Chapter 240: Jae’s defense
The camp returned to rhythm almost too quickly. A few hours after the raid, the cooks had fires going again, stirring pots over open flames, their voices rising above the hiss of boiling water. Students patched tents with brisk motions, threading coarse needles through canvas, while others sat polishing blades until steel gleamed faintly in the firelight. The air was thick with smoke and sweat, but the order in it all was undeniable—drilled into them by months of relentless training.
The bandits had been bold, reckless even, their charge wild and unrelenting. For a moment, chaos had threatened to swallow the formation. But once the dust settled, it became clear: they were nothing compared to the crucible the academy had already forced its students through. The raid was an interruption, not a true test.
Still, one detail lingered in every mind, carried like embers from fire to fire, tent to tent. The bandits hadn’t been after supplies. They hadn’t sought to scatter the camp or break morale. Their charge had been aimed squarely, unmistakably, at Jae.
He sat now at the edge of one of the smaller campfires, rolling his shoulders slowly, feeling the heat sink into his tired muscles. His tunic clung with sweat, but he welcomed the warmth. Elise crouched at his side, her hands fussing over his arms as if searching for wounds he’d already dismissed twice. Each time he told her he was fine, she scowled but checked again, as though her stubbornness alone might prove him wrong.
Tirel sat across from them, tossing a twig into the flames. Her expression was darker than the firelight, a frown that only deepened each time the wood popped. Behind her, Byun lingered in his usual silence, his eyes half-shadowed, watching but not intruding.
Across the camp, students clustered in tight groups. Their voices were hushed, but not hushed enough. Jae’s ears, sharper than most realized, caught every word.
"That wasn’t normal."
"Did you see him fight? It didn’t even look human."
"He didn’t listen to orders, though."
"Sun’s right. You can’t just do whatever you want."
Jae’s jaw tightened, but he gave no sign he heard. Outwardly, he was calm, staring into the flames. Inwardly, the words pressed like thorns.
A horn cut through the night, sharp and commanding. The whispers stilled. Students rose at once, forming lines that trailed toward the central tent. Duty, as always, came before rest.
The instructors wasted no time. Mr. Han stood at the front, arms folded, his stance rigid. His face was carved from stone, eyes like a hawk’s glare cutting over the gathered students. "The raid was handled," he began, his voice steady and hard enough to carry through the canvas walls, "but this is a military exercise, not a tavern brawl. Discipline is part of the training. His Highness has raised a concern about disobedience during the engagement."
The air shifted. Heads turned almost in unison. Sun was already standing at one side, posture perfect, not a strand of hair out of place. His uniform looked untouched, as though he had walked through the raid without lifting a blade. He didn’t need to speak loudly. His presence—his title—was authority enough.
"When the bandits struck," Sun began coolly, "I ordered regrouping at the inner perimeter. Most of you followed. One of us did not." His hand moved, a faint but deliberate gesture toward Jae. "Charging off alone may look heroic, but it endangers the squad. Recklessness cannot be rewarded."
The words rippled through the tent like sparks over dry straw. Noble-born students straightened in their seats, eager nods flashing like blades in torchlight. They didn’t need persuasion; Sun’s words confirmed their suspicions, their fears. Fin smirked from his corner, his eyes glittering with satisfaction as though he were savoring the tension itself.
Jae exhaled softly. Then he stepped forward. His voice, calm and level, cut across the murmurs. "I didn’t charge off for fun. They were after me. If I had pulled back, they would’ve cut through anyone in their way to reach me. I did what made sense."
"You decided that on your own," Sun countered. His tone stayed polite, but steel ran beneath it. "If everyone decided for themselves, what would happen to cohesion? To order? We are not here to glorify individuals."
The murmurs swelled, a tide pulling in two directions. Some nodded quickly, eager to agree with their prince. Others looked uncertain, glancing between Sun and Jae with unease.
Before Jae could answer, Elise’s voice rang sharp. She stepped forward, her brows drawn tight. "If Jae hadn’t acted, half of us would’ve been overrun. He saved lives, whatever orders were given."
Tirel crossed her arms, her tone dry but cutting. "And let’s not pretend regrouping would’ve worked. They weren’t scattering. They were focused. He pulled them off before they broke the line."
Sun’s composure held, but the faint tightening of his jaw betrayed irritation. His gaze flicked to them both, then back to Jae. "So now you’re saying orders mean nothing?"
The air thickened. Elise opened her mouth to retort, fire flashing in her eyes, but Mr. Han’s voice cut through, low and ironclad. "Enough." The word cracked like a whip. Silence followed.
Mr. Han swept his gaze slowly over the tent. One by one, students dropped their eyes, unwilling to hold his. "Both points are clear," he said. "Jae’s actions solved the situation, but the issue of discipline cannot be ignored. Consider this a warning. Next time, you follow the chain of command. Even if you think you see a better option."
The weight of his words pressed into every corner of the tent. The silence was thick, heavy. No one dared break it.
Sun’s lips curved faintly, almost a smile, though his eyes remained cool. He inclined his head in deference, letting the matter close on his terms. To him, the warning was victory enough.
The debrief ended soon after. Students filed out in clusters, their voices low, spilling back into the night air. Some moved quickly to Jae’s side, clapping his shoulder with quiet gratitude. Their words were soft, murmured so no instructor would overhear: "Thanks." "You saved us." Others passed without looking at him, muttering instead about arrogance, recklessness, favoritism.