“Oh, please take that. I set it aside because I was afraid you might swing it around while drunk and out of control.”
As expected, the innkeeper was the culprit.
Dan Ijae clicked his tongue disapprovingly and snatched the sword.
Screech!
Screech!
The white falcon, Baeksonggol, returned as if it had sensed something.
Since its feet were empty, it didn’t seem to have caught a chicken or chick this time.
Just as Dan thought he might be quiet for a while if he threw him some meat—
“Huff, huff…”
An unexpected “prey” burst through the gate.
Their hair was disheveled, as white as Baeksonggol’s feathers.
At that very moment, steam rose thickly into the yard.
Dan Ijae, adjusting the knot of the sword at his waist, quietly observed the “prey” flailing in front of him, only to be struck in the back and collapse powerlessly by someone chasing them in.
Would he have ignored it if the person hadn’t grabbed his robe?
Or was he, suffering from a pounding headache since morning, secretly pleased to finally have an excuse to vent his suppressed frustration, all while considering the innkeeper’s situation?
Screech!
His hand, which had only been fiddling with the sword hilt, clenched with strength.
Even in the hunting grounds, he drew the bow when Baeksonggol cried out.
Perhaps it was not Dan Ijae raising the bird, but the bird taming him.
Crimson blood sprayed into the air.
A hideous shriek, loud as a pig being slaughtered, rang in his ears—and only then did the headache subside.
A relieved smile finally crept onto Dan Ijae’s face.
“Arghhh! Kill him! That bastard! Kill him!”
“You crazy son of a—!”
Even street thugs could recognize that the person before them was a trained swordsman.
That must be why, despite their numbers, they were all trembling at the tip of the sword.
“Please, just run! Don’t you know touching a prince of the royal family doesn’t just cost you a hand—it’ll take your head?!”
“W-wait, a prince? As in the royal family…?”
The thugs were quick to seize the opportunity to escape.
“He’s the 8th Prince!”
The innkeeper, determined to protect his inn, had to ruin the excitement of the moment as well.
How utterly dull these people were.
“The 8th Prince… you mean that lunatic…”
“Those eyes… Gasp, is he really…?”
Could you all just shut up and get lost already?
Dan Ijae muttered to himself as he wiped the blood from his blade.
The thugs, startled by his words, hurriedly carried their fallen comrade and bolted out of the inn.
Screech!
Baeksonggol spread its pure white wings and cried out triumphantly.
Even though it hadn’t caught anything itself.
***
Amid the sharp scent of blood, a faint fragrance of lotus blossoms—like incense—drifted in.
Lying on the ground, Sahyeon slowly lifted his head at the falcon’s piercing cry.
The 8th Prince.
He had clearly heard them call him a prince of the royal family.
That meant the man who had just swung the sword before him was the youngest son of King Pasa—Dan Ijae, the 8th Prince.
What had stopped him from getting up right away was the rumor he’d heard while staying in Yeonju.
That the 8th Prince was a good-for-nothing drunk who stirred up trouble whenever he wasn’t in his right mind.
But the fact that he spared the thugs who dared lay hands on royalty… perhaps he wasn’t as unhinged as the rumors claimed.
And regardless of his reputation, he was still the king’s son.
Sahyeon had no room to be picky.
If there was even the slightest thread to grasp, he had to take it.
Sahyeon urgently grabbed Dan Ijae’s robe.
The prince, who had just begun to step out of the inn, looked down at him with clear annoyance.
“I thought I told you—I don’t like being touched without permission.”
His voice was cold and tinged with irritation.
If Sahyeon dared say something like, “Thank you, how can I ever repay you?” he’d likely be thrown aside on the spot.
“I-I’m sorry. I only wished to speak with you, Your Highness…”
Sahyeon carefully chose his words as he clung to the prince’s belt and unsteadily got to his feet.
From the tingling at the top of his head, it seemed Dan Ijae was staring at him with utter disbelief.
“By any chance…”
A large hand rested on Sahyeon’s shoulder.
It hovered there, uncertain whether to push him away.
Feeling that hesitation, Sahyeon quickly continued.
“Could you deliver a message to His Majesty?”
Words Dan Ijae would never have expected.
“…What?”
The fact that he even responded—that was a good sign.
Sahyeon bowed his head deeply, bringing his hands together respectfully, careful not to offend the prince’s mood.
“I am Baek Sahyeon, a disciple of the great scholar Chae Gong. I’m certain that His Majesty, King Pasa, has an interest in Chae Gong’s students. If Your Highness could arrange an audience with His Majesty, I would never forget the favor.”
“Isn’t there another favor you shouldn’t forget?”
Dan Ijae’s reply wasn’t unwelcome—it meant he now wanted to hear more.
“Ah, of course, I’m deeply grateful for your help just now. But as I am now, I have neither the means nor strength to repay you. I can only offer empty words. And since Your Highness’s time is as precious as gold, I dare not waste it with such words. However, if you were to grant me a chance to meet His Majesty, I would be able to repay the favor. That is why I ask.”
Every word was a calculated half-truth.
Sahyeon waited for Dan Ijae to pick apart his logic.
Since he didn’t know the prince well, this was the only way to gauge him.
Depending on what he picked on, he could figure out what Dan Ijae truly wanted.
“If I arrange the audience, you’ll be able to repay the favor?”
But the reply was vague, almost like Dan Ijae saw right through him and was counterattacking—What are YOU hiding, exactly?
“Y-yes, to His Majesty…”
A good-for-nothing prince, huh?
Maybe Dan Ijae wasn’t as simple as he seemed.
With that thought, Sahyeon cautiously lifted his head.
For a moment, his gaze met Dan Ijae’s.
He’d sensed the prince watching him all along, so he wasn’t startled by the eye contact.
The problem… was his eyes.
Under the bright sunlight, his irises were shockingly clear—around the black pupils, golden amber and deep navy swirled together in perfect halves.
“His… Majesty…”
It felt like an overwhelming tide crashing in, making Sahyeon nauseous.
He trailed off.
Though his mind screamed at him to speak, his tongue and lips were frozen.
Of all times—why now…
Dan Ijae frowned and took a step back.
His intense gaze turned to Baeksonggol, preening under the eaves.
Only then did the pressure lift, and Sahyeon felt like he could breathe again.
But having frozen and failed to finish his sentence, the situation had taken a turn for the worse.
Still, silence wasn’t an option.
He had to act.
Sahyeon steadied himself and finally continued the words he had meant to say.
“If His Majesty had intended to take in Chae Gong’s disciple, then repaying the favor from this matter would be appropriate. After all, it’s none other than Confucius himself who sought out Chae Gong’s disciple.”
Something flew toward him.
It was a handkerchief.
Sahyeon looked puzzled and glanced at Dan Ijae for a clue.
Without saying a word, he gestured with his finger to make a circle around his own face.
Was he telling him to wipe his face?
As Sahyeon rubbed his face, yellow dust and red blood smeared off.
He must’ve looked quite ragged, running his mouth like that.
Feeling embarrassed, he wiped his face more vigorously, when Dan Ijae spoke up.
“What was the esteemed disciple of Chae Gong doing being chased by a bunch of thugs?”
It was a sign that the control of the conversation had shifted to him.
Sahyeon shut his eyes tightly.
Now it was his turn to be tested.
What should he do?
Since it was now clear he wasn’t just some lowlife, maybe it would be better to tell the truth than to make up a flimsy lie.
“They were human traffickers.”
“Huh. You’re saying they tried to abduct a scholar in broad daylight for no reason in this city of Yanju?”
Anyone listening might think that such things never happen in Yanju.
What does he know to be asking like that?
Could it be that he knows those thugs work at the cockfighting pit?
If so, denying it poorly might lead to Sahyeon being falsely accused of gambling.
Well, he did cheer for that damned chicken number 3, just a little, very briefly…
“Someone I know was tricked by them into borrowing money. Then they started harassing me to repay an outrageous interest.”
“Usury has long been banned by my royal father. Cutting off that man’s wrist was the right call.”
“That’s correct.”
“But tell me, teacher. What exactly did that ‘someone you know’ intend to do with the money? I fear he might have also done something ‘worthy of losing a wrist.’”
Gambling was…
…definitely wrist-losing behavior.
Still, he couldn’t say it was for bribery either…
“Th-that person… is my senior disciple.”
Just as he was about to spin a tragic tale of two disciples struggling after their master’s death…
“Sahyeon, hey, Sahyeon!”
Despite his usual lack of tact, the man had impeccable timing.
An unwelcome figure pushed open the brushwood door and barged in.
“Oh my! You’re alive! Your face is covered in blood! And this, this man is…”
He had hoped the man would just keep wandering somewhere else…
Before Ogwang could do anything rude to Dan Ijae, Sahyeon quickly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
“Haha, senior. This gentleman is the 8th prince of Pasa. He’s the one who saved my life.”
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