Returning from the rear garden of the former Myeonghyeon estate, Hwan stepped into the government office. Unlike the colossal, impenetrable palace in Ju, Nahmgyo's government office offered a sense of release; with its rooms and halls separated by little more than thin walls and doors, it felt far less like a cage. Across the main hall lay the chamber of Yirahng and his daughter, Lahng. Even in the dead of night, the infant's cries for milk drifted into Hwan's room. There was no yearning for a father in her cries; the child sought only her mother, as if a father's presence were not a longing she was born with. Just as he himself felt no longing for his own father, Cheon Yong, Hwan realized that if he failed to nurture his daughter with a father's affection, she would surely feel none for him in return. Raised by his uncle rather than a father, Hwan struggled to fathom the role. Fearful that he would expose his clumsy inadequacy as a parent, he rarely crossed the threshold into the room where Yirahng and Lahng slept.
It was Hwan himself who had driven Myeonghyeon Seung, the uncle who had been a father to him, to his death. And now, Seung's bloodline, the Myeonghyeon siblings, along with his only twin brother Cheon Seong—who had struck down their uncle under Hwan's threat—were holed up within the walls of Hyangdo.
Must I wield the blade myself this time to cut them all down? Or perhaps, burn them to ashes? A sudden thought crossed his mind: the feeble Seong might surrender on his own accord to save his people. What will I do then? If they yielded, can I willingly embrace them all? No. Even if Seong surrendered, will the rest meekly follow? Hwan could envision a myriad of catastrophes, but the choices of a man who had declared himself the king of The Hundred Isles and Cheon-Wi could no longer be as unrestrained as those of The Isleless King.
Unable to kill Seong, who now possessed the same invulnerable body as himself, the conclusion was already drawn: whether through defeat or surrender, once Seong was subjugated, he would have to be imprisoned for life. Hwan found comfort in that conclusion. Had his master, Kyeongseon Ung, still been alive, things might have been simpler; yet, he anticipated that the Kyeongseon siblings would ultimately yield, should it be Seong's will.
But Ryang and Seon were different. To the siblings, he was their father's murderer. And Ryang, despite possessing the frailest physique among the remaining Scions, possessed the most unyielding spirit. His younger sister, Seon, possessed a different temperament, yet her defiant nature rivaled that of Ryang. Yet, despite having ruthlessly trampled Ryang and sought his death in the past, as the moment approached to face him with the authority of a king, Hwan found himself reluctant to see him die. Even after Sahngjon chooses me, even after Cheon Seong crumbles—will you still embrace death over me? Hwan yearned to look down upon Ryang's bowed neck as he knelt before him, alive and broken.
The morning after his entry into Nahmgyo, Hwan dispatched an envoy to Dongrahng. Before a day had even passed, the envoy returned. Upon his arrival, Hwan was quietly passing the time, watching Yirahng as she nursed Lahng. Jahan's voice, announcing his presence from outside, cut through the infant's soft coos.
"Your Majesty, a reply has arrived from Dongrahng."
Hwan asked from within the room, "Not the Lady herself?"
The sharp edge in his voice turned the infant's babbling into a fretful whine. Hwan rose and stepped out into the main hall. Jahan, standing in wait, bowed deeply.
"Read it," Hwan commanded curtly.
Jahan withdrew the response from his sleeve—a single, small slip of paper. Swallowing his tension, he read the brief message aloud.
"'When all the forces of The Hundred Isles return to where they belong, Dongrahng shall pledge its loyalty to the one who calls himself the Guardian of the Azure Scripture…'"
Jahan cautiously lifted his gaze, but sensing the sudden chill radiating from Hwan, he quickly bowed his head again. Hwan pictured the young Lady of Dongrahng, standing defiantly upon her gate tower despite her small stature, and let out a scoffing sigh.
"Such a deep and foolish grudge."
He turned his piercing gaze back to Jahan. "Prepare the troops for deployment," he ordered. "I will crush Dongrahng before sunset tomorrow."
"How large a force should we..."
"That is for the commanders to decide. However, exclude the forces of Seomy. Baekan Yujeong must remain to guard Nahmgyo."
Jahan bowed once more. "It shall be done."
Hwan's command cascaded swiftly through the ranks. He had intended to swallow Hyangdo as soon as the fatigue of the voyage wore off, claiming Birahng in its entirety before immediately launching an assault on the mainland's southern coast. This sudden disruption to his plans irritated him, a displeasure Jahan keenly perceived. Factoring in Dongrahng's size and the necessity of a swift, decisive victory in their first engagement, the commanders mobilized a force of five thousand to march by land.
Instead of the armor brought from Ju, Hwan chose a newly forged suit of Wi armor, crafted by the blacksmiths of Nahmgyo. As the attendants hurriedly and meticulously fastened the armor piece by piece, Yirahng entered the room, cradling their child. She watched Hwan in silence. Amidst the flurry of hands, Hwan occasionally reached out to brush a finger against Lahng's fragile cheek.
"Must you go yourself?" Yirahng asked abruptly.
"I have to," Hwan answered. "It's our first battle."
Yirahng dropped her gaze to the infant, unable to hide her displeasure. Her uncharacteristic anxiety sparked a flicker of irritation within Hwan.
"What are you so worried about?" Hwan asked, narrowing his eyes. "I've been chosen by Sahngjon, and the grand army of the Hundred Isles is behind me. Do you really think I can't protect you and Lahng?"
Yirahng refused to meet his gaze. "Since the day I met you, we have never been apart," she murmured. "Can't I just come with you? Dongrahng isn't that far."
Hwan dismissed the attendants with a wave of his hand. He stepped closer to Yirahng and gently stroked her hair.
"How can you follow me around with a baby when you haven't even fully recovered?" he soothed. "Don't be scared. No one can lay a finger on you. Hwaon will be right by your side all day, and Baekan Yujeong will be guarding Nahmgyo, too."
Yirahng finally raised her eyes to meet his. "And Hui?" she asked.
"Hui has to come with me," Hwan explained. "A lot of soldiers are going to get hurt."
"I hate everyone but you and Hui," she spat, shaking her head.
Hwan took a steadying breath and spoke in a firm yet placating tone. "You need to act like a queen now. You have to learn to take my place when I'm not here. There will be more and more days when I have to leave your side. We can't just live looking only at each other like we used to."
"You said it would take a long time to open the gates of Hyangdo," she protested.
"It won't be that long."
Hwan cupped her cheeks in his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips.
"I will call for you to come to Hyangdo soon," he promised. "Just stay here and hold Nahmgyo for me until then."
Once his armor was fully fastened, Hwan pressed a lingering kiss to Yirahng's forehead, and then the child's, before striding out of the government office.
At the break of dawn the following day, a force of five thousand marched through Nahmgyo's north gate, setting their sights on Dongrahng. On horseback, the journey would have taken less than a quarter of a day; even light infantry could have made the distance well before noon. But Hwan intended to launch his assault the very moment they arrived, and he had no intention of squandering his men's stamina on a rushed march. It was well past midday when the walls of Dongrahng finally crested the horizon.
Of the four cities on Birahng, Dongrahng was the smallest and most fragile. While Nahmgyo, Hyangdo, and Seorahng were bastions erected by kings, Dongrahng had been raised by the hands of the common folk, only later receiving a royal flag. Lacking the towering, impregnable stone walls of its sister cities, Dongrahng had sprawled organically, rippling outward like rings on a pond. Its structures were a patchwork, cobbled together wherever necessity dictated. Despite generations of desperate toil by its inhabitants, the city remained the prime target for Soyeol's frequent and ruthless plundering. The pirates struck with lightning speed, and Nahmgyo rarely managed to send aid in time. Sunyahng, citing Birahng's autonomy, had essentially left Dongrahng to fend for itself. Just as Soyeol's blades had orphaned countless children within the city, they had also forced the heavy mantle of leadership upon the young Lahn. Both her parents had perished defending these very walls. From the day she became lord, she stripped herself of any naive hopes for the world beyond.
Lahn could never allow a Soyeol army to breach her gates. That they now marched under the azure flag of Wi meant nothing to her. She was a lord, yet her heart bled with the same wounds as her people. To the citizens of Dongrahng, the orphaned lord was the child they had failed to protect. As a sanctuary for the outcast and downtrodden—who seeped into the vulnerable city like rainwater through a cracked roof—its people bickered easily but were bound by an unbreakable, gritty solidarity. Facing a Soyeol army intent not on a mere raid but on total subjugation, Lahn knew her purpose. She had to forge her own grief and the people's fury into a single, devastating weapon, amplifying their will to resist. She believed this was her ultimate duty as their lord.
Yet, the tragedy inflicted by Soyeol was not Lahn's alone. The people needed no prodding to ignite their own blazing hostility. Convinced that their city would be reduced to ash whether they opened the gates or had them shattered, surrender was a laughable concept. The only path left was defiance. From the day Hwan took Nahmgyo, the citizens had relentlessly hauled every scrap of iron they could find. They dismantled their own stone fences and shattered the roof tiles of the government office, piling the debris high upon the ramparts. Cauldrons were hoisted up, boiling fish oil day and night. Witnessing this raw, visceral hatred—a fury so profound it eclipsed even the terror of death—brought tears to Lahn's eyes.
Hwan's forces approached via the east gate, where the terrain sloped gently. The gatehouse was dilapidated, the walls rising in jagged, moss-covered unevenness. Watching the thick, acrid smoke billow from the cauldrons on the ramparts, Hwan murmured.
"They prepared themselves adequately, it seems."
Beside him, Jeong'wu sought to temper Hwan's simmering bloodlust.
"The lady is but a child," she said. "I beg of you, Your Majesty, show mercy."
Hwan let out a hollow scoff, recalling how many of Soyeol's kings had taken up swords well before their twentieth winter. He ordered Jeong'wu, his voice devoid of expectation.
"Then go. Try to persuade the lady one last time."
Jeong'wu bowed, her face clouded with apprehension. She steered her horse closer to the gates.
"Lady of Dongrahng!" she shouted toward the wall. "Open the gates even now, and come forth to receive the King of Cheon-Wi and The Hundred Isles, the Guardian of the Azure Scripture! Do so, and you shall all be spared!"
The gate tower remained eerily silent. Only the crest of Lady Lahn's helmet was visible, peeking out from behind a solid line of shields. Suddenly, an arrow shrieked through the gap. Soldiers immediately surged forward, raising their shields to cover Hwan. The arrow hissed just over Jeong'wu's head, embedding itself with a sharp thwack into the corner of a guard's shield.
Hwan's eyes fixed on the trembling fletching of the arrow.
"Clearly," he murmured, "not a child who requires mercy."
Embarrassed, Jeong'wu turned her horse and retreated. Hwan did not delay another second. He raised his right hand high. The blare of conch shells and the heavy thumping of war drums instantly shattered the silence, signaling the onset of the assault.