"Crown Prince Lee Ji-ho."
My father's voice rolled across the throne room like thunder from a mountain.
I knelt, head bowed, though the weight of that crownless air pressed harder than any metal.
"You will go to Sungjoo Village," he said, his eyes never meeting mine. "There you will meet the representative of the Chinese Vice Emperor. Invite him to the royal palace. Do not fail me."
My jaw clenched. Sungjoo Village? A speck of dust in the kingdom's map, and I, heir to the Dragon Throne, was to play messenger boy.
"Why must I go?" I dared. "Why must we beg for the help of foreigners when the land has its own king? When did Joseon become so-"
"Enough!"
His roar silenced the court like a blade drawn too fast. "Do not be foolish, rain. The heavens have cursed us, two years without rain. The rivers rot, the fields are ash, and our people bury more children than they feed. The Chinese have the herbs we need to halt the plague. Swallow your pride and obey."
I bowed stiffly. "May you live long, Your Majesty."
But inside, the words cut like ice.
Later, in the corridors, the air smelled of incense and treachery.
"I can't believe he's stooping this low," I hissed to Poong Yeon as we walked. "Asking the Chinese for help? That reeks of Kim's doing, that snake of a Minister controls Father like a puppet. The people call him an impotent king, and they are not wrong."
Yeon's expression faltered. "Your Highness… the King may be misguided, but perhaps he only wishes to save the people."
"Save?" I turned on him. "After what he did to your family?"
His eyes darkened, memory storming behind them. I saw the boy he once was, splattered with his parents' blood. The way his mother had fallen first, throat cut open for crimes she never committed. The way his father's scream broke mid-word as steel silenced him.
He would have died too, if not for me.
"You live because I begged for your life that day," I reminded him quietly. "Never forget who saved you."
He bowed low, voice tight. "I am forever grateful, my prince."
The Journey to Sungjoo
Sungjoo was smaller than I imagined, a whisper of a village wrapped in mist and salt wind. The Chinese representative, a man of smooth smiles and colder eyes, had taken lodging near a gibang, said to have some of most beautiful gisaengs in all of Joseon, of course he had. Pleasure first, diplomacy later.
"Ah, Crown Prince of Joseon. You look younger than the tales." His accent clipped each word like silk cut by scissors.
We exchanged pleasantries, though I tasted venom beneath his tone.He leaned closer. "Your father is… still in health?"
I frowned. "He is strong. Why ask?"
"I would advise caution, young prince." He swirled his drink, voice low and sharp. "Your Minister of War, Kim, has the eyes of a man who would strangle a king to wear his robes. Be wary of gifts wrapped in loyalty."
I studied him, the way his smile never reached his eyes. "You've seen something."
He only laughed. "Let us say the winds of your court blow foul. But you… you are not like your father. I can see it, you will be a different kind of king."
Then, with a lazy gesture, he called for dancers, their bodies lit in the amber glow. Silk fluttered like petals, music low and sinuous. He offered me wine and women; I refused both. "A prince must hold to chastity," I told him. He laughed, the sound cutting through the room. "You Joseon men and your rules of purity."
I smiled thinly but my mind was elsewhere, already turning over his warning like a dagger between my fingers.
We finally spoke on the matter why I came but depart for the palace.
We left at dawn.
Mist hung heavy, the kind that muffles sound and swallows thought.
"Your Highness," Yeon asked as our horses trotted along the forest path, "you seem troubled."
"Troubled?" I muttered. "No. Enlightened. That man confirmed what I already feared, the rot runs deep. Kim's shadow grows longer than my father's throne."
Yeon only nodded. The trees whispered overhead. The world felt too still.
Then-
Swttt!
An arrow hissed past my cheek, close enough to draw blood.
"Protect the Prince!" Yeon shouted.
Chaos erupted. Arrows fell like rain, splitting the air with deadly rhythm. My guards closed ranks, shields flashing, horses rearing. I ducked behind Yeon, heart pounding in my ears.
"Ambush!"
"Find the shooters!"
Another arrow. Then another. Screams. The metallic scent of blood burst into the air.
"Who would dare attack the Crown Prince?" I gasped, voice breaking between disbelief and rage.
Yeon grabbed my arm. "We must move!"
We spurred our horses and tore through the forest, branches clawing, arrows chasing. The world became a blur of earth and panic. Then, a cry, my horse lurched as an arrow sank into its flank. I fell hard, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.
"My lord!" Yeon was beside me instantly, sword flashing as he cut down one attacker, then two. But they kept coming, black-clad figures with faces masked in red.
Assassins.
My guards fought valiantly, yet one by one, they fell. Blood soaked the leaves, hot and slick. I saw one man's throat open like a torn ribbon, his gurgling the only sound I could hear.
Then pain, a white flash. Steel tore through my side. My vision stuttered.
A sudden surge of fear gripped me.
I fell to my knees, clutching the wound as my blood spilled across the dirt. The world tilted. My fingers trembled.
So this is how I die?
The heir of Joseon, left to rot in the mud like a forgotten soldier?
The assassin raised his blade to finish me. I closed my eyes. Somewhere, Yeon screamed my name, too far to reach.
But death did not come.
Instead, a whisper of movement, fast as lightning. A streak of motion split the air.
And then, blood. But not mine.
The assassin's head jerked; his body folded before me. Another dropped. Then another. In the span of heartbeats, ten men were cut down, as if by a phantom.
I stared, frozen.
A stranger stood amidst the carnage, face half-covered, eyes like emerald green cheongjajan.
His blade dripped crimson, his breath steady, almost calm.
He moved with impossible grace, cutting through the chaos as though he danced with death itself.
Yeon stumbled back, speechless. I tried to stand but my wound burned hot, my body weak.
The stranger turned to me, and for a heartbeat, our eyes met, the predator and the prey, bound by fate neither yet understood. There was something ancient in him, something not wholly human.
"Nugusimnikka?" I rasped, blood wetting my lips.
He didn't answer. But his eyes smiled faintly.
A young girl's voice pierced the haze: "Ha-neul"
She ran to him, breathless, bright, clinging to his arm as she whispered words I couldn't understand.
He turned to leave. I tried to call out again, but the pain dragged me down.
"Nugusimnikka?..." I whispered once more, voice fading into the wind.
He glanced back just once, eyes gleaming like sunlit steel, before vanishing into the forest.
And as darkness swallowed me whole, one thought lingered:
That was no man.
That was a god wearing blood.