Chapter 1: Crimson on the Dragon Throne

“Kuhuk…”

Blood gushed and overflowed onto the black silk robe.

The gold thread, embroidered lavishly, lost its color in an instant.

Great Siyeon.

An empire at its unprecedented peak, commanding the entire world.

And within it, the sacred and solemn forbidden zone where the emperor of this great nation resided—the imperial palace.

In the deep dawn, before the sun had even risen, only pale moonlight flowed dimly through the vast main hall deep within the palace.

In this place where state affairs were discussed and grand rites were held, countless civil and military officials always bowed their heads and knelt before the emperor to pay their respects.

The current Emperor of Siyeon was a heroic sage of the century, hailed as a wise ruler who had roamed the battlefields since his youth and cared for the common people.

Even now, over a decade after his ascension, he had stabilized the nation with a magnificent reign worthy of his reputation.

People existed throughout the world who both worshipped and feared his extraordinary achievements.

The resplendent throne, with a golden dragon holding a wish-fulfilling jewel in its mouth as it soared, silently asserted its presence.

It was as if it commanded anyone who set foot before it to recognize its majesty and bow accordingly.

But now, the one who should have been seated there had slipped down from the platform and was kneeling pitifully before a single figure.

“Keolreok, keuk… euk…”

The young emperor, who must have originally possessed a splendid appearance, was now utterly disheveled, endlessly vomiting blood.

Even as his body trembled with disbelief and pain, he struggled to maintain composure and raised his head to look at the man before him.

The man, who should have been an intruder and a traitor, stood proudly with not an ounce of shame.

The current emperor of Siyeon, Hyeonmu Emperor, let out a hollow laugh.

The appearance of the young man entering his dizzying field of vision was even more surreal than the situation he was experiencing.

Standing six cheok tall, his well-built body, devoid of any unnecessary bulk characteristic of a martial artist, was only a part of the beauty he possessed.

Beneath his loosely tied-up black hair, his exquisite features seemed carved from heavenly jade.

The scene created an illusion as if even the dawn light shining from behind him belonged to him alone.

Was an emperor, in a situation like this, really noticing the beauty of his opponent first?

Finding it absurd and mocking himself, Hyeonmu Emperor decided to shut down his thoughts, regardless of which direction his half-resigned mind reached out.

The beauty emanating from the person before him was not of a sensual kind.

Above all, he knew that every impression he had stemmed from his own sense of awe.

Had this been the usual Hyeonmu Emperor, he would never have entertained such feeble thoughts.

For an emperor of a great nation to be in awe of someone—no emperor had ever done so, nor should they.

Moreover, his nature was far from weak, so much so that anyone who knew even a little about Hyeonmu Emperor would surely be astonished.

But, given the situation, he suppressed his abnormally trembling body.

Hyeonmu pulled himself together and once again took in the young man standing as casually as if this were his own chamber.

What first caught his eye were his bluish-gray pupils.

A gaze resembling the morning frost fell upon him with an indescribable light.

Though his appearance could be called mystical, the neat black robe he wore felt strangely and endlessly ominous.

Perhaps it was because of the dark red scabbard at his side, which felt like one body with him.

The murderous aura, no, it should be called demonic energy, flowing from it seemed to rise along the scabbard and even emanate from the young man himself.

It was a sight that made it impossible not to know what he was.

The young man was just looking at him as if waiting for something.

The meaning in his gaze was clear.

He was measuring the capacity of the dying man before him.

Even in his hazy state, Hyeonmu Emperor felt a mix of unfamiliarity and indignation at the young man’s arrogant attitude, finding it absurd.

Though he knew full well that the one who had brought the situation to this state was the person before him, he was still the emperor of a great nation.

Gnashing his teeth, Hyeonmu Emperor spat out another bout of blood and opened his mouth.

“……Even a martial artist is ultimately a part of the empire, a commoner of the nation….

How dare a heretic cult follower from the foreign martial world harm the Son of Heaven?”

“Son of Heaven, you say.”

A leisurely, pleasant low voice flowed from the young man.

“In the end, it’s the strong that survive and the weak that perish.

You were simply weak.

To be brought down by poisoning, collapsing before it was even my turn to act.

Honestly, I’m quite disappointed.

I only lent them a hand because those bastards wanted it….

But still, I had a bit of expectation for the one called a true ‘heaven-sent ruler.’”

His voice, in contrast to Hyeonmu Emperor’s blood-boiling tone, sounded even more sweet.

But the weariness filled in his monotonous voice was truly shocking.

To say such things before the emperor, even making him kneel.

Anyone could tell that this vague, half-respectful speech was the bare minimum of courtesy he was offering.

Hyeonmu Emperor was dazed for a moment, then couldn’t stop the hollow laugh that burst out before he could control it.

“Haha, hahaha…”

Before the young man, who looked on with slight surprise, he swallowed blood and spoke.

“Hahahaha, yes.

Sorry to disappoint your expectations.

The leader of the demonic cult, the Heavenly Demon, surely deserves that.

Who else but you has made me, the emperor, kneel like this, in the past or future?

Hahaha…”

The blood staining his white teeth made him look even more like a madman.

But being brought so low must have shattered his pride as the Son of Heaven, so it was only natural his mind wouldn’t be sound.

Seol Cheon-yu, the leader of the demonic cult, the Heavenly Demon, understood inwardly.

Considerable time had passed since he himself had risen to the position above all others in his cult.

The emperor before him, now merely a hollow shell, had also once commanded the continent, so he decided to offer this last respect to one who would fade into a fragment of history by finishing things quickly.

His dry eyes held an even deeper weariness.

As the sword slid smoothly from its red scabbard and aimed at the emperor’s neck, the trembling of the body that had been letting out short laughs gradually subsided.

Even if he didn’t use his own hands, looking at the robe drenched in blood, it was clear he wouldn’t last long.

But if he brushed it off now, finding it troublesome, he might have to listen to pointless complaints from those noisy bastards.

They weren’t even his people, yet recently their insolence knew no bounds.

Thinking he would teach them a lesson soon, Seol Cheon-yu felt slightly more cheerful and opened his mouth.

“I am called Seol Cheon-yu, the lord of the Great Heavenly Demon Cult.

Let me ask just one last question.

Do you happen to know the name Biwol among the officials of the imperial palace?”

It was an impulsive question.

The young military officer the young Seol Cheon-yu remembered was, even in a child’s eyes, a wise and great figure.

He was certainly someone worthy of holding a key position in the nation, and if he had become a high-ranking official, there was a high chance the emperor would know him.

It was an encounter over a decade ago, but an unforgettable connection.

However, despite ordering a separate investigation into him—Biwol—long ago, the information that came in was nothing but vague stories without a single concrete detail.

Hence, Seol Cheon-yu was feeling a bit impatient.

In reality, after finishing this business and once his people took control of the Forbidden Guard, his plan was to search the entire imperial palace and find Biwol first.

That was the real reason he had personally come, not bothering to refuse the request of those who were under the illusion they could order the Heavenly Demon around.

The reason he asked the emperor, who he didn’t care about, about Biwol was due to a sliver of expectation.

A slight flutter of excitement that the person before him might also know the one he had admired as a child, that he might hear about the Biwol from his memories just a little faster.

Surely, it was only that.

But as he composed his feelings and stared at the emperor, Seol Cheon-yu’s complexion was tinged with embarrassment.

The emperor, who had been endlessly vomiting blood from his mouth, was trembling with a different air than his earlier laughter.

What was clear was that his voice, which seemed on the verge of death, now filled with a hint of madness or emptiness, flowed out clearly.

“You, the Heavenly Demon… are called Seol Cheon-yu?

The one you seek is Biwol?”

A gleam, almost like a final flash before death, seemed to sparkle in the emperor’s eyes.

“……Yes…….

That’s right.

So that’s what it was….”

Belying his weak, murmured tone, his voice, echoing lowly in the dawn-lit main hall, sounded like that of a sage who had attained some realization.

“……That’s right.

Obstacles to the protagonist must die.

Biwol is… dead, I tell you.

Haha….

Hahaha.

I had no choice either.

You are the same.

I’m sorry, Seol Cheon-yu!

Hahaha….”

Seol Cheon-yu’s eyes widened greatly.

At first glance, Hyeonmu Emperor’s reaction was that of someone who knew Biwol well, just as he had hoped.

However, the words coming out of his mouth were entirely incomprehensible.

To Seol Cheon-yu, the emperor seemed to have lost his reason facing death.

But the clear, rational voice Hyeonmu Emperor let out made him doubt that thought.

Amidst the confusion, an undeniable unease crept up.

What Seol Cheon-yu faced, amidst a swirl of anger and embarrassment, was a dark red sleeve grabbing his sword with a bare hand.

“……!

What….”

Seol Cheon-yu showed an uncharacteristic agitation at the bewildering situation.

He couldn’t even think to pull back his aimed sword and just looked down at the man collapsing before him.

In an instant, a realization pierced his thoughts.

On a winter day, the one who had handed a warm bag of candy to his young self.

The eyes of Biwol, which sparkled amber in the sunlight even amidst the cold wind.

Right now, before him, they were dimly shining in the bluish light of dawn.

“……!”

No way, it was nonsense.

But… wasn’t it just as nonsensical that a beggar boy wandering the corners of the capital had become the head of a demonic cult?

Wasn’t it also entirely possible that a imperial descendant, concealing his true identity, had once shown kindness to that boy?

On the border between doubt and disbelief, Seol Cheon-yu couldn’t speak, choked by an inexplicable rising unease.

He came to his senses only after the emperor, ignoring the blood flowing from his grip, tightly held his sword, preventing it from being pulled away.

The dawn light streaming from behind Seol Cheon-yu fell upon Hyeonmu Emperor’s face.

That face was endlessly contorted with sorrow and pain.

“……This is all my fault, Aseol.”

Whether it was self-reproach or selfishness disguised as consideration.

The white hand lacerated by the blade pulled the sword with astonishing speed—toward his own heart.

At that moment.

Seol Cheon-yu recalled the voice that used to call his childhood name from his memories, and as if under a spell, his body froze, unable to stop him.

Blood spread thickly around his chest.

The emperor, Hyeonmu Emperor Hyeonwol, felt his strength drain and laid his body down on the cold floor.

The child before him seemed merely to gaze vacantly at the sight.

Now, even the regret of realizing too late was slowly fading in the face of death.

In the end, it was his own foolish self who had killed Biwol, who had killed himself.

Not knowing this was a story with a protagonist, he had even foolishly squandered the opportunity created by a chance encounter.

This ending, perishing as a bit player in the protagonist’s path, must have been his fate.

The sword, now pulled from his chest, clattered coldly on the floor of the main hall.

Around his heart, where the sword had been embedded, the icy sensation of the demonic energy that had pierced it still lingered.

His vision slowly blurred.

Blinking, Hyeonwol mentally traced the faces of his family and acquaintances.

He should have lived a little less diligently.

Hyeonmu Emperor, Hyeonwol, who had been devoted to his newly acquired position and this world, recalled the children he had treated first as princes and princesses of the nation, not as his own siblings by blood.

He recalled his stern yet affectionate mother.

He recalled his cousin, a childhood friend with whom he had never once openly shared his true feelings.

He missed his reliable subordinates who had always steadfastly supported him from his shadow even on harsh battlefields….

And he pictured before him the face of a small boy from a day in his childhood, looking up at him with clear eyes.

“…No, no.

That can’t be….”

It was the end of a long play.

It had been an intense and sincere life, but knowing that the true nature of this world, which he had failed to realize, was a part of some story his previous self had read, he felt he could rather let it go with relief.

It was futile, but that was all.

“……Hyung-nim… Wol hyung-nim.

You can’t be him.

Please, say it isn’t so….”

So, he wished he could let it all go with relief and simply observe the ending of this story.

That’s what he thought.

The last thing Hyeonwol’s eyes captured was the image of the child, futilely reaching out a hand before him.

For a moment, a flicker of puzzlement shook his stiffening mind.

Was this child—the protagonist—so shaken as if Hyeonwol meant something to him?

Was it just surprise at the unexpected truth?

As this faint thread of thought was about to continue, his consciousness sank into darkness.

It was death.

***

Seol Cheon-yu knelt blankly before Hyeonwol.

Frozen in that state, he stared at the fallen man before him.

His lips and chest were stained dark red, and his jade-like skin, contrasting sharply with it, was pale and stiff.

It was a face from which life had departed.

He couldn’t understand himself, who, just moments ago, had looked at this man with no emotion, merely indifferently.

How could he have just watched as this man vomited blood and died?

How dare he put a sword to his neck?

How, on earth?

His always coolly shining bluish-gray pupils became hazy and clouded, tinged with red.

Seol Cheon-yu couldn’t even think to control the black demonic energy seeping out.

He just tightly gripped the hem of the blood-soaked robe.

The warm kindness shown to a child wandering the gutters.

It was an intensely sweet and unforgettable memory.

What had Biwol said to him back then?

Since they had formed a connection, let’s go together, and if he had no family, he would become his family….

His sprawling thoughts reached Hyeonwol’s eyelids, which hadn’t fully closed, and abruptly stopped.

Though he had seen countless corpses, his heart pounded violently as if seeing a person die for the first time.

Caught in a kind of fear, he quickly lowered his head and buried his face in one hand.

A poignant sorrow, like a beast that had lost its mother, welled up, and an empty feeling pierced his lungs.

He couldn’t even let out a sigh.

What arose from within was a thread of manic laughter.

A sliver of reason that denied reality and consoled itself.

There’s no way the emperor could be that Biwol, right?

A childhood name like that—he must have just roughly inferred it and his guess happened to be right.

Wasn’t he a man of extraordinary resourcefulness?

He must have used a vicious trick to mock him—

It was an obvious fallacy.

It was a layer of self-defense, desperately clung to because he knew too well it wasn’t true.

Muttering that there was no way, did he think he would believe his words, Seol Cheon-yu, contradictorily, slowly and carefully lifted Hyeonwol’s body into both arms.

What filled his embrace was the scent of blood, only that.

Neither the hand that had stroked his head in childhood, nor the warm gaze directed at him, existed any longer.

It was a life endured solely to regain that, yet he had destroyed it with his own hands.

Seol Cheon-yu stared at him for a long time, as if handling a most precious treasure, then slowly laid the body down.

Rising slowly, he turned and walked away.

The sword he habitually gripped again was heavier than he had ever experienced.

The sound of metal dragging along the ground continued softly, and the fully risen morning sun shone brilliantly on his steps.

But it was still dawn.

That can’t be him.

The imperial palace is this vast; he must be somewhere.

The body behind me isn’t him….

I have to find Biwol.

I need to be rewarded for the long years I’ve lived, remembering that warmth.

I should greet him, saying it’s been a while, and proudly introduce myself, looking neat, to his surprised face.

Though he might not remember a single moment from decades ago, but still.

Because I remember.

So it will be alright….

Seol Cheon-yu stumbled out of the main hall.

It was the moment the story’s ending hurtled toward catastrophe.

***

Hyeonwol opened his eyes.

There was no way he could open his eyes.

An illogical realization pierced his awakening mind.

He quickly sat up.

The burning sensation in his stomach was calm, as if it had been a lie.

Above all, the area around his heart, which had been cold, was perfectly fine, as if it had never been pierced by a sword.

Only a stiff feeling, like waking from a long sleep, slightly disturbed his thoughts.

“…Was that just now a dream? ……That can’t be.”

He confronted this illogical—yet somehow familiar—situation and began to ponder fervently.

In front of the hand mirror he had quickly grabbed from the table beside the bed with its silk quilt, he met the gaze of the youthful face staring back at him from within.

Hyeonwol quickly understood.

He had experienced reincarnation, so why couldn’t he regress?

No, really?

Checking the date written on the scattered memorials on the table, there was no longer any room for doubt!

“What sin did I commit in my past life… in my life before that…?”

To not only have me reincarnated as the most minor of minor characters but also to give me regression, whoever you are, how can I possibly thank you enough?

Grabbing his throbbing head at the onslaught of reality, Hyeonwol, rejuvenated into his twenty-year-old body, let out a long sigh.