The mission brought Ji-hwan to Gwangha Fortress, an old stronghold—and cemetery.
It was where Seong-min had died fighting in his previous life.
Where Ji-hwan had come too late to save him.
And where one man had seen it all.
Lord Ban Seok-woo.
Once a royal commander. Now, little more than a political shadow hovering on the edge, quietly watching over the border of the kingdom.
He welcomed Ji-hwan not with bows, but with narrowed eyes and a hand resting on his sword.
"I thought the next time I saw your face, it would be at the end of a blade," Ban said coldly.
Ji-hwan bowed low. "Then consider this your chance.
Ban did not hit. But he did not welcome him either.
"You betrayed the king," he said. "And now you wear loyalty like a mask."
"I wear it because I worked to earn the right to wear it again," Ji-hwan said softly. "If you believe I didn't pay, then cut me down. But understand this—he remembers me now. And he sent me here anyway."
Ban glared at him. "Then he's more merciful than I figured.
Ji-hwan drew closer. "He's staring at me. Every second. He wants to know if I'll shatter again."
Ban's hand tightened around his sword… and relaxed.
"You shattered once," he said. "If you shatter again, I won't hold back."
Ji-hwan nodded. "Then hold your blade steady."
They remained silent. Two specters trapped by a fire that would not extinguish itself.
And above, storm clouds gathered—as if destiny was listening once more.