Yaima Castle—
The lord's chamber was a monument to opulence. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, scenes of past glories woven in crimson and gold. Gilded sculptures of warriors and mythical beasts stood watch over the chamber like silent sentinels. Even the air felt thick, heavy with the mingling scents of incense and aged wood, trying to hide the rot of sickness buried beneath its grandeur.
Lord Daizo's throne-like seat was cushioned with the finest silk, yet his body slumped upon it with the haggard weight of a man far too burdened by age and bitterness. His once broad shoulders were stooped, his fingers gripping the armrests as though their solidity could somehow anchor him to the strength of his youth. His gaze, however, was sharp and cold—steel forged through years of ruthless decision-making.
Takeda knelt before him, his head bowed deeply in a gesture of respect. But his shoulders trembled, not from submission, but from the desperation clawing at his throat.
"Father, I beg of you. Just... give me more time." His voice cracked, and the shame of it stung. He was a grown man, a lord's eldest son, and here he was groveling before his father like a boy caught breaking his sword in training.
Lord Daizo scoffed, his expression twisted with disdain. "More time? You waste your breath, Takeda. Your son has been given everything. The best of care, the finest physicians, the strongest guards money can buy. And yet, here you are, whining like a beaten dog."
The words pierced deep, but Takeda gritted his teeth and kept his gaze fixed on the polished stone floor. "Whatever has been done so far, it's not enough. No matter what I do, he continues to worsen. I only ask for more time to find a solution."
"Enough!" Daizo's fist came down upon the armrest, rattling the ornaments around him. His voice was gravelly, like stones grinding against each other. "Excuses, all of them! If you cannot produce a healthy heir, then you are of no use to me."
Takeda's nails dug into his palms. His body felt like a bowstring pulled too tight. "And if I am not worthy, then what? You will hand the title to my brothers?"
"Yes. They have been waiting, circling like vultures over a dying animal. And why shouldn't they? If they can succeed where you have failed, then the title is theirs." Daizo's words were delivered with cruel indifference. "If your son remains the sickly wretch he is, you will be banished from Yaima City. You and that child of yours will be nothing but beggars scraping at the gates."
Takeda's chest tightened. The threat was nothing new, but hearing it spoken with such casual cruelty twisted something in him. Yet his voice was steady. "I understand, Father. But I will not abandon my son. Even if it costs me everything."
"Then prove your worth," Daizo snarled. "Or accept your fate. I will not have this conversation again."
Takeda rose slowly, his body feeling like it was made of rusted iron. His gaze never met his father's. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing like a final judgment.
An Unexpected Applicant
The corridors of Yaima Castle stretched long and winding, their wood-polished floors gleaming beneath dim candlelight. Servants scurried about, heads bowed, shoulders hunched. The castle was a place of power, but to many, it was a cage wrapped in silk.
Takeda's mind was a storm, his father's words cutting deeper than any blade. His steps echoed through the hall, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"My lord," a voice interrupted.
Takeda turned to find one of the castle's stewards, a thin, balding man who looked perpetually terrified of offending the wrong person. The servant bowed low.
"There is a new applicant seeking the position of your son's guard. He waits by the courtyard."
Takeda's lips pressed into a thin line. "Another one? You should have turned him away."
"Yes, my lord, but... he was rather insistent. And unlike the others, he... well, he seems different."
Takeda's brow furrowed. "Different?"
The servant gulped. "Yes. He did not flinch when I mentioned what happened to the previous guards."
Takeda sighed. "Very well. I'll see him. But only because I'm curious what kind of fool would willingly march to his death."
They walked through the corridors until they reached the open courtyard. The sky was a cloudless blue, sunlight filtering down through cherry blossoms that swayed gently in the wind.
Takeda's eyes widened as he spotted the applicant. The man stood calm and collected, his posture relaxed but purposeful. He wore black and navy robes, the kind fit more for a warrior than a mere guard. His long, straight sword hung at his waist, the weapon's hilt bound in simple leather but somehow exuding a quiet menace.
"You..." Takeda's voice was one of mild surprise. "You're the man I bumped into at the market yesterday."
"That's right." Taro's tone was even, his expression unreadable. "And you're Takeda, the eldest son of the lord."
Takeda couldn't hide his curiosity. "You came here to apply for the position?"
"I did. You need someone to protect your son. I believe I can do that."
They walked across the courtyard, the petals dancing around their feet. Takeda kept his voice low. "Every other applicant has died. Torn apart, some of them. I've already decided to handle the task myself. I can't keep throwing people to their deaths."
"Then consider me a corpse that can stand and walk," Taro replied calmly.
"People always say something like that. Then they die. And I'm left to carry the guilt." Takeda's fists tightened. "There's something different about you. I can see that. But you're still just a man."
"Perhaps. But I'm not like the others. Give me a week. If I don't prove my worth, I'll leave."
Takeda looked into Taro's eyes, searching for something. Fear. Greed. Doubt. He found none. Only calm, steady confidence.
"Very well. But understand this: I will not ask you to die for my child."
"Don't worry." Taro's eyes gleamed. "I'm not planning on dying."
Takeda handed him a small pouch of coins. "Your advance payment. Your room is in the east wing. You begin tomorrow."
Taro nodded. "Understood."
Takeda turned away, but his mind was restless. Something about that man unsettled him.
And he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a very, very bad thing.