Struggle Chapter 3

Taerok was so dumbfounded that he missed his chance to sneer. Instead, behind him, Saon stifled his laughter. The eunuch also seemed bewildered. After a moment of sheer disbelief, Taerok grew somewhat irritated.

‘Even flower gardens have limits.’

A royal family that had only lasted three generations. The so-called meritorious subjects were using their merit rosters as weapons, carving up three high government posts among their own families, and eyeing their own gains hungrily—and here he was speaking of affection. Taerok slowly straightened his body. A long shadow amply draped over Nanyoung’s form.

Nanyoung’s talent was dreadful. Taerok assessed Nanyoung by his own strict standards, and while Saon tried to view the young nephew with more lenient standards than Taerok, even in his eyes, Nanyoung had no talent whatsoever. His grip strength when holding the sword was weak. He lacked the core strength to steady his swinging arm. These could gradually be built up, but the direction of his thrusts and the spirit behind his cuts were feeble. He lacked both the urge to harm another and the resolve that he might have to stab someone to protect himself.

“Dreadful.”

Taerok, rubbing his face, muttered while covering his mouth. Saon laughed, “Haha,” showing a reaction that was neither agreement nor denial.

“Young master.”

Taerok clapped his palms together and called Nanyoung. Though his physical strength was weak, Nanyoung was clever. The reason his face flushed bright red was not simply because it was hard, but likely because he knew exactly where and how he was lacking. Taerok approached Nanyoung and stood behind him. His frame was so small that Taerok had to bend over for quite a while. Even wrapped fully in his embrace, there was plenty of room left. When Taerok covered Nanyoung’s hands with his own from behind, Nanyoung became nearly invisible.

Looking at the small feet, Saon thought, ‘They could even appear as father and son.’ Indeed, Taerok was of an age where having a child would not be strange. In fact, he was rather late. Had not his elder brother the king already fathered the current Crown Prince while he himself was still the Crown Prince?

“Did I not tell you to imagine that there is someone before you trying to harm you?”

“W-would there be many people who wish to harm me?”

“Yes. There are many. A great many.”

Taerok had no qualms about frightening a young child.

“There will be some outside the window, beyond the door, under the privy, and even inside your clothes while you change them.”

At the words spoken indifferently, Nanyoung’s face went pale. Taerok chuckled at the trembling body. His teachers must have told him that talk of strange forces and supernatural beings was merely nonsense meant to delude the ignorant masses, and to neither listen to nor look at such things. Or perhaps, precisely because he had never listened to or seen such things at all, he showed a reaction so pure and innocent it bordered on pathetic.

Having been cold and somewhat cruel by nature since childhood, Taerok could not understand Nanyoung’s thoroughly childish response. Nor did he have any wish to understand. But he could at least teach him to swing a sword when such things appeared.

“Grip it firmly. A blade is a thing that can strike sparks and till fields, yet it possesses a cruel property capable of harming you. If handled clumsily, as the young master does, the blade will surely try to swallow its master. Now, look. Do you see eyes on this?”

Saon showed interest at Taerok’s explanation. Uncharacteristically for Taerok, his speech was quite long. It seemed he found teasing his young nephew amusing.

‘Goodness, how twisted.’

It was a thought that could only be had by someone who had watched Taerok for a long time and could at least call himself a friend.

“They are not attached, Uncle.”

“Yes. You observed well. They are not attached. What this means, that they are not attached….”

Taerok twisted his hand sharply. From far off to the side, the eunuch’s agonized lament of “Oh dear!” could be heard. Though he had to grow up apart from his parents, the child had not lacked love. It had not been long since he had started teaching Nanyoung swordsmanship and archery, but he could tell enough. Everyone around this young nephew cherished and doted on this little one.

However….

Taerok noticed something he had been observing in Nanyoung over the past few days.

Aside from the palace officials, there was no one around him. Palace officials could never be family. Nor could they be friends. He was a child who was protected, and precisely because of that, utterly alone.

Concealing what he had realized, Taerok became even stricter with Nanyoung.

“This is how it can turn around and stab even its master at any moment without recognizing them.”

The tip of the wooden sword touched Nanyoung’s shin. Taerok knew little about children. He knew enough that their bladders were weak. What if he wet himself. While Taerok entertained such irresponsible thoughts, Nanyoung’s reaction was unexpectedly calm. He was so docile that, for a split second, Taerok wondered if he had fainted standing up.

“Yes. I will be careful.”

However, contrary to Taerok’s intent and the worries of those around him, Nanyoung adjusted his grip on the sword. Within Taerok’s grasp, he let the stubborn movement of that tiny fist be. It was a feeble strength that could be stopped by a single index finger, but this time he did not do so.

“I will grip it properly. If something frightening comes, I will keep my wits about me so that the sword I hold to protect myself does not itself become a frightening thing.”

“…That is correct. And if it charges at you, you must cut it down.”

At the remark Taerok added thoughtlessly, Nanyoung did not answer. Contrary to his gentle appearance, he was stubborn. He took entirely after his father. As evidence, even now Nanyoung carefully rotated the sword to grip it. The back of the blade pointed downward. Taerok clicked his tongue and abruptly twisted the blade back around.

“Will you only come to your senses after you get a sword scar on your face?”

The very low, weighty voice did not reach the ears of the palace attendants and Saon standing far away. Only Nanyoung heard it. Nanyoung trembled far, far more violently at this one word from his uncle than when his mother would call him by the very rare use of his given name, Lee Nanyoung, instead of his childhood name, and scold him soundly. A single word, without inflection or emphasis, yet this heavy.

Intimidated, Nanyoung gripped the sword just as Taerok had positioned it. Only then did Taerok take a step back.

“I do not expect a great deal from you, Young master. Since you will have your hands full merely adjusting to that wooden sword for some time anyway, just try not to lose the scabbard while you swing downward ten times.”

“Ten times? I can do it!”

Nanyoung shouted boldly, despite his arms and legs trembling.

However, no one present believed that Nanyoung would accomplish it. Nanyoung swung the sword downward from above. Saon clicked his tongue, “Dear me, tsk tsk.” By the third swing, he was already staggering. Swordsmanship, by its nature, was such that one could only even begin to train properly once calluses had formed on the palms. Nanyoung still had a long way to go.

In Taerok’s view, Nanyoung was not a foolish child. Of course, to others, he was still young enough to whine or grumble for attention. Yet for him to react this way meant one thing. He was reading the room. Did he not want to be disliked? No. Why would he fear a dislike he had never received?

“Haa….”

Taerok wiped his face as he watched the wooden sword swing arbitrarily—horizontally, diagonally, in curves.

Even while struggling with all his might, Nanyoung kept glancing repeatedly at Taerok. Like a mongrel dog watching to see whether its master would leave or not.

He was lonely. He wished that his frightening and unfamiliar uncle would still stay by his side.

‘The most exhausting kind of heart.’

And what was even more exhausting was that he did not ask outright.

Taerok rolled his eyes lightly and let out another long sigh. Eight. That was the most times Nanyoung had managed to swing in one go so far. At last, Nanyoung began to sniffle. Though the tip of the wooden sword hung down diagonally like the setting sun, his arms, straining desperately not to let go, were pitiful.

“…Put it down, Young master.”

At those words, Nanyoung observed Taerok again.

“Were you disappointed…?”

Five years old…. He was still young, after all. Far too young to speak of disappointment. Nanyoung had grown up nestled in an exceedingly gentle world. The people around him worried whenever they saw him, wondering if he would die this year, if he might truly die this year. Nanyoung knew that sentiment as well, and at times it felt less like worry for him and more like an expectation that he might finally die this year.

Perhaps that expectation might have been correct. It was possible that Nanyoung had perceived feelings that people themselves were unaware of. It was the sort of thing one might think thoughtlessly—that watching his sickly state was painful, and that perhaps an early end would be a better life for Nanyoung. And so, Nanyoung was terribly lonely within that tender world.