Kang-dae and his men combed every inch of the grounds, tracing footprints through tangled brush and along the shadowed walls of the observatory.
But deep in his soul, the Bujang knew they were not hunting a common thief.
Lord Min had begun to doubt him.
And that intruder had not been random.
It had been the specter.
Sent to uncover what Kang-dae was deliberately concealing.
A cold bitterness settled in his chest. His short, evasive reports would no longer suffice. The time for careful wording had passed.
Now he would have to act.
That very night, upon entering his quarters, Kang-dae made a decision that bordered on suicide.
He would go to the palace himself.
No messenger.
No intermediaries.
He would cross the thresholds of the court and deliver the report in person. He wanted to look Lord Min in the eye, to measure the weight of his ambition and decipher, behind the folds of false courtesy, what move would come next.
He saddled his horse beneath the veil of dawn, using urgency and duty as a pretext. Officially, he would deliver his report and inquire about the King's declining health.
In truth, he was riding into the eye of the storm.
One misstep would reveal that the kingdom's most loyal soldier had become the shield of its greatest treason.
Several nights later, the towering gates of the palace rose before him.
Within those walls, the air was thick—poisoned.
At that very moment, Lord Min sat in private council with his closest allies, conspiring against the crown between sips of tea and promises of power.
Under a bleached sky devoid of stars—as though the heavens themselves refused to witness betrayal—the young Bujang crossed the main threshold accompanied by two trusted men.
But his true advantage waited elsewhere.
Hidden in the shadows of the rear stables, his third and most cunning soldier awaited him. This man had remained behind before Kang-dae's departure, tasked with watching Min's movements from within.
Kang-dae was no fool.
Affection between him and Min had always been performance.
Their relationship was a minefield.
The day he ceased to be useful, his head would roll without hesitation.
So while Min believed he controlled the board, Kang-dae had already placed his own pieces inside the web.
The game no longer belonged to one predator.
Now two hunters occupied the same ground.
"Sub-General, I received your message. I am relieved you arrived safely," the soldier whispered, emerging from the stable shadows.
Kang-dae gave no verbal response. He merely tilted his head toward the two men escorting him. They understood instantly and dispersed to secure the perimeter, leaving the two alone in tense privacy.
"How are things?" Kang-dae asked, jaw tight.
"It is chaos, sir. Lord Min grows stronger each day. He has the favor of the court… and worse, the King himself. Since your departure, the palace gates have remained sealed. The corridors whisper of irreversible disaster."
The soldier swallowed before continuing.
"Outside the walls, famine spreads like plague. Lord Min pretends concern, but in private, he mocks the people's suffering. He is now the only one with full access to the King's chambers. At this very moment, he is meeting in secret with his circle of—"
He faltered under Kang-dae's icy stare.
"—with scholars and nobles from the most powerful houses," he corrected quickly.
Kang-dae's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles whitened.
Rage burned in his veins—not only at the betrayal of the throne, but at Min's hypocrisy.
He placed a firm hand on his soldier's shoulder.
"Thank you. You have done well," he said softly, his voice now edged with lethal calm. "Let us pay a visit to this gathering."
Steel ready.
Heart hardened.
The Bujang advanced toward the palace's core, intent on interrupting the meeting that would determine the kingdom's future.
But he did not enter through the main door.
Instead, he slipped into an adjoining chamber, separated from the meeting by a thin wooden-and-paper panel.
On the other side, laughter echoed.
Porcelain clinked.
The most powerful hierarchies of the kingdom laughed over the King's agony and toasted bitter tea to a plan unfolding perfectly.
Each sound churned Kang-dae's stomach.
Then—
A voice.
Familiar.
So familiar that his blood turned to ice.
Kang-dae froze.
Breath suspended.
It was his General.
His mentor.
The man who had shaped him in the art of war.
Never—not even in his darkest nightmares—had he imagined that the man he admired most would be seated at the wolves' table.