Chapter 8: The Wastrel’s Blade

If I waited for Yu Geung to strike first, I’d die of old age and turn to dust. I swear it. Seeing him hesitate, I grinned and attacked first.

“Heh heh heh.”

I raised my sword and swung a wide horizontal arc. The air split with a whoosh. As I swung with lethal intent, Yu Geung bolted, putting distance between us. His eyes screamed crazy wastrel.

Hard to deny. I’m a guy who knows his place.

I chased him, swinging like a madman. But a real lunatic couldn’t swing like this.

There’s order and rhythm to it. Twenty-four years of Baekyeon’s life, honed into practical swordplay.

If I’d learned formally, maybe it’d be different, but I never had the luxury. Only now do I realize my swordsmanship’s pure survival.

Not exactly stylish, is what I’m saying.

I fought with whatever worked, so a weapon just had to keep me alive. Even a radish, if it’s durable enough, would do.

Just saying.

“You just gonna stand there? I might kill you.”

Yu Geung’s eyes darted, confused. No time for that, but he was still acting clueless. Younger than I remember, maybe.

He was always rigid.

“Your Highness.”

Unspoken: What the hell are you doing, lunatic? I kept grinning. I knew what he meant but had no intention of answering.

“Think you can beat me barehanded? That’s reckless.”

I charged six or seven steps and kicked out, like a street brawl. No one was watching, so who cares?

Yu Geung dodged slightly, but he was too big a target to fully evade. My weighty kick sent him sprawling.

I didn’t expect my sloppy kick to land, so I was a bit thrown.

“…Your Highness!”

“I win.”

Yu Geung, ever rigid, didn’t even yell at my antics. I clicked my tongue and sheathed my sword.

“You’re no fun.”

Glancing at him, still down, I saw his forehead was cut, bleeding. No guilt here. He didn’t block or counter—whose fault is that?

Same as dying on the battlefield. No one to blame. Minor scrapes like this heal with a bit of spit.

“I won, right?”

Confirming again, Yu Geung replied, “Indeed, Your Highness.”

The Yu Geung I knew would’ve treated me like a greenhorn, but this one couldn’t hide his irritation.

“How’s it feel to lose to a wastrel?”

“How could…”

I extended my hand. He hesitated, then grabbed it.

No chance. I yanked, sending him tumbling with a crash.

True to form, he didn’t raise his voice.

“No letting your guard down.”

I chuckled, and Yu Geung, incredulous, stood on his own.

“Right. Get up yourself. Expect the enemy to help you? Think everyone’s as dull as you?”

“Your Highness is not my enemy.”

He stared at me, mocking him, and swallowed a sigh.

“…If I may speak, will you punish me?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“You’re quite different from what I heard.”

“Whoa.”

Saying that to a wastrel?

“What? I’m an even bigger wastrel in person?”

Yu Geung flinched, waving his hands.

“N-no, Your Highness.”

“Then what?”

He belatedly remembered who I was and fumbled.

“…I-I mean, no.”

“What’s no?”

“I beg pardon. I misspoke.”

“Lame.”

“I beg pardon.”

“Your face screams lame, so no need to apologize. Forget that—what’s your take? How do I look?”

We didn’t go all out, but I showed my swordplay, so he should know if I’m useless or have potential.

Since I’m obviously not useless, this was a chance to gauge Yu Geung’s eye.

If he took my crazy act at face value, that’s the extent of his caliber.

“If Your Highness asks me…”

Sensitive question, and Yu Geung shrank further.

Mokryeo, like any nation, was built on martial might.

But in this era, a prince didn’t need exceptional martial skill.

Still, it didn’t hurt.

If your rival’s better, even if it’s not crucial, it’s better to have it.

Judging a prince as a sixth-rank officer must be awkward.

After a long silence, Yu Geung answered only after I yawned.

“…Were you hiding your skill?”

I wiped under my nose.

Guess the rumor was the wastrel had no skills.

Too bad, but what can I do? Cleaning up crap’s my job.

“What skill?”

“But, Your Highness—”

“Why?”

He said warily, “I beg pardon, but I trust my judgment.”

“So I look decent to you.”

It’s true the second prince, Grand Prince Je-an, is widely praised for martial prowess. If the first prince got harsher scrutiny for not standing out, that’s no issue now.

Not sure how many chances I’ll get to prove I’m capable in the palace.

“That’s too much, Your Highness.”

He seemed to regret his words. Praising royalty’s a bold move.

But no taking it back. Deciding to go all in, he stammered on.

“May I ask why you chose me?”

“Think I dragged you here for some grand scheme?”

“I beg pardon, but I doubt it’s otherwise.”

Either he didn’t hear much of the wastrel rumors, or he’s overrating me.

A guy called a wastrel wasn’t likely clever.

Dumb guys do reckless stuff.

Smart ones, even if foul-tempered, know better than to act out if it’ll ruin their path.

“Nah, you’re not wrong.”

“Is that a jest, Your Highness?”

I shook my head, hands behind my back.

“You’re my practice partner.”

Today was just breaking the ice. Showing him who I am.

“Tomorrow, I’ll expect more. Do it properly.”

“Tomorrow, Your Highness?”

“See you tomorrow.”

Yu Geung stared blankly.

I wondered if I should do another wastrel act.

In true wastrel fashion, I said, “Now get lost.”

Keeping up the wastrel routine’s pretty tiring.

By dinnertime, Eunuch Han dragged himself in, exhausted.

His first words: “I beg pardon…”

No bird found, it seems.

Poor guy, stuck as this wastrel’s eunuch. Whose fault is that?

I’m just playing the wastrel out of necessity, so no guilt here.

Han held something like a letter.

“What’s that?”

“A letter from Generalissimo So.”

“Generalissimo So?”

Sounds familiar. I racked my brain.

No clue.

Sensing I’d forgotten, Han chimed in, “Privately, he’s your maternal grandfather.”

Right, the deposed queen was a So.

“Hand it over.”

I opened the letter.

In short: You’re dueling the second prince’s guard? What’re you thinking? I’m coming tomorrow, so don’t do anything stupid till then.

“May I ask its contents?”

“Hm.”

I folded it.

In simpler terms: “My grandfather’s coming. Probably tomorrow.”