Chapter 19: The Wastrel’s Wager

King Bonhyeon said he’d arrange a stage for us.

It wasn’t just any stage—it was a platform for a duel between me and the second prince’s escorts.

Before that, I wondered what King Bonhyeon’s intentions were in setting this up.

Was it for my sake? For the second prince’s?

Or was it just a whim, devoid of thought?

King Bonhyeon loved amusement. It wouldn’t be surprising if entertainment was his sole reason.

“Have you chosen suitable escorts?” he asked.

I hadn’t expected him to ask, assuming we’d decide ourselves.

Yehwi answered first.

“Any time is fine, Your Majesty.”

Of course, he wouldn’t care, since he wasn’t the one fighting. But for me, the date didn’t matter much either. A few days’ delay or not wouldn’t make a huge difference.

Naturally, I had no intention of losing. Those who shook their heads, calling me a mere wastrel, were the fools.

Around the time I died, there were a few warriors renowned across the land. Opinions varied, but everyone agreed on the best: Jincheon.

A monster in human form, not bound by mortal limits.

In that era, five warriors were considered the strongest, and Jincheon was the greatest among them.

At his age, to reach that level—his limits were beyond my imagination.

If only I’d been that strong, Hyeolyunseong’s revival might have succeeded. That was my lingering regret.

I held my own against such a man. Even if I wasn’t among the top five, I figured I was at least close to their level.

With that thought, I imagined winning. Since it was a future I’d shape, it was less imagination and more prediction. The thought of taking revenge in front of others was exhilarating.

“Grand Prince Jean isn’t answering?” King Bonhyeon prompted.

“Yes, I’m fine with any time, Your Majesty. Though, tomorrow might be a bit soon.”

Yehwi bristled.

“If Your Majesty decides, we’ll comply,” he said.

His servile demeanor was the epitome of a sycophant.

I wondered who he’d have around him when he became king. Not just anyone can be a sycophant—they need to master flattery. A good flatterer likely enjoys being flattered too. In my view, Yehwi was definitely skilled at soaking up praise.

“Then, after the New Year’s banquet, on the fourth day, hold the duel. It’ll strengthen your brotherly bond and make for an interesting spectacle,” King Bonhyeon said in a dry, parchment-like tone. It was a marvel he could make something exciting sound so dull.

The fourth day? Was there some special meaning to it? I didn’t care about the banquet itself, but was there a reason for that specific day?

After a moment’s thought, I realized high-ranking envoys visiting for the banquet would likely have left by then.

Showing my wastrel side to influential figures would be humiliating.

King Bonhyeon added, “With the preparations for the spectacle, it’ll comfort the palace staff.”

Yehwi bowed quickly, responding, “As you command, Your Majesty.”

Why did Yehwi feel so irritating every time I saw him? His crooked face, his overly expressive features, his incessantly chattering mouth—there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t grate.

Normally, I wasn’t quick to dislike people. In Hyeolyunseong, many hated me, and being despised without cause made me dislike others in turn. But rolling around in the dirt together usually softened grudges.

I had no particular feelings toward Yehwi, so there was no reason to hate him. Yet his constant mocking glances twisted my mood.

Once my temper sours, it doesn’t easily recover. I could foresee a bad end to my relationship with Yehwi.

It was probably inevitable.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

King Bonhyeon continued with brief, meaningless conversation before dismissing us. As I left the hall, I spoke to Yehwi.

“Hey, little brother.”

Yehwi turned, his eyes as dry as King Bonhyeon’s.

“About that bet—how’s it going?”

He frowned.

So I frowned back. It wasn’t like he owned facial muscles.

“The bet?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

He knew exactly what I’d ask for as the prize, which made his act even more amusing.

I spoke deliberately, as if teasing.

“Those swords I lent you. It’d be nice if you returned them when I win.”

“Swords?”

Yes, swords.

Yehwi dropped the pretense, giving a crooked smile. My friendliness seemed to annoy him.

His quick shift in attitude caught me off guard. Truly a sycophant—his change was so swift. When the capital fell, the blood probably flowed just as fast.

“Swords, haha.”

Yehwi laughed to himself. I didn’t.

In my opinion, the swords the first prince foolishly lost were more valuable than they seemed.

If he wouldn’t even mention giving them back, that said it all.

“You think you’ll win, Your Highness?” Yehwi mocked.

I was certain I’d win. It was practically a done deal. There was no way I’d lose to Yehwi’s escorts.

Even without allies like my grandfather.

“Yep,” I replied calmly.

“I’m winning.”

Yehwi let out a scoff, as if dumbfounded. But my confidence didn’t waver. It wasn’t a big deal, and there was no reason I couldn’t beat his escorts.

A frail body? Weak muscles? Sure, those were issues, but they didn’t determine victory or defeat alone.

“Just you wait,” Yehwi said sharply, then turned and strode off, his back radiating hostility.

I returned to Hyeonnyeongdang.

What should I do while waiting for the New Year’s banquet?

Thinking about what to do was a luxury.

The time needed to adapt to a new body after dying as Baekyeon and waking as Ye-kyeong was considerable.

How long would it take to adjust to this ability, dulled by Jongmeoki Flower poisoning?

I was busy.

My body was busy.

I should just quit it cold turkey.

Damn it.

At a table in Hyeonnyeongdang, I glared at a cup of Jongmeoki Flower tea.

I’d learned that stopping it abruptly was near impossible, so I was gradually reducing the dose, but even drinking it brought unstoppable worries.

Every sip made me feel my senses dulling, driving me mad with unease.

It was like worrying that a hard-earned, muscular body would soften.

But there was another, more pressing concern.

As I reduced the Jongmeoki Flower, my heightened senses emerged.

Now I understood why the first prince was called a wastrel.

Even basic living felt uncomfortable, my body unable to stay still. It itched all over when idle. My chosen outlet was focusing on intense stimuli.

Mostly physical training.

What else could I do?

But there was no helping the growing irritation. If picking fights over small things was a wastrel’s main trait and hobby, I had no choice but to become one in this situation.

Sigh.

Shin Gwiryeong’s words came to mind.

Their confident claim that they could save me. That self-assured look, and the way their eyes softened when mentioning the Deposed Queen.

Did Shin Gwiryeong know a way? Did the late Deposed Queen know something precise about this ability inherited from Taejo? Would the arrangements she made through Shin Gwiryeong really help me?

Like performing a ritual, I stared at the teacup, then closed my eyes and gulped down cold water.

Drinking Jongmeoki Flower tea didn’t yield immediate effects. It was miserable.

Just then, a eunuch approached, saying Yu Geung, sent for earlier, had arrived at Hyeonnyeongdang.

“Yu Geung’s here?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I went outside immediately.

“Hey, Yu the escort.”

“Please call me Yu Nangjam, Your Highness,” Yu Geung said, suddenly lowering his voice, embarrassed.

He’d been fine with it before—why now?

But looking again, it wasn’t embarrassment.

Behind Yu Geung’s pale face stood an unfamiliar man.

No, not entirely unfamiliar.

A face from the Geumowi.

The man stepped forward, bowing deeply.

“I greet Grand Prince Ikwon, Your Highness.”

I returned the hesitant greeting.

His face wasn’t unfamiliar, but I didn’t know his name. I only remembered those fervent eyes staring at me.

“Who are you?”

“I am Heo Seokkyeok of the Heo family, serving as a junior officer in the Geumowi.”

“Your name’s Heo Seokkyeok? Sorry, didn’t recall. So, what’s up?”

I could guess why he’d come. I replied more curtly than usual, deliberately.

No need for formalities.

“I heard you made a bet with Yu Nangjam,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I have a request, if I may.”

I grinned.

I didn’t dodge or avoid his gaze.

“Give me a chance too, Your Highness.”

I never backed down from a straightforward bet.

And I never turned away a bet I was sure to win.

“Want to make a bet?” I asked.

“A bet, Your Highness?”

Heo Seokkyeok looked at me with eager eyes.

What nerve in front of a prince.

“Let’s duel. If I win, it’s your neck.”

I sized him up, confirming his boldness.

Plus, a chance to use my sword—offered willingly. No reason to refuse.

“Got it?”

Heo Seokkyeok answered firmly, “Yes, Your Highness.”