Two wooden swords clashed, the sound reverberating through the cavern. Cheon Seong struggled to parry Kyeongseon Joon's forceful blow, his arms trembling with exertion. Seong tried to push back, his feet firmly planted, but Joon's strength was overwhelming. With a grunt, Seong twisted aside, narrowly evading the strike. The exchange ended, both men catching their breath.

Seong straightened his posture, his chest heaving. Joon, though his skin gleamed with sweat, wore a confident smirk. His movements were fluid, his agility belying his imposing physique. He seemed to anticipate Seong's every move, his defenses impenetrable. Seong, on the other hand, struggled to keep up, his own attacks easily deflected. His swordsmanship was proficient, but Joon's was masterful, a blend of strength and agility that left Seong off-balance.

Seong lunged, his sword aimed at Joon's side. Joon twisted away, his movements effortless. Seong stumbled, his momentum carrying him forward, leaving him exposed. Joon seized the opportunity, his wooden sword striking Seong's side with a resounding thud. Seong crumpled to the ground, a groan escaping his lips. Joon approached, a playful grin on his face.

"You need to control your strength," he remarked, offering a hand to the fallen Seong. "Or perhaps improve your footwork. Losing your balance is a fatal flaw."

Seong, his face contorted in pain, managed a weak smile as he accepted Joon's help. He rubbed his side, the sting lingering.

"Next time, let's use spears," he suggested. "I'm clearly at a disadvantage with swords. Your reach is far superior."

"Are you more proficient with a spear?" Joon asked playfully.

Seong chuckled. "Hardly."

Joon settled beside Seong, his laughter subsiding. "Let's call it a day. It's been a while since we sparred like this."

"I used to think we were evenly matched," Seong said. "But now I realize I'm no match for you."

Joon laughed, a genuine sound of amusement that echoed through the cavern. "Don't be absurd\. We were never equals."

"But we exchanged several blows today," Seong said.

"I was going easy on you," Joon replied with a wink.

Seong shot Joon a playful glance. "I told you not to hold back. Such disrespect for your Guardian."

"There's no need to feel so discouraged," Joon said. "You're far more agile than the High Councilor."

Seong chuckled. "Well, Ryang has never been interested in martial arts. But if I'm this bad even after all my training, that's a problem. At least Ryang is a good archer."

"He's only good at archery," Joon teased. "With a sword, he is no match even for Seon."

Joon continued to poke fun at Ryang, and Seong felt a genuine smile spread across his face. It had been a while since he had laughed so freely.

"Speaking of the High Councilor," he began, "do you also call Ryang that?"

"It feels strange to call him 'brother' now," Joon admitted, his gaze drifting towards the ground.

Seong's thoughts followed his, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. They had grown up together, these young Scions, their childhoods intertwined within the confines of Wicheong Palace. But so much had changed. Cheon Hwan had left, his whereabouts unknown. Jang’gyeong Yoon and Keumpyeong Hui, who had followed Hwan, were also gone. Ryang had become the High Councilor, his leadership a steady presence in their lives. Seon managed the trading company and the inn with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. And he, Seong, was now the Guardian, his father's legacy thrust upon him. The weight of their past, the uncertainty of their future, settled over him, casting a shadow over his momentary joy.

Joon, noticing the shift in Seong's demeanor, asked, "Why did you suddenly ask me to spar? It's been years."

Seong offered a faint smile. The image of his father's lifeless form, the gaping mouth and vacant eyes, the consuming flames of the funeral pyre, and the ominous glow of the Crimson Star, all swirled in his mind. He thought of Norahn, his eyes ablaze with a newfound light, the Emissaries clad in white, their robes stained with the dust, and Hwan, his brother, his enemy, watching from the shadows, his gaze fixed on the crimson star. These were burdens he couldn't share, anxieties he couldn't voice.

"I simply wanted to exert myself," he lied, his voice light, a forced cheerfulness in his eyes.

Joon, accustomed to Seong's evasive nature, didn't believe him. But he respected his privacy.

"You're still quite skilled, Guardian," he remarked, offering a compliment instead of a question.

Seong chuckled, clapping Joon on the shoulder. "I have to return now. Ryang will be waiting for me."

Joon retrieved Seong's discarded robe, and they made their way back, their footsteps echoing through the silent tunnels.

Seong opened the door to find Ryang seated patiently, a stack of documents neatly arranged on the table before him. Ryang rose and bowed respectfully.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Your Luminance."

Seong tossed his sweat-soaked shirt onto a nearby chair. "Must you be so formal when we're alone?" he said. "It's unsettling."

Ryang smiled, his tone gentle. "You'll get used to it."

"There's no need," Seong said. "It's hardly important."

"Even seemingly trivial manners can hold significance," Ryang said, his gaze lingering on Seong's sweat-streaked body. He noticed a few bruises forming, a testament to Seong's recent sparring session with Joon. Ryang knew both their skills well; it was clear who had emerged victorious.

Seong, in turn, studied Ryang's face, his brow furrowed. Ryang, unsure of the reason for his scrutiny, shifted uncomfortably.

"What's on your lips?" Seong asked.

Ryang's heart skipped a beat. He quickly wiped his mouth. A faint pink smudge stained his hand. Have I encountered anyone on my way?

"I had a snack earlier," he explained, his tone clumsy. "I must have forgotten to wipe my mouth."

Seong's frown deepened. He had never seen Ryang snack before, and the man was usually meticulous about his appearance. Ryang, sensing his suspicion, quickly changed the subject, gesturing towards the stack of documents.

"These are the latest reports from the Ministry."

Seong, still flushed from their sparring session, fanned himself with his hand as he picked up a document. He scanned the contents quickly, then moved on to the next, his brow furrowing with each successive report. With a sigh, he turned to Ryang.

"These all say the same thing," he said. "Is there no new information?"

"Nothing from the Ministry," Ryang replied. "But there's news from Sunyahng."

Seong's eyes narrowed. "Judging by your expression, it's not good news."

"The king's third daughter, Princess Kyeong'ui, set sail three days ago with a fleet of five Cannon Ships," Ryang reported. "They're headed for Birahng."

The news confirmed their fears. Seong's hand clenched into a fist. A heavy silence settled over the room, Ryang's anxiety mirrored in Seong's expression. The approaching fleet posed a significant threat, and Seong's unease grew with each passing moment.

"Cannon Ships? The primary warships of Dahn??" he finally asked. "Led by the royal family?"

"Indeed," Ryang confirmed. "That is the most troubling aspect."

"Why the youngest daughter?" Seong asked again.

"I've sent a messenger to Nahmgyo to gather more information," Ryang said. "We need to convene a meeting as soon as the High Emissary returns."

"A meeting?" Seong said. "He'll be exhausted from the search."

"The situation is urgent, Guardian. We cannot remain idle while Dahn mobilizes its forces. The search is yielding no results. The High Emissary's leadership is questionable. We need a new strategy. We cannot leave this solely in the hands of the Ministry .I should take charge..."

"That's not possible," Seong said firmly.

"Guardian."

"The Ministry won't accept your leadership," Seong said. "We must maintain some semblance of order, even if those traditions are hollow."

"If tradition is so important," Ryang countered, "then why did you entrust me with the funeral rites?"

"This is different," Seong insisted. "With the star's appearance, with Dahn forces approaching, clinging to tradition is pointless. Frankly, this isn't about principle, but about you. I understand your urgency, but we must give Norahn more time."

"Are you not concerned, Guardian?"

"The anxious leader is good to no one."

Seong was wary of the growing tension between Ryang and the Ministry, and Ryang understood his concerns.

"Very well. But please summon the council under your authority," he relented.

"Of course."

Ryang hesitated, then asked, "Shouldn't we inform everyone about the approaching Dahn fleet?"

Seong nodded. "Do so. But let's not alarm Norahn unnecessarily."

Ryang's gaze lingered on the bruises that marred Seong's skin. "Have you been sparring with Joon?" he asked.

"I have," Seong replied. "It's been a while."

"It's been years," Ryang corrected.

Seong hadn't touched a sword since Hwan's departure. Ryang couldn't bear to see his friend push himself so hard. While Joon's loyalty lay in silent obedience, Ryang's was in facing the truth, in acknowledging the burdens Seong carried. He reached out, his hand covering Seong's, a gesture of comfort and support.

"This is just the beginning," he said.

Seong turned his hand, their fingers interlacing. "Thank you," he said.

──────────

Sobi pushed open the door, her entrance met with the weary sighs of the Emissaries gathered within. They had returned from their fruitless search, their exhaustion evident in their slumped postures and downcast gazes. Norahn, upon their return, had immediately retreated to the shrine. Cheongro and Sobi, entering their shared office, collapsed into their chairs.

"This is madness," Cheongro grumbled, leaning back and rubbing his tired eyes. "Searching for the Guardian Crimson with such a haphazard approach... it's futile."

"We have no other option," Sobi countered, her voice devoid of its usual energy. "Sahngjon hasn't offered any further guidance."

"Then we should wait patiently for a divine revelation," Cheongro said. "Honestly, sometimes I can't understand the High Emissary's reasoning."

"He's under pressure," Sobi retorted. "Everyone is expecting results. If we remain idle at Wicheong, the High Councilor will surely voice his disapproval."

"And who fears his disapproval more than I?" Cheongro scoffed. "This is madness. We'll exhaust ourselves, fail to find the Guardian Crimson, and then face the wrath of that cunning viper."

Though his words were harsh, Sobi was too tired to argue. "We'll find it," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Everyone is doing their best."

Cheongro sat up, leaning towards her, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I respect our High Emissary. Truly, I do. And witnessing his transformation, it was marvelous. But we cannot blindly follow him in this matter. He lacks flexibility. We'll find the Guardian Crimson eventually, I'm sure. But who knows if we'll survive the search?"

Sobi's eyes fluttered open, her gaze fixed on Cheongro. "Do you have a better solution?" she asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.

Cheongro shook his head wearily. "I'm just complaining. You may be full of youthful vigor, but I'm well past my prime. A few more days of this, and my bones will turn to dust."

"Then keep your complaints to yourself," Sobi said, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. "Some of us are trying to rest."

Ignoring her dismissive tone, Cheongro tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's time we encouraged the High Councilor to intervene," he murmured.