Wi Sagyun’s face flushed red with agitation. In his eyes, Wi Saheon always charted a course that was daringly provocative, teetering on the edge of recklessness. That course always carried a burden of risk.
The more they bore that burden and pushed through it, the greater the Dark Bureau’s influence would grow.
“A spark spreads when the wind blows.”
Wi Saheon’s gaze passed over his brother and settled on the Emperor.
“The wind is controlled by His Majesty’s decree. The Military Bureau need only prepare a riot suppression plan.”
Leaving Wi Sagyun unsettled, Wi Saheon continued.
“Say the Baekah religious order moves when the graves are desecrated. This would constitute the involvement of religion in politics, and amount to the defense of an anti-state force within a foreign nation. The imperial palace would then gain the justification to make that point official.”
Wi Saheon’s gaze drifted toward the ornate lanterns hanging from the high ceiling. The piercing light made him briefly draw his brows together.
“But what if the religious order turns a blind eye to the desecration? Then the Mumyeongdan becomes nothing more than a congregation of heretics.”
Wi Saheon leaned back against his chair again, crossing his legs at the ankle and letting his foot sway lightly.
Part Two
Whether his eyes were open or closed, the image of Three’s head being severed replayed without end.
What was even harder to endure than that was Gil Jaesik’s face — the smile he had turned on him. That radiant smile worn on a body that had been broken beyond all recognition.
And the eyes of Wi Saheon, watching that scene with no feeling whatsoever.
Those two eyes — gleaming like wax that had hardened long ago, with no life and no light lodged within — he wanted to gouge them out.
Every night, Shin Yigyeom imagined tearing Wi Saheon apart.
Perhaps because of the sheer intensity of that rage, each time such thoughts came, a headache followed that felt as though it would split his skull open.
Bitter fury rose to the very top of his throat, and in the deep of night he lay there with his heart pounding wildly like a man possessed — it had happened more than once. Even though his body was utterly wrung out from torture, he could not sleep. A rage that felt as though it would incinerate him alive never rested, churning ceaselessly through his heart.
Hard, compact rice balls were distributed at intervals, but Shin Yigyeom did not touch them. He had been resolved to cut off all food. It was his way of saying he would accept nothing provided by the Dark Bureau — whatever it might be.
But the Dark Bureau was not a place that permitted individual will to hold.
When the time came, the guards would enter, bind both of Shin Yigyeom’s arms, force his mouth open, and pour something like watered-down rice porridge down his throat. Then, so he could not spit it out, they would gag him as though corking a bottle.
The wound on his scorched palm — the one he had gnawed at himself — was being forced to heal against his will as well. The bandages that were rewrapped each time he lost consciousness were rock-hard, making it difficult even to curl his fingers.
On top of that, the medicinal decoction — more than half of which he had spilled by writhing and refusing — was also coercing his body toward recovery.
Shin Yigyeom could not understand why such effort was being expended on someone awaiting execution.
Creak—.
Even at the sound of the detention cell door opening, Shin Yigyeom did not lift his head. He sat with his knees folded, elbows resting on them, eyes closed.
Shin Yigyeom’s breathing was shallow, and his bloodless face was pale as a corpse. The roughly wound bandages over both hands, bound in shackles, were laid bare in the dim lamplight.
“…Yunbaek.”
“…….”
Shin Yigyeom slowly drew his brows together. It was a name from the ordinary world he had not heard in a long time — and a voice calling it.
He did not need to think long to know who it was. It was First Imperial Prince Wi Sagyun, whom he had seen at Three’s execution ground.
Imperial guards were stationed at regular intervals along the corridor. They remained there and held their positions.
It was no small thing for the First Imperial Prince to come to Gamsimwon in person. Especially during a time like this, when a case was actively in progress.
Though the imperial household always kept the possibilities of assassination, abduction, and poisoning foremost in mind, Wi Sagyun had left his escorts stationed outside the door and entered with only the Scribe.
As the guards withdrew and the door closed, the low clang of the iron lock resonated.
Wi Sagyun approached Shin Yigyeom slowly.
He had told Wi Saheon that His Majesty wished to confirm Yunbaek’s condition in preparation for the possibility of a public hearing being convened. Since it was an imperial command, Wi Saheon had complied without much objection. In exchange, he had set one condition — that a Scribe accompany him.
“It is I, Yunbaek.”
Wi Sagyun could not bring himself to say more. The closer he got, the more Shin Yigyeom’s condition was far worse than he had imagined.
He had already received reports on his condition, and had caught a brief glimpse at the execution ground, but witnessing it at this proximity was an entirely different matter.
Shin Yigyeom’s cheeks were visibly sunken, and his lips were cracked with dried scabs settled over them. The wrists and ankles where the iron chains made contact bore layer upon layer of raw, festering marks, and the exposed skin was a mingled mess of wounds that had not healed and dark red, swollen bruising. He was nothing short of a corpse with breath still in it.
The posture he sat in, leaning against the wall, looked as though it would crumble at any moment — yet he did not look like someone who had yielded. It was as though the stubbornness of refusing to be broken had become a slender framework of bone holding that body upright.
Shin Yigyeom, who had been glaring fiercely at a fixed point in the empty air, shifted his gaze to Wi Sagyun.
“…What brings you here.”
There was neither greeting nor surprise in that cracked voice. It settled cold and flat, as though he were looking at something tiresome.
Wi Sagyun could not readily open his mouth. He had expected anger, or wailing. At the very least, he had expected pleas — a desperate appeal to save the Mumyeongdan.
But Shin Yigyeom did not. Something had been twisted entirely out of shape.
The last time he had seen Yunbaek, he had not been like this.
Neatly fastened collar, healthy hair gleaming in the sunlight. A person whose warm smile had lingered in one’s heart for an inexplicably long time, even though he made no particular effort to win anyone’s affection. He had been a kind of person Wi Sagyun had never encountered within the imperial palace.
“I heard you were unwell.”
“And?”
Shin Yigyeom was cold. Whatever feelings had existed in the past, whatever connection had bound them — in the end, Wi Sagyun was nothing more than the same lot as the one who had executed the Mumyeongdan members.
“Did you come to check if I was dead.”
Wi Sagyun did not answer immediately. He, too, could not explain precisely why he had come all the way here.
An imperial prince should not have come. Even if there was an imperial command behind it, the mere act of making contact with a traitor could give rise to political misunderstanding — he should have sent someone else from his side.
“No.”
“Then why did you come.”
Wi Sagyun found himself, without realizing it, looking directly into Shin Yigyeom’s eyes. In that moment, he understood.
Shin Yigyeom had not merely been dealt a blow. Something inside him had shattered completely, and he had become an entirely different being.
“He’s become a monster.”
“If it is pointless pity, I would ask you to take it back.”
“Yunbaek….”
“Just the sight of your brothers’ faces makes me want to retch.”
There was killing intent laced in the low, exhaled voice.
It was insulting language — yet no anger rose in him. Wi Sagyun even found himself thinking it was only right that he hear such words.
He had, in the end, failed to stop it. He had not been able to intervene before Yunbaek became a Mumyeongdan member, and he would not be able to prevent his imprisonment or the execution to come.
“I am going to kill him.”
Shin Yigyeom rested the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His eyes snapped open, and there was red in the whites. Those blazing eyes were alive. No — alive was not quite the right word. Burning would be more fitting.
“…Without fail.”
The voice that slipped from between his parched lips was so composed it raised the hairs on one’s skin.
The Scribe standing beside Wi Sagyun was inwardly taken aback, but did not stop the hand holding the fine brush.
The frail face revealed beneath the lamplight. Shin Yigyeom was not overwhelmed by fear — he was consumed by a hatred that could easily crush fear into nothing.
“…….”
Wi Sagyun narrowed the corners of his eyes.
A hatred barely holding on in the ashes of everything burned to nothing.
It was because it resembled the quiet hatred of someone who had just come to mind.
Shin Yigyeom’s voice had an edge to it.
“Where are we going.”
His first outing from Gamsimwon had been the labor yard of the Imperial Propaganda Corps, and his second had been Three’s execution ground.
Now, on this third outing, Shin Yigyeom’s heartbeat was erratic and without order.
The sackcloth draped over his shoulders barely kept out the wind. Each time Shin Yigyeom’s long hair whipped in the air, the goosebumps standing sharp along the back of his neck were exposed.
“It is your execution ground.”
