Governor Channa stood by the window, watching the rain darken the courtyard of JeArk Garrison. Steam rose from his tea, curling upward as he lifted the cup to his lips in slow, deliberate grace.
"Criminals... pathetic, feeble things. Soon to be sold off as slaves to pay for their sins. Fine assets for my JeArk."
His eyes shifted toward a humble structure on the leftmost side of the compound—the hall of the five monks, his masters. Or so they appeared.
Had it not been for them...
He took another sip and chuckled under his breath. Had they not intervened, he might have died years ago. Or worse—he might be rotting as a slave in Korea or Baekje. Perhaps that would have been a cleaner fate.
Channa returned to the table and sat down, his gaze growing distant as memory washed over him.
He had left home at fifteen.
His mother. His two elder brothers.
There had been a time when the two of them were close. The eldest had served under Prince Sowon. The second had followed Lord Beomyeon.
Back then, both men believed in justice. But justice, Channa would come to learn, was a matter of convenience.
Every holiday, they would come home and fight—arguing over reforms and order.
The eldest insisted all people under the same sky should eat from the same bowl, wear the same clothes, and live without class. The second scoffed, claiming power never yields its privilege, and without order, chaos thrives.
Great ideals were reduced to shouting matches before their aging mother, whose silent tears always ended their debates.
After they left, she would sit alone and cry. She blamed herself, and Channa hated that. Hated his brothers. Hated their hypocrisy.
They claimed to fight for the people but broke their mother's heart without hesitation.
So Channa swore that he would surpass them both. He would become the greatest swordsman in Gaya, a general of renown, and return to his mother bearing honors neither brother could claim.
But his brothers did not wait for him to grow. They drew swords on each other.
Prince Sowon must die for the nation to live!
Beomyeon is the traitor! Strike him down!
The day they raised blades against each other, their mother took up a kitchen knife and threatened to kill herself if they did not stop.
They stopped. And then they left.
She fell ill. And Channa left.
He wandered. He trained. He fought. He even studied the martial and spiritual arts. He saved the sick, the dying, the lost. He expected gratitude. Instead, he was met with suspicion, insult, rejection.
Once, he cured a plague only to be driven out for fear he would spread it. Another time, he stopped a thief, only for the thief to die from wounds during treatment. The guards arrested Channa for suspicion of collusion. Two weeks wasted proving his innocence.
There were countless stories like that.
And so, he changed.
No longer would he save the drowning. He would wait. If they begged, if they offered their all, only then would he help.
Because when he pulled someone from the water alive, they cursed him for losing their bundle. But if he returned with the dead, the family wept and repaid him.
Justice, he had realized, was just a word.
And humanity? A lie wrapped in expectation.
He laughed bitterly and sipped his tea, then looking out at the rain through the windows again.
From just beyond the door, a discreet cough sounded—soft, cautious. Then came the voice of the governor's secretary, low and deferential:
"Governor, the prisoners are assembled in the courtyard. It is time."
The voice did not presume to enter. No one did. Not without permission.
Within the chamber, Channa sat alone, perfectly still, as though the summons were a matter beneath his notice.
Channa pressed his throat to deepen his voice and replied, "Understood," though he made no move to hasten his steps.
Why should I hurry? I am the master here.
Must I rush out for the sake of those pathetic wretches waiting in the rain?
Let them soak. Let them shiver.
Only then will they learn gratitude—learn what it means to kneel before a man like me.
Treat them as equals, and they will claw for your topknot.
He opened the door with deliberate slowness, casting a glance to either side as he stepped into the drizzle, making sure his gait was measured, almost regal.
The pace stirred a memory.
A man moving with the same unhurried pride, years ago—Channa's second brother. It had been at the port near Duha County. He had just crushed a band of pirates and was on his way to the County office to claim rewards. Behind him, his lieutenants scurried, half-running to match the deliberate dignity of his stride.
How did he rise to such rank?
Channa had wanted to rush to him, demand answers—but the swarm of officials and guards had kept him back. That night, under cover of darkness, Channa crept over the wall into his brother's compound and whispered his name at the window.
His brother did not open it. He did not turn. He spoke in a flat, dispassionate voice—more to the wall than to Channa.
He had been made sheriff of Duha County, he said, on the recommendation of Princess Aikjin, recognized for his role in purging the remnants of the rebel Prince Sowon's faction.
When Channa asked after their mother, silence answered him. The wall remained a barrier, his brother's voice a blade.
Did you arrest him, our eldest brother, for yourself? Channa asked at last.
A long pause. Then:
"I did only what was necessary for the future of Golpo."
Moments later, soldiers bearing torches appeared. Channa fled.
When he returned home, he found only a grave. Their mother had passed. His eldest brother's head had been nailed to the city gate.
"Justice? Righteousness? You filthy liar! You spilled your own brother's blood for power—and called it virtue!"
"You even let our mother die... and for what?"
"You fed me your lies—told me you always wanted to be the righteous sword that would save the world."
"Well, I became that sword. The sharpest there is."
"And one day, I swear, I'll drive it straight through your damned heart."
Tears burned his eyes as he ran that night.
He had stumbled into danger not long after—and in the depths of that fall, he met them: the five who would become his masters.