’s sweat guards tomorrow’s blood.”

“Oh?”

Kaang!

“But you.”

His sword knocked mine aside. Its sly force pulled my blade.

My forearm ached from resisting. Nearly lost my grip.

Tomorrow, I won’t lift my arms from muscle pain. Reminds me of early days in Hyeolyunseong.

Back then, training made my muscles scream. Some bastards even envied me for seeing the lord daily.

Days of rolling in dirt, nights of harassment.

The lord said it too: time invested never betrays.

Are all old men like this?

I couldn’t help but smile.

Then came his cold disappointment.

“You didn’t remember a single word.”

Hey, I never heard them.

No time to breathe. He pressed me. What now?

No choice. Instead of fleeing, I dove into his range.

As if on cue, he stepped back. This harsh old man dodged his dear grandson, then unleashed another strike.

One slip, and my neck’s gone.

His skill at keeping distance was masterful.

Not just fighting—he’s a damn good teacher.

Our swords clashed head-on. Pure power decides this.

Can I hold?

Should I?

Can I?

“…I can’t hold this.”

I deflected.

A crack in his stance.

But it didn’t collapse. He was too solid. I was too green, too weak to exploit it.

He pulled me into his rhythm, uncaring of my breathing.

A mentor, but aggressive enough to keep me on edge.

“Naturally.”

Lively. Lethal but clean. I liked his style. Too bad it was aimed at me.

His sword arced upward, pointing at the blue sky.

Oh no.

Mistake.

Sunlight glinted off, stabbing my eyes.

Next moment.

“Damn.”

I sighed briefly.

His blade hovered at my throat.

I could almost feel its icy edge.

“You’re dead.”

He was right. If he were an enemy, I wouldn’t be standing.

My head would be rolling, like that rainy day.

But.

“Still.”

My sword was inches from his side.

“You wouldn’t walk away unscathed.”

He sheathed his sword first.

I exhaled long, sheathing mine. My overworked arm muscles trembled.

“Man, this…”

Tension drained, and I gasped for air. I leaned back, staring at the sky.

That damn sun blinded me. That’s why I lost—by a hair. I could’ve won.

I thought so, but seeing his calm face, that hope vanished.

Time forges a man. He’d endured it. I had too, but not as long.

“Tch.”

Exhausting.

I plopped onto the ground.

Eunuch Han’s gasp echoed from afar.

“So confident, yet on a battlefield, your head would adorn an enemy’s pike.”

“Why such gruesome talk?”

I balked but pictured it—a pike thrice my height with my head impaled.

Funny? Not at all. Chilling.

It was nearly my reality.

I chuckled.

“Your grandson has something to say, but I’ll hold my tongue.”

“Words have places to be spared and places to be spent.”

“Is this a place to spend them?”

I couldn’t let him win even one word.

He stared, then turned away.

“I’m polite, so I don’t sass my grandfather.”

He mulled over “polite,” incredulous.

“…Polite.”

“Yes.”

His gaze returned, the cold contempt gone. He looked at me briefly, then turned again.

“You must not be shamed.”

Oh.

That’s approval, right?

“Yes, grandfather.”

I’m weak to praise. My lips twitched, but I hid it, replying coyly.

“But with your help, I could show more than just avoiding shame.”

The guard-inspector’s no big threat, but how often do you get a Commander’s favor?

“You seek my aid?”

“Yes. Is that not allowed?”

He paused.

“You once refused me. Have you forgotten?”

Really?

Insane. To reject a top-tier mentor like this…

Plus, a Commander’s a hell of a backer.

Then again, a guy who ditched his mother’s keepsake—what’s new?

“I apologize. Your foolish grandson must’ve been mad.”

“Don’t retract that.”

He didn’t seem to think I was wrong.

Yeah… even I genuinely think I was an idiot…

“But grandfather.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“What’s in that bundle you brought?”

He answered, as if I’d asked something trivial.