Joon, witnessing the arrow's ascent from behind the boulder, abandoned his father's body and lunged forward. The arrow ascended slowly into the sky, then twisted its trajectory with the wind and fell swiftly. Joon threw his body toward Yeong from just a few steps away. The desperate leap snatched death from Yeong. But Kyeong'ui knew instinctively that the arrow would not be wasted.
Let's see you escape this. I have four more arrows. She did not rush, and the arrow descended toward its new target: Joon's exposed neck.
A blinding flash erupted, brighter than the midday sun. The world was engulfed in a searing white light, blinding both armies. Vision returned slowly, the battlefield a blurry canvas of muted colors. Kyeong'ui stared in disbelief. What has happened? Has anything happened at all? The enemy remained standing. It was a clear hit. She had seen the arrow find its mark, yet the man who had thrown himself in its path still lived, his arms wrapped protectively around the fallen figure.
Kyeong'ui, her frustration mounting, leaned further out from behind the boulder, nocking another arrow. It struck the man's chest, shattering harmlessly against his body. She fired again, and again, but each arrow met the same fate, breaking against his impenetrable form. He advanced, his footsteps steady, his gaze fixed on her hiding spot.
The final arrow shattered against Joon's body, its fragments scattering harmlessly. Kyeong'ui was close now, close enough for Joon to reach her with a single leap of his sword. But Joon was oblivious to what happened to him, his focus solely on the figure before him. He glared at Kyeong'ui, her black robes stained with the dirt and grime of the forest.
This is the princess. This is the bitch who killed my father, who pierced the Guardian Crimson with her arrows.
Joon didn't rush his attack. Kyeong'ui retreated, drawing the longsword she had scavenged. Her grip was clumsy, her stance uncertain. Fear, a primal terror that even her royal blood couldn't mask, constricted her breath. Joon lunged, his sword deflecting hers, sending it skittering across the sand. Kyeong'ui, weaponless, charged at him, her dagger raised, a scream tearing from her throat. Joon easily intercepted her attack, seizing her wrist and twisting it sharply. Kyeong'ui cried out in pain, her eyes widening in fury. Joon pulled her closer, their faces inches apart. He saw his father's lifeless form, the arrow protruding from his forehead, superimposed on Kyeong'ui's contorted face.
This is the face I must mark with my blade.
Joon, fighting the urge to give in to his rage, slammed the hilt of his sword against Kyeong'ui's cheek. She crumpled to the ground, the impact sending shockwaves through her body. She spat blood onto the white sand, her vision blurring. Joon's knee pressed into her back, his hand pinning her neck to the ground.
While Joon subdued Kyeong'ui, the remaining Wian forces, rallied by Yeong's power, overwhelmed the remaining Dahnian soldiers. A dozen soldiers, their faces grim, rushed towards Joon. As he rose to order Kyeong'ui's capture, she lunged at him, her hands outstretched, her nails bared.
"I will kill you all!" she screamed, her voice raw with fury.
"You crazy bitch!" Joon retorted, shoving her back. She charged again, but Joon swiftly struck her thigh with the scabbard of his sword, sending her crumpling to the ground. The soldiers quickly restrained her, binding her wrists and ankles. Kyeong'ui thrashed against her bonds, her eyes blazing with defiance.
"Who are you?!" she shrieked. "What kind of monster are you?! I will kill you all! I'll burn this fucking island to the ground! Myeonghyeon Ryang! Myeonghyeon Seon! Come out, you cowardly vipers!"
Her relentless screams, fueled by rage and desperation, prompted Joon to strike her again, his hand connecting with her cheek. This time, her lip split, blood trickling down her chin. Her struggles continued unabated, her energy seemingly inexhaustible. Joon, fearing his own growing anger, worried he might disobey Ryang's orders and kill her.
"Gag her," he ordered one of the soldiers. "Find a severed arm and stuff it in her mouth if you have to."
"The battle is won," a soldier announced, approaching Joon. "What are your orders?"
"Search for any enemy officers among the wounded," Joon instructed, his voice cold and sharp. "Kill the rest. If there are any who surrendered, restrain them and gather them in one place. Collect their weapons as well. Salvage what you can from the wreckage in the harbor and lay it out to dry. The High Councilor wishes to inspect it personally."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Where is my father's body?"
"Your sister..." the soldier began, his voice faltering. He couldn't meet Joon's gaze, his head bowed in shame.
Joon, ignoring his discomfort, dragged Kyeong'ui towards the heart of the battlefield, his grip tight on her arm. He shoved her to the ground, her body hitting the sand with a thud. Kyeong'ui trembled, her resolve crumbling as she surveyed the carnage around her. The faces of the fallen, both friend and foe, were etched with a haunting familiarity. Wian soldiers moved among the wounded, their spears rising and falling, silencing the cries of the dying. Seagulls descended upon the corpses, their beaks tearing at the flesh. Kyeong'ui longed to chase them away, to shield the fallen from further indignity, but her hands were bound.
Departure was imminent. Had I not left with Hongyoo, had I remained with my troops, would this have happened? The faces of the soldiers who had raised their cups to her on that fateful night, their laughter echoing in her memory, now lay lifeless on the bloodstained sand. She had led them to their deaths, her father's soldiers, sacrificed for her ambition. Kyeong'ui bit back a sob, her jaw clenching tight. The pain in her cheeks, bruised and swollen from Joon's blows, flared with renewed intensity.
The soldiers, recognizing Kyeong'ui from Nahmgyo, pointed and shouted, drawing the attention of the Emissaries tending to the wounded. They flocked around her, their curiosity piqued. Cheongro approached, his gaze raking over Kyeong'ui's form.
"So this is the famed Iridescent-black robe," he remarked, his voice laced with a sneer. "Quite the spectacle. Is this scrawny girl truly the princess?"
"She is," one of the soldiers confirmed. "I saw her in the city on the night of Summer Greetings, standing beside the High Councilor."
Cheongro frowned. "Your word is hardly proof. Where is her royal pendant? I've heard those of royal blood carry a jade token. Let's see if it's true."
He crouched before her, his hand reaching out with a lecherous grin. Kyeong'ui recoiled, her body pressed against the rough rock.
"Don't be difficult," Cheongro snapped, his annoyance evident. "Restrain her."
Three Emissaries lunged forward, grabbing Kyeong'ui's shoulders and yanking her head back by her hair. Kyeong'ui struggled against their grasp, her muffled curses echoing through the beach. Joon watched the scene unfold, his face impassive. Cheongro's hand groped at Kyeong'ui's robes, but a chilling voice cut through the jeering laughter.
"Remove your hand," the voice commanded, its tone brooking no disobedience.
Ryang stood before them, his gaze fixed on Cheongro. He spared a brief glance at Kyeong'ui, then averted his eyes, his expression a mask of cold fury. Tears streamed down Kyeong'ui's face, her eyes burning with a mixture of rage and humiliation.
So this is the architect of my ruin, she thought, deceived by his noble facade, his promises of loyalty, I led my soldiers to their deaths. And now, here I am, defeated, humiliated, a prisoner of battle.
Kyeong'ui's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Ryang, his attire pristine despite the carnage around them, refused to meet her gaze. Does he feel even a shred of shame? she wondered, her anger growing. Does he regret betraying me, standing before me as an enemy? She longed for him to look at her, to acknowledge the murderous rage that burned within her.
Ryang knew those tears weren't born of relief or joy. But can I convince her that the relief I feel upon seeing her alive is genuine? He had scanned the battlefield, his heart pounding with a frantic urgency, searching for her among the fallen. The clash had subsided, the Wian forces holding a clear advantage, but the sight of Kyeong'ui, bound and defeated, had brought a different kind of relief. He hadn't known then that it was she who had fired the arrows, who had felled Ung and Yeong, who had nearly turned the tide of the battle. He had only known that her survival was paramount, that without her, their plans would crumble, the gates of Nahmgyo would remain sealed, and Sung's support would vanish like smoke.
Will she believe me if I told her that her survival is my only solace? Her disheveled appearance, the blood staining her clothes, the scent of his precious perfume mingling with the stench of death—it was a sight that twisted his gut. He couldn't bear to look at her, his gaze fixed on Cheongro instead. He told himself his anger stemmed from Cheongro's disrespect, his crude mockery sullying the sanctity of their hard-won victory.
Kyeong'ui, her mouth gagged, could only watch in disbelief and mounting fury as the enemy soldiers bowed before Ryang. The only one who remained defiant was Cheongro, his hand still grasping her robes. He sneered at Ryang, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Shouldn't you inspect her belongings?" he taunted. "Without proof, how can you be certain she's the Princess?"
"I confirm it," Ryang stated coldly.
"The same man who failed to recognize the spy in his midst now claims to identify the Princess with a single glance? And how can we be sure you haven't aided her escape?"
Ignoring Ryang's threat, Cheongro's hand moved to grope Kyeong'ui again. A wave of fury surged within Ryang, the familiar madness threatening to consume him. But this time, he welcomed the rage, the surge of power it unleashed.
In a flash, he drew the sword from the scabbard of the soldier beside him, the blade slicing through the air. Cheongro's hand fell to the ground, severed cleanly at the wrist. Blood splattered across Kyeong'ui's face and neck, the severed hand landing on her lap before rolling onto the bloodstained sand. The Emissaries cried out in alarm, some covering their mouths in horror, others rushing to summon Norahn. Cheongro clutched at his bleeding wrist, his screams echoing through the beach.
"You fucking bastard!" he shrieked, his voice raw with pain and rage.
Ryang pointed the blood-soaked sword at Cheongro. "One more word, and you lose your head."
Cheongro, his face contorted in pain, continued his taunts. "Finally, enjoying the taste of blood, are you?"
Without a word, Ryang raised his sword, his resolve unwavering. In the distance, Seon's voice called out, her footsteps echoing through the beach.
"Brother!"