Cautiously, I lifted my head and looked up at him. He looked to be in his early thirties.
With striking light brown hair and features that unmistakably marked him as a man of martial strength, he grinned broadly, showing his white teeth.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Ah, what a relief. I’ve always had a poor eye for people, so I was worried sick about how I’d find the Chief Archivist. But then they told me to forget combing through the library and just look for someone with white hair. I mean, how could I find someone based on just that? And yet, here you are…”
The man, who had been casually pointing at Sahyeon’s hair, suddenly stopped mid-gesture. The smile faded from his face, replaced by an awkward expression.
He quietly grasped the offending finger with his other hand and lowered it, then folded his hands respectfully in front of him—like a country dog who’d just been scolded for misbehaving.
From the look of it, Sahyeon must’ve unintentionally shown discomfort.
“No, it’s all right. Everyone does that.”
“I tend to be impulsive. Sometimes my body moves faster than my head. I was just so thrilled to have found the right person at once…”
Judging the man to be the type who would talk endlessly if left unchecked, Sahyeon decided to cut in.
“What business do you have with me?”
“Ah, I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Beom Heeryang, Commander of the Capital Guards.”
Commander of the Capital Guards—or Dochongwi Sirang—was a fifth-rank official under the Supreme Commander (Dochonggwan).
Despite the seemingly modest rank, the actual power held by this position was immense.
Typically, the Supreme Commander also served as the head of the Military Affairs Bureau, and it was customary for all major responsibilities of the guards to be delegated to the Commander.
In essence, the position wielded control over the military forces of the capital region. This abnormal authority stemmed from the special meaning of the post.
It was a seat traditionally occupied by the Crown Prince or the King’s designated heir—an essential step in their preparation for the throne.
Controlling the capital’s military meant having oversight over the nobles and ministers residing in the capital.
The role also carried the authority to punish serious crimes like murder and arson. Thus, it was crucial training ground for future kings, helping them master governance, military command, and court politics.
However…
The current king, Danheul, had not appointed his legitimate daughter, Dankyeong, to the role—even after she was named Crown Princess.
In fact, none of the king’s children had ever held the position. If someone outside the royal line were to take the post, it would deal a significant blow to Dankyeong’s standing.
In any case, this was not a role just anyone could fill.
The current Commander standing before Sahyeon was none other than the grandson of the Great General Beom Yeo, and the son of the Treasury Minister of Pasa, the Grand Chancellor.
Given the symbolic influence Beom Yeo held in the nation and the trust the royal family placed in his household, it was all but certain that Heeryang would inherit the title of Great General—so long as no major issues arose.
Beom Heeryang, was it?
Well, judging by his stature alone, he certainly looked the part…
“My apologies for not recognizing the Commander.”
Sahyeon offered a respectful bow.
“Haha, come now—we’re both fifth-rank officials. No need for formality. Please, speak comfortably. Shall we drop honorifics?”
“I’d prefer not to.”
“Got it. Then I’ll continue speaking this way…”
Flustered, Beom Heeryang quickly wrapped up his awkward introduction. The real reason he came had yet to be revealed.
“So, may I ask why you’re here?”
“I’ve been sent on an errand—to escort the Chief Archivist.”
Today, many people seemed to be looking for Sahyeon. Perhaps he had a peculiar kind of luck with people.
If someone could order around Beom Heeryang, it could only be… Beom Yeo?
No, that seemed unlikely. More likely, it was the Grand Chancellor.
Still, it meant the annotations Sahyeon submitted must have been quite well-received. An ordinary aide could’ve been sent—but they dispatched someone like Beom Heeryang instead.
“Ah, please don’t feel pressured. My mother was going to send someone else, but I happened to have business at Ungyeong Palace, so I volunteered.”
He even made a point to pour cold water on any rising expectations. How considerate.
Sahyeon followed Beom Heeryang out of Ungyeong Palace. In truth, it worked out well.
Even if he had to visit Danye tomorrow, he could say he was delayed by a summons from the Grand Chancellor, and Danye would surely understand.
As his racing thoughts began to settle, Sahyeon found himself drawn to the broad back of Beom Heeryang leading the way.
His sturdy build and upright posture clearly marked him as the heir to the prestigious Beom clan, famed for producing generations of renowned generals.
“What business did you have at Ungyeong Palace?”
Riding alongside him, Sahyeon asked the question. It could have been considered intrusive, but Beom Heeryang simply turned and flashed that bold smile again.
“It wasn’t anything important. I just hadn’t seen the Prince in a while and thought I’d check in.”
“Which prince do you mean?”
“Huh? Of course, the Eighth Prince.”
Beom Heeryang tilted his head, as if puzzled by the question itself.
Apparently, to him, “the Prince” could only mean Dan Ijae. That made sense. After all, Dan Ijae had grown up in the house of the Great General.
It was only natural they’d be close. Judging by Heeryang’s demeanor, he probably didn’t get along with Danye.
“Haha, I suppose you wouldn’t know. You haven’t been here long. But still, has the Prince never mentioned me to you? I thought for sure, the moment you saw me, you’d say, ‘Ah, the Prince’s closest friend?’ But you didn’t say a word, so I wondered if maybe you just weren’t good with faces like me.”
…The Prince’s closest friend? If anything, wouldn’t that be the Second Princess, Dan-yun?
Sahyeon didn’t say that out loud.
“I’ve only ever seen him during lessons, so we haven’t had much chance to talk personally.”
According to Danye, Dan Ijae had developed a severe trauma because of the Great General. If that were true, would he really want to be close to the general’s grandson?
And apparently, Beom Heeryang’s father—Beom Yeo’s only son—had suffered the same fate. Maybe Dan Ijae felt some kind of empathy?
Sahyeon decided it wouldn’t hurt to test the waters.
“I once saw the Prince playing gyeokgu (polo), and even to an amateur like me, his skill was obvious. I suppose the Great General must have trained him well in martial arts.”
“Haha, yes, the Prince is excellent at gyeokgu. I could brag, but to be honest, he only learned it after moving into Ungyeong Palace. Lord Yu Baekhu is quite fond of the sport…”
Heeryang trailed off, clicking his tongue in irritation. It was the first time Sahyeon saw him visibly displeased.
“I imagine it must have been difficult at first. But the Prince is good with animals, so he probably adapted quickly. Speaking of which, I’ve been curious for a while—about that horse you’re riding.”
He nodded toward Sahyeon’s steed.
Looking down, Sahyeon saw the horse’s snow-white mane gleaming under the afternoon sun.
“Oh, the Prince lent it to me.”
“The Prince? Really? He won’t even let me touch it, says I’ll dirty its mane!”
How dirty could a mane possibly get?
Was it that Dan Ijae simply didn’t like Beom Heeryang?
Well, considering the trauma he experienced in the general’s household…
“This fellow here… he lost his mother right after birth. His mother was forced to walk a mountain trail right after foaling, stepped in a trap, and broke her leg. You know how it is—when a horse breaks a leg, it’s over. They were going to put her down immediately, but the stablehands insisted on letting her feed her foal just once…”
Sahyeon’s hand, which had been absentmindedly stroking the horse’s back, stopped as he looked over.
Beom Heeryang’s broad shoulders—
He shrugged and shook his head with a wry smile.
“As soon as he took a sip of milk, he cut the man’s throat right in front of him.”
“…Who did?”
“Ah, well…”
Beom Hee-ryang trailed off awkwardly, as if revealing that would be going too far.
Who in the world would commit such a barbaric act…?
“Anyway, ever since then, he starts raging the moment he sees a man.”
So it’s not Lord Taejeong or the second lady.
“And if he sees anything sharp, he foams at the mouth—makes you think, ‘Ah, this one’s not long for the world.’ That’s why the young master basically picked him up after he’d been tossed aside.”
It can’t be Dan Ijae, right?
“I’m not really sure. It’s not like he was cared for all that kindly, but one day he started drinking milk, then eating hay, and before we knew it, he started gaining weight. He’s got some strange talent. Oh, have you seen that white hawk?”
“Yes. It seemed like a smart creature.”
“That one, too—Lord Taejeong put in a lot of effort, but it ended up with the young master. Still, isn’t it a relief that he’s good with animals, at least?”
Sahyeon was about to probe further on that point but held his tongue.
Judging by how Beom Hee-ryang spoke of it, it did seem true that Dan Ijae disliked interacting with people.
“When did the young master start smoking lotusweed?”
Instead, he changed the angle of the conversation slightly.
“Ah…”
Hit right on the mark, Beom Hee-ryang, who had been cheerfully answering until now, fell silent.
Sahyeon decided to offer him a way out.
“I only ask because I’m worried such a strong substance might be harmful to the body.”
“No need to worry about that. We’ve done our research as well…”
So it was something provided by the Grand General’s side?
Beom Hee-ryang let out a long sigh and turned back to Sahyeon.
He didn’t look annoyed at being questioned so closely—in fact, he seemed almost apologetic that he couldn’t share more.
“We looked into monks who always keep lotusweed close, and they all lived long, healthy lives. So it probably isn’t that bad for you. Probably.”
Sahyeon nodded with a faint smile.
There was no benefit in pressing him further.