THE SWORD'S DANCE | HYUNBIN

❀honorable holly❀

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ HIS FATHER DOESN'T SIGNAL The start of the tournaments this time. Instead, he sends a low-ranking official with a big, powerful voice. The official stands on a tree stump, chest puffed out with power.

Participants gather below him. Each person differs— some young, some old, some bearing armor with gilded crests, and some wearing stray hats and shabby tunics. But they all have one thing in common: they're all excellent sword fighters. The elimination trials are hard, and foolproof to prevent those without skill.

Hyunjin stands to the side, isolated. His parents don't trust him flocking amidst the commoners, like they'll hurt him. He thinks that's utter madness.

He's not alone in his slightly isolated corner, though. To prevent their classism from showing, the King and Queen dubbed it the 'winner's circle.' Past champions already gained access to the competition without participating in the grueling trials before, so they had a sort of leverage against the mixture of newcomers and losers. The people surrounding him were young and old, but all skilled. That damned crooked smirk was one of them.

Last year was when Changbin won. They kept ending in ties, where the judge would cut it off before either of them would get seriously injured. Changbin took the trophy by a twist of fate, pinning Hyunjin to the ground with his knees rendering the prince immobile.

That day, Hyunjin pledged never to loose to the young knight again.

He can sense Changbin by his side, his presence inescapable even in the flock of fit bodies. It was like Hyunjin could always sense him, whenever he was. He hates it.

The beginning of the games start smoothly, if that includes the sandy dirt being stained with crimson patches of blood and blue-black bruises staining the tanned skin of contestants. No one from the winner's circle could participate yet. They were supposed to stand by and watch the bloodbath; act as some sort of encouragement when really all they did was heighten the stress levels of the newcomers.

The current pair battling— two teenage boys, dark hair flying in the wind and russet scare staining their knees— whisks close to the winner's circle in their tussle. Hyunjin doesn't flinch when a speck of scarlet blood lands on his white-ish tunic. It's not like that's the only blood that will stain the fabric the same color as freshly churned butter. 

"Pathetic," Changbin scoffs nearby, his voice low, purposefully so, like he doesn't want anyone to hear. But Hyunjin's alert ears pick it up.

"How is that pathetic? They're simply fighting for the fame and the gold coins."

"Not their motives," Changbin almost growls, eyes focused intently on the fighting pair. "But their style. It's like a fistfight. There's no skill, no thoughts behind their eyes, besides simply stabbing the other with the sharpened sword. It's pathetic that they're acting like a panicked, bloodthirsty animal instead of a reasonable human." He adds on half-heartedly, "Your majesty."

That's one thing that Hyunjin never understands about Changbin— how he seems so dedicated to fighting. To the prince, fighting is simply a vessel to exert his dominance in and to appease his parents. He's good, brilliant even at it, but it  isn't his life, or important beyond it being a hobby he indulges in.

Changbin's entire being is sworn to fighting. Not in a masculine, arrogant way, but in the way a genius viewed their craft. Sword fighting was like a chess game to the passionate knight, full of little pieces his mastermind could manipulate to obey his will. His execution, his strategy, was well thought out in a way that no one else could achieve.

One of the many reasons that Hyunjin hates the knight. He is the prince, and he chose this as the thing he was going to be good at— no one else should be better than him.