"Took a detour," Jihoon said dryly.
Kyungho laughed, slapping his back hard enough to rattle bone. "What, sneaking kisses from the elf high priestess already? Damn, you move fast. She looked like she wanted to eat you alive."
Jihoon forced a chuckle. "You're imagining things."
"I'm seeing*things, brother. That woman was practically undressing you with her eyes. I was about to grab a fan and start fanning her." He leaned in closer. "Come on. Spill. Did something happen? You can't not tell me."
Jihoon's lips twitched. It would be so easy to strangle him. Just a twist of the neck. But not yet.
Not yet.
'You laughed like this the day you sold me out. The day you handed over the war map to the Emperor's cousin and smiled at me like we were still brothers.'
Out loud, Jihoon said, "You think too highly of me."
"Please. When have you *not* been the one all the girls whisper about? Even now, half the candidates are glaring daggers. Especially after the way she looked at you."
Jihoon gave him a sideways glance. "I thought you were the ladies' man."
"Hey, I am," Kyungho said, mock-offended. "Just waiting for my moment. Once I get that shiny crest, it'll be rainin' love letters."
Jihoon smiled. A thin, cold thing.
He remembered that crest. The day Kyungho had finally earned his Royal Knight badge. Jihoon had cheered for him. Drank with him. Even gave him his own boots when Kyungho lost his pair after a raid. And three years later, Kyungho sold him for a new post.
"You always wanted to be a Royal Knight, huh?" Jihoon asked.
"Since I was ten. You kidding? That armor. That prestige. All the noble girls lining up to marry you... it's every poor kid's dream, right?"
Jihoon's gaze darkened. 'Yes. And you got it. On my blood.'
"You'll get it," Jihoon said simply.
Kyungho blinked, caught off guard. "Huh. You actually believe in me? That's rare. Normally you just call me a dumbass."
'I do believe in you. I believe you'll rise. And when you're at the top, I'll be there too. Pulling you down with my own hands.'
"Guess I'm feeling sentimental, dumbass." Jihoon muttered.
They stepped into the training grounds..Jihoon scanned the landscape, noting every corner, every change in routine from the timeline he remembered.
Nothing was out of place yet. The clock was ticking.
He had work to do.
Candidates were gathering in small groups, some stretching, others checking their gear. Instructors barked orders. A lineup was forming for the first evaluation round: Basic Combat Trial.
"You ready for this?" Kyungho asked, nudging him. "I heard the first round is real sword work. Blunted, but still. You and me are gonna show 'em what street rats from Seo-Dong can do, yeah?"
"Yeah," Jihoon said. "We'll make an impression."
'Oh, I'll make one, alright. The kind that leaves scars.'
A horn blared. A voice echoed across the grounds. "All candidates form up! Trial One begins now!"
Kyungho gave him a thumbs-up. "Let's go make history."
Jihoon followed, his expression unreadable. Memories flickered in his mind like dying flames. Laughter over campfires. Training under the moon. Secrets shared. Promises made.
All lies.
The line moved slowly as each pair was assigned a sparring partner. Jihoon kept his gaze forward, resisting the urge to look back.
But he felt it.
A tingle.
Someone watching him.
His eyes drifted toward the stands.
And there she was.
Elira Moonshade.
Sitting among the clergy, her golden hair a beacon under the high sun.
And she was staring right at him.
With a mischievous grin.
And a wink.
Jihoon's blood ran cold—and hot—all at once.
'What game are you playing, Priestess?'
Jihoon's fingers twitched slightly as the line inched forward. His mind wasn't on the weapon rack ahead—not really. Not on the polished blunted swords or the sharp glances of rival candidates. No, his thoughts burned somewhere else.
Specifically, in a pair of ocean-blue eyes that had no damn business watching him so intently.
Elira Moonshade.
Still watching.
Still smirking like she knew every secret inked into the marrow of his bones.
She winked again.
Kyungho elbowed him. "Yo, Earth to Jihoon. You okay? You're looking like you just saw a ghost."
'I did,' Jihoon thought darkly. 'The ghost of a future I'm about to burn.'
He grunted. "Just focused."
Kyungho grinned. "You sure? You looked ready to pass out when she winked. Don't tell me our noble priestess has already enchanted you."
Jihoon didn't answer. The instructor barked out his name.
"Candidate Choi Jihoon. Step to the ring."
He stepped forward silently. The practice arena was large, tiled in white stone with sigils etched along the perimeter. A crowd of minor nobles and mentors stood at the edge, watching. Some took notes. Others whispered.
Jihoon exhaled slowly.
His opponent stepped up—a tall boy with rust-brown hair and cocky eyes. He twirled the practice blade in his hand like he'd done this a hundred times.
"Don't take it personally when you lose," the boy said with a grin. "I train under Captain Seo himself."
Jihoon tilted his head. "Never heard of him."
The boy's smile faltered.
"Begin!"
Steel clanged instantly.
The boy lunged—sloppy. Confident. Jihoon sidestepped with ease and brought the hilt of his sword into the boy's ribs.
Thud.
The boy grunted.
Another strike. Jihoon ducked and spun, tripping him low and following with a firm jab to the shoulder.
Crash!
The boy hit the floor.
It was over in under fifteen seconds.
Gasps echoed from the side. The evaluators scribbled quickly.
Jihoon lowered his blade and stepped back.
"Impressive," one of the senior knights muttered.
"Choi Jihoon. Pass. High marks for reaction, control, and precision."
Jihoon bowed his head politely. Inside, he was howling.
'Still got it.'
He turned as the next match began, rejoining the candidate queue where Kyungho stood wide-eyed.
"What the hell was that?"
"Muscle memory."
"Muscle memory my ass! You dropped him like a sack of flour!"
Jihoon shrugged. "I'm motivated."
Kyungho narrowed his eyes. "You're hiding something. What is it? Some new technique? A mentor? A priestess's blessing?"
'Just a whole other lifetime,' Jihoon thought.
Out loud: "I guess I just want it more."
Kyungho laughed. "Damn right. Alright, I'm up. Watch and learn, master swordsman."
Jihoon watched him jog off with a strange mixture of nostalgia and contempt. Kyungho wasn't weak—not by a long shot. In fact, he'd been one of the strongest in their cohort.
It made the betrayal worse.
Jihoon glanced back toward the high terrace.
Elira was gone.
His shoulders relaxed. Barely.
For the next hour, Jihoon watched matches, some sloppy, others elegant. Candidates were selected or dismissed in rapid succession. When Kyungho returned, flushed and victorious, Jihoon gave him a nod.
"Nice form."
Kyungho beamed. "Told you. I'm climbing to the top. You'll be saluting me one day."
'And you'll choke on those stripes when I drag you back down,' Jihoon mused.
The horn blared again. A new command came:
"All approved candidates, report to courtyard C for advanced assessment."
Jihoon and Kyungho moved together through the arching corridors, torchlight casting long shadows on the walls. Jihoon counted each torch as they passed, each statue—tracking time. Measuring.
Phase two of evaluation would be team-based combat. Back then, Jihoon had made the tactical call that won the match. He remembered the terrain, the ambush spots, the smug face of the noble kid who refused to listen to orders.
This time, he planned to let things go differently.
Very differently.