A Duel Between Two Men

Braving the biting winter wind that cut through even the thickest cloaks, the ministers gathered one by one in the grand council hall. Their breaths curled like faint ghosts in the frigid air, rising and disappearing beneath the lofty ceiling. Servants scurried quietly between them, lighting incense and adjusting hanging lanterns, but their presence barely registered in the tense murmurs drifting through the chamber.

Having just completed his morning drills, Jade entered last, the crisp scent of iron and sweat lingering faintly around him. His boots echoed sharply across the polished stone floor as he moved to his customary place on the right side of the hall.

Moments later, the tall doors at the far end opened, and the Queen entered, escorted by a pair of palace guards. She moved with that same poised, serene grace Jade had come to admire—and perhaps fear—during their countless meetings.

As she seated herself upon the throne, the bustling whispers fell away into perfect silence, like ripples vanishing on a frozen lake. All the ministers bowed deeply as one, their sleeves pooling around them like fallen banners.

Lowering her head in acknowledgment, the Queen spoke, her voice smooth but edged with quiet authority. "Before we begin today's affairs, there is something I must inform you of."

At her words, the ministers raised their heads in perfect unison, their expressions politely attentive—though subtle undercurrents of curiosity flickered behind practiced eyes.

Without the slightest hesitation, she continued. "The appointment of a royal consort will be suspended for the time being."

A ripple of surprise swept through the gathered officials. Eyebrows arched. Some exchanged furtive glances. Others remained stone-faced, their minds already racing behind controlled expressions.

From his place near the dais, Jade lifted his gaze slightly, only to meet the eyes of Moonsen standing across the room. That ever-gentle smile curved on Moonsen's lips—serene, polite, unreadable. As always, that smile revealed nothing and concealed everything.

Queen Genie went on, unperturbed by the ministers' subtle reactions.

"Right now, managing the affairs of this kingdom personally is my foremost priority. After the recent conflict with Ash Kingdom, the wounds left upon this nation require immediate attention. Proceeding with the appointment amidst such turmoil would be unreasonable. Does anyone object?"

The silence that followed was taut, brittle, like glass stretched too thin.

Finally, the Minister of Foreign Affairs cleared his throat softly and spoke with measured caution. "Your Majesty… if I may. When the appointment does resume—will you be selecting candidates from the beginning once again?"

A faint smile lifted the corners of the Queen's lips, though her gaze sharpened slightly.

"No. Jade will be reinstated as one of the final three candidates, and the selection process will proceed as originally planned."

This time, the nods around the hall came slower, more deliberate. The political undercurrents shifted again, silent agreements and private suspicions swirling like unseen eddies beneath the surface.

From his place at the far end of the chamber, Pyo—ever the picture of casual confidence—nodded as well, a relaxed smile flickering across his face. Whether it was agreement or amusement, Jade couldn't quite tell.

"Does anyone else wish to speak on this matter?" the Queen asked softly, her gaze sweeping across the hall like a blade sheathed in silk.

No one dared raise their voice.

"I take your silence as consent," she said at last. "Let us move on to state matters. I previously issued a directive for the Royal Medical Office to establish clinics across the provinces. I now request a progress report."

An official from the Royal Medical Office stepped forward with a nervous bow. 

"Yes, Your Majesty. As for the provincial clinics…"

The proceedings continued, each report blending into the next as the Queen presided with measured grace, her every word composed yet commanding. 

"This will be all for today! Return to your quarters and rest!" Jade's clear command rang out over the crisp air of the royal training grounds. 

The soldiers of the Third Royal Battalion, sharp and disciplined, saluted him in perfect unison. The metallic snap of their movements echoed like hammers striking steel before they broke formation, filing off in ordered ranks toward the barracks.

It had been another long day, one where military drills bled into political maneuverings, where swords and shields felt simpler companions than words and intentions.

Jade turned, his boots crunching lightly over the frost-laced gravel as he began walking toward the far edge of the grounds.

Then came the voice—familiar, smooth, measured.

"Minister."

He stopped mid-step.

Jade turned sharply at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Across the silent expanse of the training ground, a lone figure was making his way through the darkness. The moonlight caught on the deep blue of his training uniform—not the official robes of the court, but something meant for movement, for combat. His dark hair was slightly tousled, strands falling across his brow, and in his right hand, he carried a longsword, its polished surface reflecting slivers of cold light.

Jade's eyes narrowed slightly.

'Why is Official Moonsen here... at this hour?'

The winter air was sharp enough to bite through layers of fabric, but Moonsen seemed unfazed. His steps were steady, deliberate, the faint crunch of frost under his boots marking each one.

He stopped a few paces before Jade and lowered his head in a respectful bow.

"My apologies for disturbing you so suddenly, Minister," he said quietly, his voice carrying easily in the stillness.

Jade offered only a slight nod in return, keeping his arms folded inside his long sleeves. His gaze was cool, measured. 

"What brings you here?"

A faint smile curved Moonsen's lips, though it was hard to tell whether it was out of confidence or nerves. The smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I would like to challenge you to a duel, Minister."

The words hung in the cold night air like a spark catching on dry kindling.

Jade's brow twitched, his expression unreadable. 

"A duel—with me?"

Moonsen exhaled, glancing briefly to the side as he scratched the back of his head in an oddly boyish gesture. 

"I know I don't have the right to challenge someone of your standing… but it would be an honor."

"I don't spar with officials from the court," Jade replied smoothly, his tone bordering on dismissive. "You have my apologies."

But Moonsen lifted his gaze, calm and steady, as though he had expected the refusal. 

"But surely," he said, voice soft but unyielding, "we're not just colleagues from the court anymore… are we?"

Jade's eyes flickered, the faintest shift in his otherwise impassive expression. For the first time, the corner of his mouth curved upward, almost imperceptibly.

"You're bold," he murmured. "Bolder than I expected."

"I'm not asking you to hold back," Moonsen added, straightening his posture. "I'm only asking for a fair match."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the whisper of the winter wind stirring loose flakes of frost across the ground.

Jade let out a quiet chuckle. He was at least seven years older than this spirited young official—one who should have been busy with scrolls and decrees, not swordplay under moonlight. And yet here he stood, determined, with eyes like flint striking against steel.

"You won't regret that kind of talk?"

"I won't."

For a long moment, Jade said nothing. Then, in one smooth movement, his hand slid from his sleeve, and the polished glint of his own blade caught the moonlight. The sharp shrrk of metal echoed softly as it cleared its sheath.

"Very well," Jade said, his voice low. "Let's see if your sword speaks as well as your mouth."

Under the pale, unforgiving glow of the winter moon, the two men faced each other at the center of the vast, empty ground. Their shadows stretched long behind them, twin silhouettes drawn by fate toward inevitable collision.

The night held its breath.

Whoosh—

A sharp winter wind cut through the open training ground, curling between the two figures standing beneath the pale, indifferent moon. It swept Moonsen's hair across his forehead, chilling the sweat already forming at his temples.

With a slow breath, Moonsen drew his sword and pressed its flat surface against his chest in a formal salute. His posture was steady, but the faint tremor in his fingertips betrayed what his smile tried to hide.

Nervousness.

Jade stood motionless, his tall figure unshaken by the cold, by the moment, by the younger man's bravado. His face was unreadable, eyes like still water—reflecting nothing, offering nothing.

Moonsen spoke first, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. "Shall we begin?"

"Go ahead," Jade answered softly.

A flicker of tension snapped between them, and in the next instant—

With a cry, Moonsen raised his longsword high above his head, gripping it with both hands, and charged. The sharp glint of metal caught the moonlight, slicing a thin arc through the dark sky. The blade cut down diagonally, aimed directly for Jade's shoulder.

"Yaaaaah!"

It was a full-force strike, driven by will and desperation rather than refined technique.

But before the steel could meet flesh, Jade shifted.

With nothing but a subtle twist of his torso, he slipped out of the blade's path, his movement so smooth it was almost lazy, effortless. The sword cut through empty air, its momentum dragging Moonsen slightly forward.

Gritting his teeth, Moonsen pivoted, using the force of his own failed strike to spin around. This time he aimed for Jade's upper left, hoping to catch him off-guard.

"Hyah!"

The blade sliced downward with the whistling hiss of cutting wind.

But once again, Jade was not where the blade expected him to be.

He lowered his head with quiet precision, and the steel sang past, harmless as smoke.

Frustration sparked in Moonsen's chest, but before he could recover for a third strike—

Thud.