Chapter 3: The First Lie
The Northern Heavenly Sect's training grounds buzzed with the clatter of wooden swords and the grunts of disciples. Morning mist clung to the dirt, dampening the hems of gray training robes.
Seo-Won adjusted his straw hat, watching from the sidelines as Mu-Won squared off against Baek Joon, the eldest disciple and son of one of the Northern Four.
Joon was eighteen, with a smirk that never quite reached his cold eyes. He twirled his practice blade lazily.
"Ready to lose again, Young Master?"
Mu-Won, just ten years old, said nothing. His grip tightened on his sword.
Seo-Won's fingers twitched. Joon's been targeting him all week.
The match began.
Mu-Won struck first—low and fast, just as their father had taught them. Joon barely blocked in time, his smirk slipping.
Good.
But then—
Joon's foot "slipped"—his elbow slammed into Mu-Won's temple.
Crack.
Mu-Won hit the ground, blood trickling from his hairline.
Laughter rippled through the watching disciples.
Seo-Won's vision turned red.
the lie
He stepped forward before he could think.
"Me next."
Joon blinked, then grinned. "The other Young Master honors me."
Seo-Won ignored the taunt. He picked up a practice sword, rolling his shoulders.
I could end this in three moves.
But—
A glance at Mu-Won, wiping blood from his eye.
A memory of their father's warning: "Arrogance gets children killed."
...Not yet.
The match began.
Joon lunged. Seo-Won let him.
He took the hit—wooden blade cracking against his ribs—and staggered back, gasping.
The disciples roared.
Joon's grin turned feral. "Pathetic."
Another strike. Seo-Won barely dodged, letting the tip graze his arm.
Mu-Won's voice cut through the noise: "Seo-Won—!"
Trust me.
Seo-Won tripped himself, sprawling face-first into the dirt.
Silence.
Then—laughter.
Joon planted a foot on his back. "The Sect Leader's precious twins." He leaned down, whispering: "You're nothing without his name."
Seo-Won stayed still.
Remember this face.
Aftermath
That night, Mu-Won cornered him in their room.
"You let him win."
Seo-Won dabbed at his split lip. "Did I?"
Mu-Won's fists shook. "Why?"
Seo-Won met his brother's glare.
"Because Joon's father is Baek-Rim." One of the Northern Four. Future traitor. "And angry men make mistakes."
Mu-Won froze.
Seo-Won tossed him a salve. "Patience, brother. His pride will cut his own throat one day."
Outside, a shadow shifted—Senior Disciple Kang, listening.
Perfect.