“I'm not doing this!” a loud voice shouted. People near stopped and stared wide eyed at the young man throwing a fit. “You will,” ordered a much older man standing slightly above him. It was the day of showing gratitude towards the king for his empowering skills to obtain peace. Every noble – whether high or low class – were called upon to present gifts in various forms. Were they acknowledged by the king the chance to rise to a more powerful position was high. So, the day was anticipated much in the higher classes of society.

“No!” The young man folded his arms and returned the look of his father. “I'm meeting up with some guards.”

“I won't hear any of that, son,” the older said. “You'll show your talent with the sword in front of the king. I expect an excellent performance, understood? Our well-being depends on your behaviour.”

“I don't care,” his son exclaimed. “Father, you're doing well with your trade business. Our fortune is one of the biggest in the country. The king looks fondly at your political interactions. What else do you want? What do you need me for?”

Before he could hear an answer, a breathless man run upon them. “Milord!” He kneed in front of the older one. “We got a message from our reconnaissance patrol. It's about the outlaws.” Father and son shared a glance. It was no secret that one of the most influential persons in the capital, Lord Horvejkul, took a big distaste towards the rebels or as he liked to call them 'vermin'. In many speeches he called them 'traitors' and 'a danger for the country and the great king that must be eliminated'. To reach that goal he used any way possible.

“Speak!”

“Yes, milord.” The runner tilted his head. “As the patrol stated a few miles east the capital suspicious actions had taken place. In order to find out the hidden meaning a few men were sent. Only one came back.” It was clear what that meant. Lord Horvejkul ground his teeth. “Bastards,” he growled. “They'll pay for it. What else?”

“The estate your daughters are currently residing was attacked.” The youngest gasped. “What?” Disbelieve was shown clearly on his face as he grabbed the man's collar. “Say that again,” he demanded. “Nichkhun, stay back,” his father told him. Reluctantly, his son let go and took two steps back. The runner cleared his throat. “Don't worry, young lord, your sisters are well. They were able to escape before the mansion was burned down.” Nichkhun breathed out in relief. He did not know what he had done if his precious sisters would had been hurt. Maybe creating havoc.“Was it the work of the rebels?”

“We don't know yet, young lord. The police force is currently investigating.”

Lord Horvejkul nodded. “Well, then it's only matter of time until the culprit is found. I bet it were those vermin. You're dismissed.” The runner bowed deeply and vanished. His eyes fell on his son's appearance. “Get dressed, Nichkhun. The king doesn't like to wait.”

“Father, I told you already-”

“Your sisters could be attacked again,” his father cut in sharply. “We need to tell His Majesty what is going on. If we want to erase those people,” he grimaced, “then we should appeal in a positive light. Go, now.” Nichkhun hesitated for a second before following his father's words. The endangered safety of his sisters constantly in mind. When he returned to his chambers Chansung was already there. “I heard the news,” the guard greeted him and handed him clothes more appreciate for a meeting with the king. “I know you're worried about the misses but it won't help to blame yourself. They're safe that's all that matters.”

Nichkhun smiled thinly. Slowly, he undressed.“As always,” he muttered. “You know exactly how I'm feeling.”

Chansung grinned and lead him to the adjoined bathroom. Without much fuss he filled the tube with the hot water the maidservants had prepared in buckets and added a citrus smell. Nichkhun relaxed instantly as the welcoming heat surrounded his body. “Thanks,” he murmured when Chansung began to massage his cramped shoulders. His personal guard seemed to sense whenever he was stressed. “You should take a deep breath and calm down, milord,” the tall man said and intensified his pressure. “A man can't perform perfectly when tensed up.” Nichkhun groaned. “Don't lecture me again, Chansung,” he complained. “I'm old enough to manage my own life.”

“I know,” his guard answered softly. “That's why I'm worried. Every moment I expect an assassin storming in to murder you. You need to be more careful.”

The son of Lord Horvejkul turned around. “I have you, right? With you by my side I fear nothing.” He winked at Chansung who kept a stoic expression. “Please, watch out. For your own safety, milord.”

A sigh. “You're really a nagging old woman.”

“Promise.” His guard held out his pinky finger. Nichkhun raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” He rolled his eyes at the firm look in Chansung's eyes. “Sometimes you're so childish,” he muttered but linked their fingers nonetheless. “Fine, promise. Happy now?”

“Yes.”

 

It was not the event itself Nichkhun hated. No, he enjoyed the presentation of talents very much. The fun, the amazement, the talks; nothing he could complain about. The only reason he resented the gratitude day twice a year was the perfidiousness everyone hid behind masks of gratefulness. Being set in a positive light, every noble man was greedy to get the king's favour. His father was eager to push his son as near the powerful man as possible. Regardless, if Nichkhun wished for the same or not. To gain power was the maxim in their family since ancient times.

“Milord, please control your expression,” Chansung murmured without looking at him. He sighed. As soon as they stepped out of the mansion he became all turn guard, cold gaze, stony-faced and on alert, hands always near his sword. Not that he needed it. The tall man was an excellent fighter. Many challenged them and many failed. Numerous scars proved the dangerous life he led. Still, he did not look scarred. Not in Nichkhun's eyes. It seemed to made Chansung somehow sublime. As if he belonged to another world. 'You've read too much poetic romance', he scolded himself and shook his head. Well, his sisters would probably agree. Deep in thoughts he did not realized Chansung had stopped. Before he could react he collided with the solid back of his protector. “You're spacing out.” The amusement in the other's statement made Lord Horvejkul's son scrunch up his face. “It was you who stopped not me,” he murmured calmly. “Why did you pause?”

“We're here.”

“Oh.” Nichkhun hadn't noticed the large portal which led in the courtyard of the palace. High walls prevented an outsider to find out about various occurrences. Four guard were positioned in front of the gate, blocking it with crossed lances. Normally, only two posts were manned. But because of the importance of the day the safety precautions were at their highest.

Chansung frowned. “Are you all right, milord?”

His protégé nodded. “Just thinking.” They continued their way until one of the guards stopped them with his spear. He glared at the noble. “Who wished for entrance?” he commanded. Instead of him his tall companion answered: “Lord Nichkhun Horvejkul and his guard Hwang Chansung,” he responded, posture straight. “We're asking for permission to enter the holy ground His Majesty, the king, walks on.”

“Permission granted.”

Despite Nichkhuns prejudices it was not as bad as he expected. Of course there were people he disliked but he also saw familiar faces and met an old friend. He had a good time, exchanged news with others who came from the border of the country and was fascinated by the foreign people demonstrating their skills in entertainment. His neighbour had told him the dark-skinned fire-breather were coming from a land deep in the south and the blond haired men presenting accurate throwing of knives wandered from a northern country with barren landscapes. He was fascinated.

“Who among you have talent in swordsmanship?” cut the kings voice in his daydream. The man reigning the kingdom was seated on a golden throne placed on a four feet high podium. Nothing in his face revealed enjoyment or emotions in general. His eyes roamed over the gathered subjects. At his question a few raised their heads. The king nodded in satisfaction. “You,” he pointed at Nichkhun, “come forward!” He did as he was told. He could not refuse a king's command. “How do they call you?”

“Nichkhun Horvejkul, Your Majesty,” he answered with respect and bowed deeply.

“Show us your skills, Lord Horvejkul's son.” Nichkhun tilted his head again and took a few steps back. Aware of the many stares he draw his sword and let it cut through the air slowly. The sunlight was reflected by it and some of the women gasped in admiration. Nichkhun lost himself in his sword dance he practised for years. This moment, he knew, would be forever memorable in his mind.

 

 

 

 

Wooyoung was satisfied. He liked outstanding events. It brought people paying for his trade service and filled his coffers with coins he was using for expansion further. Still, he was filled with regrets. If only he had caught the guy who stole an important document, he would not have to worry about the outcome. “Damn,” Wooyoung cursed and hit the table. Why was that happening to him? Now, when everything went well. When he could finally establish himself in the trade business. If any information regarding his plans leaked out he was doomed. And the newly formed chamber of commerce would breathe down on his back. The owner of a trade house shuddered. Not a pleasant imagination. A sigh escaped his lips. At least, the upcoming gratitude feast for the king would gave him other ideas. Maybe an old friend of his will pass by. He probably knew what was going on in the kingdom, informations worth more than a treasure of gold. Merchants were the unofficial spies working for everyone who paid. Luckily, Wooyoung belonged to them.

A knock on the door let him look up. “A visitor, sir,” the hushed voice of his closest servants announced through the thick wood.

“I'm coming,” he answered and put away the papers he was going to look at. It could wait. Curious, who the visitor could be, Wooyoung followed one of his few workforces down in the main hall. To accommodate all customers he had built a wide hall with ornamented pillars. The enrichment showed different countries, spices and pictures of things no one knew. Wooden planks covered the sandy ground and Wooyoung made sure it looked as clean as possible. He wanted to show a good image. Even though most of the people did not care about the condition of the floor they were walking on. A shame.

“This way, sir,” his servant directed the owner through the crowd to a corner aside the turbulences. A man in his early thirties sat on a bench and let his eyes roam over the people. An amused sparkle appeared in his eyes as he saw Wooyoung. “Took you long enough, kid,” he grinned and patted the seat beside him. Wooyoung huffed, the only prove of his annoyance. “You can go, Jokwon,” he dismissed the other. “He's a familiar nuisance.” Jokwon bowed respectfully and vanished.

“Ah, as I see you fulfilled your dream about building a trade house,” his visitor stated, slight admiration swinging in his voice. Wooyoung cleared his throat. “I don't want to sound impolite,” he started but was interrupted by his opposite. “You already are, kid,” he chuckled and hit him lightly on the back of his head. “Aish, I thought I taught you better,” he muttered. “Treat people older than you with more respect, you rascal. They've more experienced and know things you wouldn't. Needless to say seniors won't be fooled and are awesome in any way.” Wooyung rolled his eyes as the rumble continued. Sometimes, he wanted to choke that man. Most of the time he was bearing it but once the topic about age was brought upon anyone near him was doomed. “I got it, I'm very sorry, sir,” he stretched the last word, “please forgive my insolence.”

“Ah, that sounds better,” the other praised him. “So, how is situation?”

“It's roaring.” Wooyoung answered carefully. He may considered the older as a friend, still, very said man was a merchant. And no matter what good relationship you have with one in the end they sell everything about you as long as the price is coherent. “I can't complain.”

“Good, good.” The merchant nodded. Even an outside could see that he had something on his mind.

Wooyoung sighed. “Spill it.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

His visitor played dumb. “I don't know what you mean.” Wooyung heard the little nervousness in his voice. “Don't play me, Minjun,” he warned. It did not happen often that he used the other's name. Probably because he forget people's name as soon as he heard them. “What's going on? I swear, if you caused trouble and I have to bear the consequences...”

Minjun shook his head. “Don't worry, kid. I didn't tell Miss Seyoung about your interest in her.”

Wooyoung's face flushed with embarrassment. “That's not what I meant,“ he grumbled. “And since when do you know anyway?”

“I'm a merchant, Wooyoung,” Minjun laughed. “There's nothing I don't know.”

“Hm, then tell me about the eastern side.”

The merchant frowned. “Why do you want to know that?”

“There's something that caught my interest,” was the trade house owner's reply. “So?”

“I heard many farmers had poor harvest this past months. There's talk about riots and agitation. I fear the so called peace we have will soon fade.”

“Poor harvest?” Wooyoung repeated confused. “How? The weather is good, no drought. How is it possible?”

“There are rumours its the rebel's doing,” Minjun answered quietly. “That's what the higher-ups are saying. If it's true... who knows?”

“The outlaws, huh?”

Minjun covered the younger one's mouth. “Quiet,” he hissed and looked around. “You never know what kind of people are swarming around you. Even if you have no connection to the outlaws you could still be investigated by just using their names.”

Wooyoung frowned. “That's ridiculous,” his voice was muffled because of the merchants hand. Annoyed, he removed it. “When was the last time you washed yourself?” he wanted to know.

“It's been a while...”

“Thought so,” Wooyoung snorted. “You stink.”

The merchant glanced at him in disapproval. “You too direct, kid.”

“'m not.”

“Yes, you are. Not everyone takes it lightly as I do. Be careful. You could back-stabbed sooner than you imagine.”

At that moment something made quite a splash. Not knowing what was going on Wooyoung stood up and pushed past traders and others. There was a commotion at the front door. But people blocked his vision so he could not see a thing. “Out of the way,” he ordered loudly. A few obeyed. Cursing his short height Wooyoung squeezed his way through the crowd. He barely registered Minjun staying back. Pushed from behind made him stumble and hit something rather hard. His head shot up and instantly he wanted to sink in the ground. Three guards stood before him, the one he bumped into raising an eyebrow in half amusement and half irritation. Trying to ignore the fact that he made a fool of himself he cleared his throat and asked: “Who are you?”

“May I speak with the owner of this trade house?” the man asked politely but demanding. He seemed to be the spokesman of the three.

“That would be me,” Wooyoung responded and wanted to punch the three grinning face. ”“I'm sorry for my rudeness.” Wooyoung wanted to snort. Guard were never apologetically. They had the mindset everything they did was rightful in every way. Especially the palace guards. Sometimes he wondered how they could defend the ministers and the king with their heads high up in the clouds. Fools wherever he looked. “I suggest we leave for a quieter place,” he said, referring to the curious merchants. His visitors nodded and followed him to one of four back rooms, constructed for special clientèle. As everyone took a seat Wooyoung broke the silence. “What's the occasion?” he asked shortly. If his guests were surprised about his use of speech they did not show it. With a nod of the guard who spoke first one of his companions handed Wooyoung something vellum-bounded. Confused he asked: “What is that?” and rolled it up. A small brooch fell on the wooden desk. It was an owl, eyes two red rubies, the detailed feathers glinted silver. A brooch worn by a woman.

“There were notice a few suspicious people going in and out this trade house,” the man explained, staring straight in the owner's eyes. “Our master considered that you may know a few of the ones we're talking about.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Which master are we talking about?”

“The minister of taxation,” came the unexpected answer. For a short moment Wooyoung's mind went blank. A minister... a high positioned minister. He couldn't believe it. In what was he getting involved? “And for what use does he need my informations?”

“You don't have to know.” Being not surprised by the rude behaviour of his guests Wooyoung leaned back, fingertips drumming on the desk. “I guess I don't have to,” he mused. “Tell your master if he's desperate he can visit me personally. I hate non-face customers,” he added sweetly.

On the guard's face irritation was clearly shown. It amused him to no end. From his point of view they deserved it. “If there's nothing else I would like to continue my work.”

“Actually, we were sent for a second reason...”

Now, Wooyoung's curiosity was piqued. There was something in the other's tone, an undertone he could not quite catch. “I'm listening,” he said calmly, leaning forward. He felt the familiar rush of excitement flowing through his cores. Maybe his life could get a bit interesting.

 

 

 

So I present the next chapter. Hope you liked it. And I wanted to thank my two subscribers. :3 You made me really happy haha

Anyway, I know not many persons appeared 'til now but, well, it's only the start, right?^^ And you know the sayin': too many cooks spoil the broth. :D

But don't worry, many others are starting to appear. Wish a good day/night.

See ya~