The ministers’ debate showed no signs of dying down. Wi Sagyun, suppressing his anger, spoke.
“This is a different matter from handling it as a simple act of treason.”
His imposing gaze turned toward the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, this is not a matter to be resolved by beheading alone. If someone with intimate knowledge of the imperial palace’s defense systems has joined a hostile organization, this goes beyond treason — it is a leak of classified information and a fatal act of betrayal. Killing him alone is not sufficient.”
“The Palace Guard Bureau shares the same assessment, Your Majesty.”
The Senior Inspector stepped forward carefully, adding his voice. He was Wi Sagyun’s man and the head of the imperial Palace Guard Bureau — the only body with authority to intervene in the Dark Bureau’s movements.
“Do you have something in mind?”
The Emperor let out a deep sigh, and the Senior Inspector answered at once.
“We demand the revocation of his Palace Guard service record, the erasure of his name and family register, a full reinvestigation of all associated individuals, and public death by dismemberment.”
The ministers stirred. The Palace Guard Commander cut in urgently.
“That is… is that not tantamount to the extermination of an entire clan?”
“Naturally. Should we not set a firm precedent for internal betrayal? And above all, is this not a matter of national concern with the Mumyeongdan involved?”
The Senior Inspector shot back. The tension between the two men was razor-sharp.
Wi Saheon waited for the uproar to settle, his fingertips sliding slowly along the line of his jaw. It was a habit he fell into whenever he was organizing his thoughts. With eyes half-lidded, he was reading every reaction in the Bimundang.
“Exterminating the clan won’t make the danger disappear.”
At his unhurried remark, Wi Sagyun’s eyebrow twitched. It had been reported that the one called Two had displayed posture corrections used in the imperial palace guard training. He himself had only learned — mere minutes ago, right here in this room — that the man was Yunbaek, but it was clear that Wi Saheon had known from the very beginning.
“Does the Young Lord intend to show mercy?”
In formal settings, Wi Sagyun always referred to Wi Saheon as the Young Lord. It was his way of reminding him of the hierarchy.
Wi Saheon’s gaze lifted slowly. In the eyes that held a contained stillness, a peculiar tension seeped through — like a blade tilted at an angle to measure the light.
“Public dismemberment and the erasure of the family will spread fear throughout the Palace Guard. Fracture is only a matter of time.”
“…….”
“More than anything — someone who knows our internal codes has returned after five years of absence. Those five years are sealed codes. Are we going to destroy them with our own hands?”
The corner of Wi Saheon’s mouth curved ever so slightly upward. It was the composure of a man who was certain.
In the Bimundang, now gone quiet, only the sound of ministers steadying their breath could be heard.
“Your Majesty, if we treat this man as an ordinary traitor, the imperial family will be seen as permitting its own destruction.”
Wi Sagyun, his fist clenched, fixed his gaze on the Emperor.
“Well. First, we need to determine how far the Palace Guard’s involvement goes — or whether it was Yunbaek acting alone on his own judgment.”
The faint upward curl at the end of each of Wi Saheon’s sentences was practically a sign that he had already reached his conclusion. He left no room for the other party to refute him.
“Killing him is possible at any time. But betrayal—”
Wi Saheon looked directly at Wi Sagyun. Those were the eyes of a man who had the entire Dark Bureau at his back. Cold and deep, and hauntingly still.
“Requires dissection.”
“…The Young Lord always speaks of dissection. But the imperial palace is not a laboratory.”
The Emperor attempted to throw his weight behind Wi Sagyun and suppress Wi Saheon, but Wi Saheon’s composure did not bend even slightly.
“I intend to form an Imperial Propaganda Corps.”
A brief silence fell.
Wi Saheon ran his long fingers along the buttons of his uniform sleeve.
“A precedent that ends in death doesn’t last long. It only matters in that moment.”
His gaze moved slowly across the assembled ministers.
“We show them directly what becomes of someone who betrays the imperial palace.”
The faces of several ministers hardened.
“We put him on display — publicly. We make it clear: betray the palace, and this is what happens to you. That is what must be branded into them.”
The silence deepened.
“And then we watch the Mumyeongdan’s movements.”
Wi Sagyun’s shoulders tensed. Since Yunbaek had been mentioned, he had been far too agitated.
“And if it fails?”
“Then we kill him then. He was going to die once regardless.”
Wi Saheon smiled thinly and added,
“Is the execution truly that urgent?”
Even as he smiled, his eyes did not waver. That stillness made the hair on the back of Wi Sagyun’s neck rise. After a long pause, Wi Sagyun broke the silence.
“…Interesting. The Young Lord’s judgment is far too precise. It sounds, in fact, as though you had prepared for this in advance.”
Wi Saheon said nothing. His silence was not flustered — it was a brief calculation, measuring the other man’s intent.
“A Palace Guard member who vanished five years ago. The possibility of the Mumyeongdan’s expulsion. And on top of that, a plan for how to use him now.”
Wi Sagyun’s reasoning had a direction. That is — his words sounded very much as though Wi Saheon had conspired with the Mumyeongdan in advance and had been preparing a plot against the throne.
“…….”
Wi Saheon’s eyes slowly narrowed. Only then did a faint emotion surface. Displeasure. But he kept it from leaking out.
“You flatter me too much. If I had been that meticulous, would there be any reason to say so here, in this room?”
The gentle counter-question had a sharp edge hidden in it. Wi Sagyun didn’t miss his moment.
“Why was it that while half of the palace walls were blown away, the eastern wall — the side where the Dark Bureau was stationed — remained completely intact? If the Heugnyeongwi Special Operations Unit had colluded with the Mumyeongdan from the start and opened certain sections, that would explain it. Their infiltration was far too smooth.”
The air in the Bimundang drew thin.
Wi Saheon heard those words and still did not react immediately. Instead, very briefly — almost unconsciously — he smiled.
“It seems we need to correct some misunderstandings about the Heugnyeongwi first.”
Beneath Wi Saheon’s long-settled lashes, eyes that betrayed no emotion traced a half-arc. Every time the light touched them, his pupils reflected coldly, creating an impression as hard as metal.
“The Heugnyeongwi is not a simple combat unit. They are a force that reconstructs the battlefield. They always look several moves ahead. That is why I wanted to deploy the Heugnyeongwi instead of the imperial army. Who was it who opposed that, saying, ‘We cannot allow Wi Saheon to play at private soldiers even within the imperial palace’?”
The glance Wi Saheon directed at his brother was cold, yet it carried a precise temperature.
Wi Sagyun’s mouth twisted.
“True. Of course the Young Lord may have taken preemptive measures for the sake of the Empire. But if, in that process, there were judgments that were not reported to the imperial family — that too is not a matter to be taken lightly.”
Wi Saheon exhaled, as if weary.
“The Dark Bureau has spent a long time tracking the movements of groups that could pose a threat to the Empire. As a result — without specifically identifying them as the Mumyeongdan — we protected the most critical eastern wall. What has the Ministry of War been doing in the meantime? And the Palace Guard Bureau?”
When he tilted his head, the line of Wi Saheon’s neck was almost too clean. Despite being a body that had endured long years of military service, there was no roughness — only a restrained tension remained.
“Drawing a blade without basis would not be the method of the Empire that the First Imperial Prince envisions, now would it?”
Wi Sagyun glared at Wi Saheon with furious eyes, then pleaded to the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, this matter may not simply be a question of one traitor. You must verify whether there was internal cooperation as well.”
“…Well. Let it be so.”
Wi Saheon’s expression didn’t change. But the minute angle at the corners of his lips read like a signal that he was already judging the situation — and to those watching, it came across as deeply ominous.
“In that case, if nothing turns up—”
“…….”
“You will have to bear responsibility for that as well.”
The Emperor looked back and forth between Wi Sagyun and Wi Saheon. Wi Sagyun — the legitimate firstborn, mild-mannered and accommodating in nature. Wi Saheon — the youngest, born of a concubine, with the natural temperament of a sovereign.
The two sons born of different mothers were a great source of joy to the Emperor, yet at the same time, a source of trial.
“Young Lord.”
The Emperor called to Wi Saheon, his face full of worry.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“What the Young Lord must prioritize is the authority of the imperial family. Do not forget that.”
Wi Saheon only smiled and said nothing. Instead, a beat later, he looked at Wi Sagyun.
In those eyes there was no deference befitting a younger person, no fear — only the calm of someone who had already seen how things would end. Then his gaze softened gently.
“I will keep it in mind.”
Authority is not something to be protected — it is something to be proven. Father.
Each time the wind blew, the edge of the banner snapped sharply. The banner fluttered with a tension that made it look not like cloth but like a thin sheet of metal — and in its center were inscribed the characters: Imperial Propaganda Corps (帝國宣傳隊).
Shin Yigyeom stared at it hard, then turned his gaze away.
