Poetry Thief (7)
The five warriors were sprinting along using their lightness skills.
They'd been plagued by muscle aches the whole way, but they couldn't take it easy.
After all, they were on the run right now.
Of course, they knew they were in the wrong.
Heading out for drinks during duty hours was undeniably their fault.
But...
"Ugh! I'm about to collapse—it's too much!"
"I can't do it anymore! I just can't!"
At this rate, they really might die, so they'd seized the moment when surveillance slackened and made their escape.
"But... is it really okay for us to do this?"
"What else can we do?"
"We hide until the relief from headquarters arrives, then slip back in. What more can the sub-branch leader do about it?"
"If he tells the grand leader, we could get hit with severe punishment!"
"Hey, hey! Still better than wearing those iron weights and doing basic training!"
"I'd take a pay cut any day!"
"Exactly!"
Honestly, they figured a year of halved pay was far preferable to a month of the training Eun Seo-ho had ordered.
It was that grueling.
Their muscles still throbbed from the soreness, but it was much better than at the start.
On the first day, even staggering back to the barracks had been a struggle.
As warriors of the Silver Wind Corps, they did an hour of basic training daily anyway, so they were used to pushing their muscles hard.
Yet this training had left even them barely able to walk.
"Huh? Who's that up ahead?"
Someone spotted a figure while they ran and pointed in surprise.
A handsome man in flashy red robes.
There weren't many in the world who looked like that, so they recognized him instantly.
"Gasp!"
"H-Huh? S-Sub-branch leader?"
In that instant—
Thwack—!
Thud—!
"Ugh!"
"Argh!"
Just as instructed by Eun Seo-ho, the Seo-u Warrior and Jin Yu Warrior swung their sheathed swords at them.
The impact sent the five warriors—who'd built up speed with their lightness skills—tumbling across the ground.
"Oof!"
"Ow!"
Eun Seo-ho approached as they rolled to a dusty stop and kowtowed before him.
They'd taken a hit, but their instincts had kicked in with a proper landing technique, so no real injuries.
That was why he'd given the order in the first place.
"S-So, um..."
"What happened was..."
They racked their brains desperately for excuses.
But Eun Seo-ho was already the man standing above their heads.
"You planned to keep running, hide until reinforcements from headquarters arrived, then show up like nothing happened?"
"...!"
"You figured a year of half-pay was better than a full day of endurance training."
"...!"
They were stunned that he'd read their thoughts so perfectly; chills ran down their spines.
"But here's the thing."
Eun Seo-ho's tone shifted slightly.
"You've come farther than I expected. And you still look fine. If you'd been running since then, you'd be exhausted by now."
"..."
Now that he mentioned it, something felt off.
No matter how much lightness skill they used, they had limits at their level.
Yet despite covering far more ground than anticipated, they weren't particularly winded.
"Doesn't that mean the training I ordered is working?"
"..."
"A warrior's efforts are never wasted. I wanted you all—despite your mistakes—to be reborn as elites of the Eunhae Merchant Group. That's why I gave the order... Was I asking too much?"
His forlorn gaze pierced their consciences like needles.
"Just five years ago, our Eunhae Merchant Group was scraping the bottom of the top hundred merchant groups. Now we're proudly in the top forty."
Eun Seo-ho continued.
"The world's greatest merchant group."
"...!"
"That's my dream. To achieve it, the Silver Wind Corps needs major changes. Your roles as warriors are crucial. We can't realize that dream—or even hold onto it—by resting on our laurels."
"..."
"I chose you five for that role... Did you really have no desire to share in that glory?"
The words hit them like hammer blows to the head.
We thought he was just tormenting us...
There was such a grand purpose behind the order!
We lacked patience! We failed the sub-branch leader's hopes!
Are you even worthy to be a Silver Wind Corps warrior, you rotten scum?
If he wanted to torment us, there were easier ways... Why did we think that was it?
Shame burned through them; they wanted to crawl into a rat hole and die.
***
I gazed at the five warriors prostrating themselves before me, foreheads pressed to the dirt.
"We were wrong. We were fools."
"Forgive us."
"We were trash. S-Sob!"
"If you'll take us back just once more, we'll give our all in loyalty."
"Give us one more chance."
Good. They'd gotten the message.
Sigh. What a hassle this is turning out to be!
Part of me wanted to thrash them a few more times, but I'd settle for the beating from the Seo-u Warrior and Jin Yu Warrior's sheathed swords earlier.
Still...
"You did desert, so I'll have to add extra discipline. I want to let it slide, but overlooking it would loosen discipline."
"It's our fault."
"We'll accept the punishment."
Perfect. Then...
"From now on, wear an extra ten geun—140 geun total—for training. And add half an hour each to the three basic drills."
By now, they were probably used to 130 geun for six hours, so this should be doable.
"Alright, let's head back."
.
.
.
And so I brought the five warriors back.
"Good work."
The Seo-u Warrior and Jin Yu Warrior dipped their heads slightly at my words.
"No, my lord. We're your guards."
"It's our duty to follow you anywhere, anytime."
"Thanks for saying that."
I grumbled as I replied.
"Man, it's like I don't have nannies for nothing. Sigh, not even kids to coax back..."
The two warriors chuckled.
"You say that, but we were honestly impressed today. Getting those troublesome warriors to come back on their own."
"You're a good man, my lord."
I gave a wry smile at that.
"N-No, I'm not a good person. Using others for my own goals—how could I be?"
Jin Yu Warrior shook his head firmly.
"No, my lord. You are a good man. Everyone uses others for their purposes. Even asking someone blocking the road to step aside is using them for your goal, right?"
"That's an exaggeration."
"Don't overthink it. And you don't just abandon the people you use like that."
The Seo-u Warrior nodded, picking up the thread.
"You guide them toward good ends. That's why you're a good man."
Their comfort made something tingle deep in my chest.
So I fiddled absently with Golden Decree's tail.
"Kkwi!"
.
.
.
Dawn broke.
The third and final day of the imperial poetry contest.
Sixty-four poets remained from the previous days' results.
Today, the winner would be decided.
I headed to the poet Song Lok.
He'd already prepared and was stepping out of his room.
"I hope you get good results."
His wife’s words brought an awkward expression to Song Lok's face—one laden with many emotions.
Gratitude, guilt, embarrassment, shame...
Song Lok himself felt sorry for putting his wife through hardship.
He'd probably lamented his own lack of talent at times. Over the years, that turned to resignation, then despair.
"That's not the face you show your wife."
"Pardon?"
I tapped my mouth with a finger.
"You should smile. And say you'll bring back a great victory. You compose poetry so well—why can't you say the right words when it counts?"
Song Lok cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Ahem. Hem hem."
Then he turned to his wife.
"I'll be off. And I'll win for sure, dedicating the glory to you."
"I'll be waiting."
The final battle was upon us. We headed to the contest grounds.
"Fine clothes you're wearing."
"Oh? Ah..."
Song Lok wore the outfit I'd gifted him. Simple white, but made of fine silk with a subtle sheen.
"I wonder if it's okay for me to wear something this nice."
"That's not clothes."
"Pardon?"
"It's battle gear."
I continued.
"Right now, Poet Song, you're going to war with that Chui Il-gong. And today, you need to look the part to others."
"..."
"People say not to judge by appearances, but that's the first thing they see. Even a vile heart gets praise if the exterior shines."
I smiled.
"Damnable world, but what can you do? That's people for you."
I brushed dust from Song Lok's robes.
"And what's wrong with a good man like you wearing fine clothes? Especially when that Chui Il-gong will show up draped in silk."
Flames ignited in Song Lok's eyes at my words.
Flames of vengeance.
"Today, I'll end him for good."
Good. Perfect attitude.
.
.
.
We arrived at the contest grounds shortly after.
Chui Il-gong was in the waiting area, his face quite dark.
Dark circles under his eyes—he clearly hadn't slept.
No wonder. He must've been terrified of assassins in his sleep.
According to the household servant I'd bribed, he'd woken to a dagger by his pillow, and an arrow had flown at him as he left the house.
Well, self-inflicted.
Why go around commissioning murders, then...?
And rumors were spreading among those who'd heard Song Lok's and Chui Il-gong's poems.
Threats of murder were bad enough; add the suspicions, and it must be hell.
Then Chui Il-gong spotted us and approached from his seat.
His eyes gleamed with malice.
Waiting areas had been separate tents until yesterday, so no direct encounters.
But today, we were all in one place.
With suspicions mounting against him, whatever Chui Il-gong had to say to Song Lok was obvious.
He wasn't here to cheer him on.
"You... even if you're copying me, to mimic me so perfectly! Haha! I'm shocked!"
What gall.
But Song Lok, now harboring venom thanks to me, wasn't one to back down.
"I'm copying you?"
"Anyone can see that it's—"
"Then that's a problem."
He grinned fiercely.
"Everyone else says my poem's the original and yours is the knockoff... Has your skill already regressed that much?"
"Urk!"
"Retire before you suffer more humiliation with your declined talent."
"..."
Whoa, Poet Song had that venom in him too.
As I marveled, Palgap narrowed his eyes at me.
His gaze said, What the hell did you do?
I'm innocent!
***
The contest began.
On this final day, instead of groups of four, it was duels—two poets at a time, winner take all.
As expected, the matches were fiercely close.
And when sixteen remained, Song Lok drew Chui Il-gong.
Impressive, in a way.
He'd submitted an unfinished poem and made it this far.
A testament to how outstanding Song Lok's poetry was.
No screens today.
The two bowed before the Emperor.
"I'll give the theme."
Until thirty-two remained, themes had been drawn randomly.
Until just now, four at a time.
Now sixteen left—this was the first.
They switched it up from here.
The Emperor spoke.
"Compose a poem from the perspective of the son of Yu Gong from the parable Foolish Old Man Removes the Mountains."
Chui Il-gong's mind went blank at the theme.
Did that bastard write a poem like that?
No.
Faced with this all-time killer difficulty, darkness closed in. Maybe from a sleepless night, his head felt heavy, thoughts sluggish.
"Huh?"
He came to, already having submitted his poem.
"W-What did I even write?"
He remembered nothing.
The assistant judge's face twisted in confusion upon seeing it...
Yeah. He was screwed.