The guard, inwardly startled that Shin Yigyeom — who never once initiated conversation — had spoken first, answered with the intent to mock. It was deeply puzzling to him that the prisoner’s face seemed to ease at that reply.
Shin Yigyeom wanted a swift, clean death.
There had been a time when he had even considered using his own life as a bargaining chip with Wi Saheon, but witnessing Three’s death had changed his thinking entirely.
The vow to kill Wi Saheon without fail — one that still set his blood boiling — remained vivid in one corner of his chest, and yet when the suspicion crept in that the Mumyeongdan, from whom he had received no word, might have cut him loose, he arrived at resignation. That much was true.
Looking at it coldly, there was nothing more he could do from inside Gamsimwon.
If where they were taking him now was an execution ground, then there was no need to be tormented by the physical limits of torture or to suffer through witnessing yet another comrade’s death.
A clean end with no room for anything else. If it came to that, he would no longer have to be on edge worrying about whether he might beg for his life.
The Mumyeongdan would more than avenge Gil Jaesik.
The cart carrying the prisoner traveled for a long time.
With both eyes covered by a black cloth, Shin Yigyeom had no way of gauging where he was being taken.
He could only surmise, from the vibrations of wheels rolling over a stone road and the intermittent jolting of the cart’s frame, that they were heading toward the outskirts beyond the imperial palace.
Clatter, clatter. With every pass over a deeply rutted dirt path, his entire body lurched. The steady beat of hooves from the mounted soldiers surrounding the cart continued without interruption.
How much time had passed.
The texture beneath the wheels changed. The rough stone road ended and a damp, soft dirt path began.
A cool breeze brushed past Shin Yigyeom’s cheek. The faint scent of earth and aged pine drifted over.
Is the execution ground in the mountains? Shin Yigyeom tried to read the air around him.
At last, the cart came to a stop.
“You are here to bear witness for the verification of priestly lineage.”
With that curt explanation, the soldiers opened the cart door and pulled Shin Yigyeom out.
As the blindfold was removed and bright sunlight flooded in, Shin Yigyeom narrowed his eyes.
The place they had arrived at was a family burial ground. Dozens of burial mounds were arranged in tiers along a gentle mountain ridge. Beside each mound stood weathered gravestones and stone lanterns, and old pine trees that must have stood for hundreds of years surrounded the area on all sides.
“…?”
Shin Yigyeom stood motionless for a moment, his expression blank.
This was the ancestral burial ground where the elders on his father’s side of the Shin family were interred. There was no way he would not recognize a place he had visited since childhood, hand in hand with his father.
“Is the owner of that gravestone your great-grandfather?”
“…Yes.”
Bearing witness for the verification of priestly lineage. He had wondered what that meant, coming out of nowhere — but it was indeed a place closely bound to him.
Many people had already gathered there. An unceasing murmur of unease and anger ran through them.
Shin Yigyeom narrowed his brows and scanned their faces. Those staring at the burial mounds with pale expressions were followers of the Baekah faith. The copied scriptures in their hands and the white robes draped over their shoulders made it unmistakable — they were Baekah believers.
And then, maintaining a fixed perimeter, imperial officials and soldiers stood guard.
Something about the atmosphere was off.
Bound in rope, Shin Yigyeom roughly pushed aside with both hands the strands of hair that kept falling across his vision in the wind.
“To disturb a priest’s resting place….”
“Do they truly have no fear of what will follow?”
“This is sheer madness.”
Suppressed voices scattered on the wind.
Where the armed cavalry were lined up, the horses scraped at the ground with their front hooves, steadying their breath. Imperial flags with tasseled tips fluttered at the ends of their poles in the wind.
Shin Yigyeom shifted his gaze to the massive burial mound that had already been laid bare to its bones. Officials from the Ministry of Punishment, dressed in dark navy robes, stood holding shovels alongside their assigned soldiers. Metal insignia plates representing their bureau hung from their chests, and regulation blades and document cases were fastened at their waists.
On the surface, they appeared to be nothing more than law enforcement personnel dispatched for investigative purposes.
When the site supervisor raised his hand and gave the signal, the soldiers all began shoveling earth in unison. The outline of a coffin, sleeping beneath the burial mound, gradually came into view.
One soldier drove a shovel straight down vertically. When it struck something hard and signaled the presence of a coffin, the remaining soldiers quickened their pace of digging.
At the edge of the grave they had dug open, the great-grandfather’s gravestone — carved with the Baekah symbol — tilted and fell to the ground, caked in dirt.
“What… what is this.”
Shin Yigyeom’s eyes swept quickly over the backs of the Ministry of Punishment officials. Beneath the pine trees on the hillside, the Dark Bureau’s Shadow Guards stood encircling the area like shadows.
They neither lifted shovels themselves nor issued orders — they simply looked down over the scene.
The Ministry of Punishment moved its hands, and the Dark Bureau watched.
It was a scene in which it was difficult to tell who the true executor was, but Shin Yigyeom knew. That the real force behind it all was the Dark Bureau.
Just then, the sunlight that had fallen across the shadows shifted, and his eyes met Wi Saheon’s, standing at the center of it all.
“…….”
A tailored silhouette cut along clean, precise lines, buttons fastened neatly all the way up. A scabbard hung low above the belt drawn trim around his waist. Cold sunlight caught on the metal ornaments of the overcoat crossing his shoulders.
Wi Saheon stood with arms crossed, looking down in this direction. Not at the burial mound, not at the Ministry of Punishment officials — but at Shin Yigyeom, bound in rope.
Whether it was because he stood at an elevated position, he looked like someone who had the entire mountain lying at his feet.
And on that face, there was not a single emotion. He looked merely bored, like someone waiting for something to happen.
“You would go this far….”
Shin Yigyeom ground his teeth low.
He had not been summoned here as a witness. That was not the reason Wi Saheon had arranged this.
He wants to watch me shatter against the stone he throws. Why? Was this truly the entire force of men and resources he deployed just to break one leader of a rebel faction?
If not that, then the reason he had been placed here must be as a procedure — to compel him to passively sanction this wretched act of desecration.
Just as he tried to push his thoughts further, his head split with pain.
Teeth clenched, Shin Yigyeom swept his gaze over the surroundings. The positions of the Dark Bureau agents stationed around them, the movements of the Ministry of Punishment officials, even the scale of the forces that had sealed off the perimeter. Out of habit, he assessed the situation and counted numbers — but nothing changed.
Wi Saheon’s eyes narrowed to a thin line. He was watching — what expression Shin Yigyeom was making, how he was reacting.
That composed, ruthlessly calm demeanor was like someone sitting before a chess board where the outcome had already been decided, waiting for his opponent’s last move.
“Grand Bureau Chief! What manner of outrage is this!”
“Stop, this must stop!”
“We beseech you to reconsider!”
The Ministry of Punishment officials formed a circle around them, pointing longswords outward to prevent the wailing Baekah faithful from drawing any closer.
Some believers collapsed where they stood, prostrating themselves in prayer; others bowed as though out of their minds. Every last one of them was the picture of grief.
Shin Yigyeom’s eyes trembled faintly.
His great-grandfather had been one of the revered priests of the Baekah faith. Even after his passing, countless believers came to his grave each year on the anniversary of his death. He was, at the very least, someone who should never have been subjected to this — trampled under the imperial boot and dug up without leave.
Above all else, what the Dark Bureau was doing now was shaking the very foundation of Baekah Nation’s identity, which had grown up rooted in the Baekah faith.
And yet…. Not a single member of the Baekah religious order’s council was in sight — those who should rightfully have been there to hold their ground.
“Your Excellency, if we push forward like this, there is a risk of bloodshed.”
A company commander who had come up from the scene approached Wi Saheon and reported cautiously.
Wi Saheon, who had been observing from above while keeping the military affairs bureau on standby, replied with characteristic indifference.
“Record that too. That a religious faction worshipping mere wretched spirits rose up against the national laws of the Empire.”
Wi Saheon did not take his eyes off Shin Yigyeom — standing dead center in his field of vision, the most visible spot — his face a picture of bewildered devastation. Only the peach scent that kept deepening and then fading in unstable waves was deeply grating on him.
“…Are you even human.”
The tips of Shin Yigyeom’s fingers trembled as he murmured. His rage made it difficult to hold himself upright.
His execution was already scheduled regardless. Even if punishment were added here on top of it, the worst would be losing a hand or foot. It didn’t matter.
If he didn’t step forward in some way to obstruct the proceedings, he would have no choice but to keep passively watching and endure this humiliation.
While the guard’s attention turned toward the commotion breaking out at the scene, Shin Yigyeom twisted his bound body and drove himself against the man’s waist. Before the guard could even register what was happening, he had snatched hold of the grip of his longsword.
“Wh, what are you—!”
The guard’s face flooded with shock in an instant.
In one motion, the blade wrenched from its scabbard flashed — catching the light as it sliced through the air.
