“Come in.”
A cautious voice drifted from inside.
The sliding door opened and the Senior Inspector entered to find Wi Sagyun already setting down his brush.
“So then — what is the situation with Shin Hyeonmuk?”
The Senior Inspector settled carefully into the seat Wi Sagyun had offered and answered.
“Since hearing news of his son, he has almost entirely cut off outside contact. A physician has been confirmed coming and going. He appears to have been greatly shaken.”
“…That is only to be expected.”
His son, who might have become the next Palace Guard Commander — such conduct from him would shake any father.
Wi Sagyun knew what kind of heart Shin Hyeonmuk had poured into raising his only son, having lost his wife early.
Just as Shin Hyeonmuk himself had done, he had wanted his son to dedicate the rest of his life to guarding the heart of the Empire from the closest position to the Emperor.
“And that son — is he keeping his mouth shut to the very end?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Gamsimwon interrogates him daily, stopping just short of ending his life.”
He was a man who did not easily bend his stubbornness — a trait inherited from his father. Yunbaek had refused the proposal to enter as a secondary wife with a clean smile.
Becoming the concubine of the next Emperor would have been an enormous glory for an individual and their family, despite the many troublesome issues it raised — the privatization of palace guard forces, imperial palace security concerns, and more.
Yet Yunbaek had stepped back and withdrawn with such composure that one might have doubted whether he even understood what was being offered.
And he had said something like this as he did.
That guarding the imperial house suited him better than being protected by imperial authority.
That there was someone he wished to protect.
“In any case — about Three. An execution without a confession. Is there something we are not aware of?”
“I will look into whether there were any additional statements. However, the torture is more severe than necessary. I am concerned that the Mumyeongdan members will all perish before we can even decode what the Grand Bureau Chief himself called ‘the cipher sealed for five years.'”
Wi Saheon had never felt remorse for killing people to begin with. The image of him as a child, drenched in a court lady’s fresh blood with his eyes gleaming — that scene still chilled the Senior Inspector to the bone. Some things never faded no matter how much time passed.
“Furthermore, I am well aware of what Your Highness is concerned about — but it does appear certain that there is no connection between the Grand Bureau Chief and Yunbaek.”
Wi Sagyun pressed a hand to his forehead. Then what in the world had made Yunbaek turn away from Wi Saheon? How had his loyalty to the Empire transformed into such terrifying hostility?
“However many times we fail to find evidence, this is a case the Grand Bureau Chief has personally taken up — I cannot easily set aside my suspicions.”
“Yes, you are right.”
“Yunbaek’s execution date — has one been set?”
“It is not certain, but word is circulating that it will be sometime toward the end of this year.”
…Is he truly intending to execute him.
Wi Sagyun’s chest felt stifled. The image of Shin Yigyeom’s ravaged face he had seen in the interrogation room surfaced in his mind, and a numbness crept to his fingertips.
He could not fathom at all what Wi Saheon was thinking or how he was moving. Because he was a man who crossed and recrossed the boundary of common sense, it was impossible to speculate based on ordinary reasoning.
This had been especially true since he became head of the Dark Bureau. He had at times carried out executions on those he had seemed to intend to keep alive, and at other times suddenly released those whose execution had already been confirmed.
The problem was that the grounds he presented were always meticulous and exacting.
Because it was Shin Yigyeom, he might not kill him — but because it was Shin Yigyeom, he might be all the more intent on killing him. Wi Saheon was that kind of man.
Shin Yigyeom was moved somewhere with his eyes blindfolded by the guards. Groping through the darkness, placing each step slowly, his breath was already labored.
The soldiers’ strides were short and fast compared to him, who had not eaten and not slept. Dragged forward with both hands bound, the direction was different from the interrogation room he always went to.
Shin Yigyeom’s heart lurched with sudden foreboding. He tried to count how many days had passed since he signed the Traitor Execution Consent Form.
The layout of Gamsimwon was simple. The heavier the crime, the deeper underground one went; major interrogations were conducted at the center, and executions were carried out at a dedicated site on the outer perimeter of the building.
Creak—.
A massive gate swung open with a loud, grating sound.
A fierce gust of wind struck like a blow, and Shin Yigyeom breathed it in without thinking.
The scent of the outside world, which he had forgotten so completely — it carried the smell of fallen leaves and dry earth. He thought it had been winter when he had infiltrated the fortress walls, yet the seasons had already turned twice.
And then, faintly spreading — the scent of dry firewood laced with something metallic.
Shin Yigyeom faltered. He could not see, but he sensed that Wi Saheon was nearby. The awareness that Wi Saheon was close registered before the fact that he had stepped outside.
Soon, amid murmuring voices, the chain binding Shin Yigyeom was transferred to someone else.
The Shadow Guards followed Wi Saheon at regular intervals behind him. Their breathing and the horses’ moved in tandem, flowing as a single mass.
Wi Saheon, standing at the center of it all, exuded a presence that drew the eye naturally, without needing to display his authority.
As Shin Yigyeom staggered forward with the chain connected to Wi Saheon’s saddle, he became aware of the pain in his left hand.
The flesh had split and blood had seeped through again, time and again. It was because on the day he had signed his consent to Gil Jaesik’s execution, he had gnawed at the wound with his own teeth.
Not out of regret. He had simply thought that the hand which had written down the name must not be left unscathed.
Not only the wound itself — the left wrist was in tatters from bite marks all the way across. Dark red scabs sat over every inch without a gap.
Wi Saheon, atop his black horse, looked down at this in silence.
“Stop here.”
Wi Saheon’s low voice rippled through the wind.
A moment later, the blindfold was roughly pulled off. Shin Yigyeom quickly screwed up his face. Unable to adjust to the sudden light, he blinked his stinging eyes for a long while.
As he worked to make out the pale, hazy surroundings, the execution ground came into view. It was a square space enclosed by stone walls, with the sky sliced sharply above.
At the center, a man knelt on the ground. It did not take long to recognize who that man was.
Three. Gil Jaesik.
“…….”
Shin Yigyeom’s throat moved slowly. An ominous pounding like the low beat of a drum reverberated through his chest. Barely maintaining his composure, Shin Yigyeom looked up calmly at Wi Saheon on his horse.
“Does Three know that I signed?”
In this moment more than any other, he hoped Gil Jaesik could meet his death unburdened — without the shock of a comrade’s betrayal. So that even the road of departure could be light. Free of any lingering feeling.
“Do not speak before the Grand Bureau Chief addresses you.”
At the Deputy Commander’s warning, Shin Yigyeom clenched his teeth.
Three’s face was disfigured beyond recognition. Hair torn out, a prison uniform stained with blood. On the arm that maggots had reportedly eaten into, there was indeed a pitch-black hollow carved into it.
Through the tears in his upper garment, the emblem of Baekah — tattooed with the resolve to die for it — was visible.
What seized Shin Yigyeom’s agonized gaze was Three’s gesture. He had recognized his comrade first and was waving a hand mottled with bruising.
“…….”
Gil Jaesik looked at Shin Yigyeom for a long time.
Two — the one he had clashed with often because their personalities did not match, the one who had kept discipline with a cold edge, but who had in truth given up his own share of dried meat for the other members to eat. Had he said it was for efficiency, not affection?
When the mission was over, they had agreed to call each other by name. He had promised to reveal his own real name then too.
They had said they would celebrate Baekah Nation’s independence with a spread of taro soup — Two’s favorite — alongside jeolpyeon and makgeolli.
How long ago that desperate wish had been, spoken almost as a jest while they laughed together — and yet now Two was looking at him with eyes that seemed on the verge of collapse.
Something burning welled up, and Gil Jaesik swallowed with difficulty. Then he looked at Shin Yigyeom for a long, long time.
‘…You’ve worked hard, Two.’
He said it with the shape of his lips, and smiled.
Gil Jaesik had known everything. That there was something called the Traitor Execution Consent Form. That the one who had signed it was Two. And the true reason Two had signed.
And so Gil Jaesik could smile. He held no resentment toward his closest comrade and dear friend.
The executor, a black band tied across his brow, approached Three.
Shin Yigyeom made a vow to himself — that he would watch every moment of his death without missing a thing, to the very end.
But the moment the executor raised the long sword high, his heart fled first. His head turned away by reflex, and his chest locked up as though his breath had been cut off.
Wi Saheon slowly stepped down from the stirrup to the ground.
“You have to watch.”
His burning hand seized Shin Yigyeom’s jaw and wrenched it forcibly forward.
