Jiyul stepped through the large double doors, his ankles finally free of iron weight. His sword was sheathed and strapped across his back again a familiar weight that felt like a missing limb returned. He scanned the interior of the manor with cold disinterest. Ornate tapestries, polished marble, the scent of warmth and peace.
He hated it already. It felt like a trap wrapped in velvet.
The soft sound of footsteps drew his attention to the grand staircase. A woman descended with effortless grace, her long indigo robe trailing behind her like mist. Her presence was gentle, but her eyes were sharp, aware of everything in the room.
"Welcome," she said, her smile calm and disarming. "You must be Jiyul."
He didn't reply. He just watched her hands, checking for weapons or signs of magic.
Lord Kael stepped forward. "This is my wife, Lady Selira."
Selira approached Jiyul, stopping just an arm's length away. She looked into his eyes not with the fear he was used to, nor the suspicion of a guard. She looked at him the way a mother looks at a child who has returned from a long, terrible war.
"You look hungry," she said gently. "And exhausted."
"I am neither," Jiyul answered coldly.
She smiled anyway, as if she heard the truth beneath his lie. "Of course not. But you will be warm." She turned to one of the maids hovering nearby. "Prepare the guest chamber. And bring the warrior's set."
"The... warrior's set?" Daren asked, looking confused.
Selira chuckled softly. "The softest silks and strongest leather. Something fit for a swordsman. He won't walk through our halls dressed like a prisoner."
Jiyul's eyes narrowed. "I don't need silk."
"You don't," Selira agreed easily. "But I want you to have it. Consider it... armor made of kindness."
Jiyul didn't answer. He didn't know how to fight against soft words.
She turned and gestured toward a hallway. "This way. There is a bath prepared for you. The water is hot. It will take the blood off easier than steel."
Jiyul followed her without a word.
The bath chamber was large, filled with thick steam and the quiet flicker of candlelight. Wooden panels lined the walls, and the sharp, clean scent of medicinal herbs filled the damp air.
Jiyul stood alone. He dropped the filthy, blood-stiffened shirt from his shoulders and kicked it into the corner. He stood over the water, looking at his reflection in the rippling surface. A face stained with dirt, speckled with dried blood, and eyes that looked too old for his age.
He stepped in.
The water was scalding hot, but he didn't flinch. The heat bit into his skin, loosening the grime of the prison and the road. The steam rose around him, wrapping him in white fog. For the first time in years, his muscles unclenched. For the first time, his hand didn't hover near a blade.
Outside in the hallway, Daren paced back and forth. "He has been in there a while."
"Let him be," Selira replied calmly. "He has been treated like a dog for long enough. Let him learn he isn't one here."
"He doesn't seem like the type to... appreciate hospitality," Daren muttered.
"He doesn't need to. But he will remember it."
The door creaked open.
When Jiyul stepped out, he was transformed. He wore the outfit Selira had chosen a sleeveless black tunic of fine silk, reinforced with dark leather across the chest and shoulders. The pants were stitched for flexibility, allowing deep movement, with a subtle silver thread woven into the seams.
His long black hair was damp and brushed back, revealing sharp cheekbones and a jaw cut from stone. His eyes, clearer now without the dirt and blood, were pale and piercing—like cold stars in a calm night sky.
Daren turned and froze. "Wait. What the hell..."
The maids nearby stopped their work. One dropped a silver tray with a loud clang.
Selira smiled softly. "I told you he would be beautiful."
Jiyul ignored their stares. He pulled the straps of his sheath tighter across his back, securing his sword, and looked at Daren.
"Where is the mission?"
Daren blinked, shaking his head. "I... uh... you clean up well."
"Is that supposed to mean something?"
"No! I just Look, you looked like a corpse yesterday."
"I was in prison."
"Still... you kinda look like a noble now. If the noble was cursed, brooding, and always ready to kill someone."
"Not far off," Jiyul said dryly.
One of the maids whispered to another, her voice carrying in the quiet hall. "He looks like a prince from a legend."
Jiyul turned his head slightly. The maid shrank behind her tray, terrified.
Selira stepped forward, breaking the tension. "Jiyul. You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But know this: you are safe here. For now. No one here will treat you as a tool."
"I don't trust kindness," Jiyul replied.
"Then trust time," she said, turning toward the dining hall. "Dinner is ready. Join us if you wish."
Later, at the long wooden table, Jiyul sat at the farthest end. He didn't speak. He ate mechanically, precisely. Each movement was clean. No wasted energy.
Daren tried to fill the silence. "So... how is the food? Better than prison slop?"
Jiyul chewed. Swallowed. "Not poisoned."
"That is the highest compliment we will get, I suppose," Kael said with a chuckle.
Selira smiled at Jiyul. "When you are ready, we will speak of the mission. No rush."
Jiyul finally looked up. "Speak now."
Kael nodded, his demeanor shifting to business. "Fine. The assassins that came after us weren't random. They were from the Kingdom of Ardal. We suspect a deeper plot. Political. Violent. Hidden under layers of bureaucracy."
"We need someone who can cut through the layers," Daren added.
Kael didn't flinch. "We are. That is why we need someone who doesn't care about politics. Just the truth. And survival."
Jiyul stood up. His new outfit glinted under the chandelier light.
"I will take your job," he said.
The room seemed to exhale.
"But I am not your servant,Jiyul added, his voice hard. "I am your sword. You point—I swing.
Kael nodded. "Agreed."
Selira stood as well. "Then let me say this again, Jiyul. Welcome home."
He didn't reply. But he didn't walk away either.