Early in the morning, when the birds still sang songs of the wind and the dew clung to the blades of grass from the cold night, a nightmare unfolded in the heart of the empire's city. The people, startled from their slumber, gathered in fear and trembling at the market square. What they saw before them was a scene none could have ever imagined within these heavily guarded walls.
One of the royal shadows—those mysterious protectors who served the throne unseen—had been slain in the most merciless of ways. His body was mounted upon a great wooden cross, erected in the very center of the city's marketplace. The corpse was headless, the man's identity cruelly stolen, and his dignity stripped away.
Royal guards lined the area, forming a stern barrier to keep the frightened citizens from drawing too near. Even from a distance, the horror was plain. The man's upper garments had been torn from his body, and on the bare skin of his chest words had been carved with some sharp instrument. The message was simple, yet heavy with malice:
"Leave him alone."
The air grew thick with murmurs. None could know for whom the message had been written, nor whom it sought to protect. But everyone who read it felt the cold grip of dread settle deeper in their hearts.
Evidence of the crime lay scattered on the cobblestones. Pieces of wood, nails, and a hammer—tools of construction—remained where they had been cast aside. Whoever had carried out this atrocity had done so here, within the very market, yet no one had seen nor heard a thing. They had built the cross in silence, slain the shadow, and mounted his body before the break of dawn.
The city, so long regarded as impenetrable, had been mocked in the most brutal of ways.
"Make way! Move aside!" a voice thundered above the murmuring crowd.
"The Emperor! The Emperor is coming!" cried another.
The people fell to their knees as Emperor Han Ji entered on horseback, flanked by guards. His eyes swept over the scene—his subjects trembling in fear, his soldiers standing stiffly in shame—and then fell upon the crucified shadow. At the top of the cross was a flag. These were given to each shadow for identity. Han Ji's heart clenched, and in his gaze burned both sorrow and wrath.
This was no ordinary man. This was his shadow—trusted, favored, perhaps more than any other. The Emperor's hand tightened on the reins until the leather creaked. Who dared commit such blasphemy? Who mocked his throne with this cruel display?
Earlier, Eunuch Song had knelt before him with a trembling voice:
"Your Majesty… Jil Dong has been killed. He was beheaded, crucified. His chest… bears words. A warning. You should see for yourself."
The Emperor, his voice sharp and incredulous, had replied: "You speak of him as if you have seen him yourself."
"I have, Your Majesty," Eunuch Song answered steadily, though carefully. "He is displayed in the center of the city market."
"Impossible," Han Ji had said with cold fury. "We only just received a letter from him."
"Your Majesty," Song bowed deeper, "I believe he was killed last night… here in the market. Yet none saw nor heard a thing."
Now, beholding the truth with his own eyes, the Emperor's face was like stone. The guards had already removed the man's torn clothing, revealing the carved warning across his chest, and had left the body for their sovereign to see.
Han Ji turned sharply to one of the guards by his side. "Take him down," he commanded. "Clean him. After the autopsy, he will be buried as a soldier."
The guard bowed, and the order was carried out. The Emperor wheeled his horse away, his cape brushing the dust as the citizens pressed their foreheads to the earth. None dared lift their heads until he had passed.
But though he rode away, his mind thundered. Yunxi… how will you explain yourself this time? Afterall this shadow was spying on him.
At court that same day, the hall filled with murmuring officials. The Emperor sat upon his throne, his gaze hard and unyielding. Then one official stepped forth, bowed deeply, and raised his voice:
"Your Majesty, Jang Ming Su, Minister of Internal Affairs, greets you. The people tremble for their lives. It seems the soldiers are no longer fulfilling their duties. Stronger security is urgently needed."
With those words he bent to the floor, and many of the other ministers followed his example.
Han Ji's eyes turned to the General of the Army, and his voice roared through the chamber. "How do you explain this? Inside the market, under your very nose! How did they enter, and none of you saw?!"
The General fell to his knees, his forehead touching the stone. "I deserve death, Your Majesty. A few days ago my son angered you, and now I too have failed in my duties. Please, forgive me. I will strengthen the security. I will punish those who were negligent last night. Please, grant me pardon."
The Emperor's gaze was sharp as a blade. "Were I in your place, I would not let even one of those responsible escape justice. But since I am not you…"
"I will do just that, Your Majesty," the General replied, bowing lower still.
Han Ji's voice shifted, calm yet laced with hidden menace. "How is your son? What was his name again?"
"He… He Ju, Your Majesty," the General stammered. "He is well."
The Emperor descended from his throne, each step echoing in the hushed hall. He passed the trembling General, pausing just before him. "I am escorting a friend back to the palace," he said darkly, "And am bringing another back. Prepare your son. I may use his help on my journey."
The General's heart sank. His son, with his broken hand and reckless spirit—what use could he be to the Emperor? Something was not right. Yet before he could speak, officials moved before him, blocking his path.
"Do not trouble His Majesty," one sneered. "If I were you, I would retire. The burden is already too heavy for your old body. Or do you plan to hand your post to your disgraceful son?" Laughter rippled among them, leaving the General humiliated and alone, like a discarded relic.