Chapter 2: A Second Dawn for a Dead Emperor

Hyeonwol, though only half-awake, diligently organized his thoughts with a mind that remained sharp.

In the midst of this, he found himself feeling relieved that he could remain calm even right after experiencing death.

It struck him anew that this was thanks to the superior performance of his mind, compared to that of some person who had lived on 21st-century Earth.

It had always been this way.

Ever since he was born into this world in Hyeonwol’s body.

Born as the first son of the Empress, he had become aware that he was living a second life in this world as the legitimate eldest son even before he had properly learned to walk.

Though he couldn’t remember his name, gender, or age from that time, he had vague memories of the benefits of civilization he had enjoyed as a modern person in the 21st century and realized he had been reincarnated into this other world, which resembled the ancient Central Plains of his past.

The topography and culture were too different to be solely those of China, and things like martial arts and the martial world, which he had only ever seen in martial arts novels, existed.

But this world bore the names of countries he had never heard of in any history or story he knew.

His suspicion that he might have entered some novel gradually subsided.

There was a more pressing matter.

The young Hyeonwol found it burdensome to be hailed as a genius simply for knowing basic common sense because he had lived a previous life.

He wasn’t the type to proactively step forward in the first place, but as the legitimate eldest son of the imperial family, he was first in line for the succession, and the expectations surrounding him were immeasurably high.

The unspoken pressure of wondering what would happen if it became clear that he was merely average as he grew older had plagued his days…

Before he knew it, he had become an unprecedented genius and the future of the empire.

How on earth?

Even he himself was bewildered.

Amazingly, Hyeonwol’s mind, once focused, could memorize anything, his talent in martial arts was outstanding, and his ability to handle people was mysteriously remarkable.

It was as if the price for his past life memories being so hazy was this compensation.

Even Hyeonwol himself felt awkward about his own talents.

It might be a leap, but wasn’t it as if heaven had sent him to become emperor?

His deliberation was brief.

The First Prince, Hyeonwol, decided to live, burning brightly with the talents he had been given.

It was a path filled with hardships, the complete opposite of his nature, which preferred reading alone over meeting and talking with people, found it easier to let things slide rather than being thorough, and favored leisure and comfort.

But Hyeonwol made up his mind to live the life of a working emperor.

Half of it was his conscience telling him it would be a waste not to use the abilities he had.

The other half was empathy, the feeling of a commoner looking at a country in chaos—external threats from foreign tribes and internal power struggles.

Someone had to clean it up somehow.

Objectively speaking, no matter who thought about it, including himself, the right person for the job was Hyeonwol himself.

If he had wanted to avoid responsibility, he could have, but he took the reins anyway.

He consoled himself with the selfish thought of working hard while young to create a peaceful and prosperous era, then enjoying wealth and power comfortably in his old age.

He did so even knowing it wouldn’t be a simple matter.

It felt as if an inexplicable sense of duty was pushing him from behind.

Thus, from his time as Crown Prince, he went to the battlefield, commanded the northern forces, and waded through the mud of the powerful to stabilize the people’s livelihoods.

He checked the consorts eyeing the throne and their princes, and appointed friendly members of the royal family to key positions, making them his people.

Then, after the ailing previous emperor died of natural causes and he stably ascended the throne, the wars with foreign tribes also reached a lull after a few years.

Around the time he reached his mid-thirties and finally had the leisure to stroll through the grand halls, when he frequently exchanged warm letters inquiring about the well-being of his younger brothers who had become regional lords.

A plot that had been festering for a very long time, unknown to anyone, finally tightened its grip around Hyeonwol’s neck.

It wasn’t external enemies outside the nation nor powerful figures in the capital.

It was a place that existed within the empire but was nonetheless a zone of mutual non-aggression with the government—the martial world.

Due to the intervention of a force he never imagined, the emperor, the highest authority, had to surrender his life.

It was a day like any other, when he had been handling memorials in the main hall until the deep hours of the night.

Was it a mistake to have dismissed his attendants due to a strange feeling of suffocation?

He felt a tightness in his chest.

If only he had known that was the sign of a poison he had been ingesting for a long time finally taking effect.

As if waiting for that moment, when he realized the identity of the assassin who appeared before him, he felt he had half-lost his mind.

A forgotten unreality dug into an unexpected place.

His life had been unrealistic from the start.

Nevertheless, something like resignation or acceptance rushed into his hollow heart.

Who would have known that some novel he had started reading in his previous life but whose later parts he never knew because its serialization was cut off would be the foundation of this world?

Hyeonwol paused his reflection on his life, which could be considered long or short, and began to recall the cause of this chaotic situation once more.

‘Come to think of it….

That novel.’

The faint dawn air lingering around him gave the illusion that he was still in the main hall, but the feel of the warm blanket was entirely different from the cold floor.

Calming his mind a little in that warmth, Hyeonwol sat on the edge of the bed and reviewed various thoughts again.

The first thing that came to mind was about the novel’s protagonist, Seol Cheon-yu.

Now that he knew this world was based on some novel, he wondered if the title should come to him first, but since the content of a novel often sticks in memory more than a vague title, he thought it would come to him gradually.

Hyeonwol quickly moved on.

The story’s protagonist, Seol Cheon-yu, like the protagonists of common martial arts novels, was a wanderer and an orphan.

The child’s first memory was of the icy-cold streets of a slum at the edge of the capital.

The imperial capital was vast and boasted splendor, but there also existed places where that light was extremely dimmed.

Against this contrasting backdrop, a child survived on the filthy streets with frostbitten hands and feet, starving until his ribs showed, solely through his innate tenacity and endurance.

That child was Seol Cheon-yu.

The boy’s world, where his only possession was a name given to him by a mad old man who mistook him for his own dead son, changed one winter when he was around eight years old.

Among the vast martial world, he caught the eye of an elder from a group of elite martial artists who lived by the principles of the demonic path, a group that made countless people tremble in fear at the mere mention of its name—the Demonic Cult.

It was known that the notoriously reclusive cult members holed up in their base at the Ten Thousand Great Mountains on the edge of the continent, competing in martial arts and devoting themselves solely to becoming stronger.

Moreover, the energy of demonic people was unique and strange, leading to their ostracization, so they would never appear as far as the central capital.

But that elder, on a whim in his old age, had come to the Central Plains to find a child suitable as a disciple, wanting to pass on his martial arts to future generations.

What he discovered was Seol Cheon-yu, a natural-born martial arts prodigy.

The elder was confident in his ability to happily kidnap even a child from a prestigious family if the conditions were met.

But the martial talent before him was not only an orphan but possessed talent beyond his expectations.

It was only natural that he went ahead with the kidnapping.

But who was this child?

Seol Cheon-yu, forged from tenacity with not a trace of childlike innocence left, intuitively sensed with his sharp mind that this kidnapping might not guarantee him a comfortable future.

While being dragged away by the elder, he constantly attempted to escape and humiliated the old man, making a fool of him.

The elder, who had initially tried to coax him by offering food and shelter, and promising to make him a martial arts master, later became so enraged that he knocked Seol Cheon-yu unconscious several times.

With this grudge building up, even after arriving at the Ten Thousand Great Mountains, the elder trained Seol Cheon-yu with a harshness that was beyond severe and locked him in a dark cave.

Seol Cheon-yu barely endured seven years in that bleak situation, but when he encountered a stroke of fortune while the elder was away, his latent martial arts achievements exploded, and he eventually succeeded in killing the elder upon his return.

After that, leveraging his status as the late elder’s successor, he made his way into the cult’s leadership, and among the friendly figures and hostile individuals he met in this expanded world, he began to bring the Demonic Cult under his control using his sharp mind and outstanding martial arts skills….

This was the introduction to the novel.

Hyeonwol, who had been sighing over the protagonist’s bleak past, pressed firmly on his temples.

This was as far as his precise knowledge went.

Even with his brilliant mind, the memories of his past life were, as always, vaguely hazy, like wandering through a fog.

He only recalled the rough outline of the development after the introduction:

Seol Cheon-yu, with his formidable strength and intelligence, takes control of the cult and secures the position of Young Lord, and after witnessing the murder of the first person in the cult who recognized his worth, he discovers it was the work of the Blood Cult, an assassination target of the Demonic Cult that had disappeared long ago, and he ventures back out into the world to investigate them….

He felt the limit.

After that… the serialization was cut off.

It was certain, as no clues came to him at all, as if the information had completely vanished.

Hyeonwol let out a deep sigh, which he had been barely holding back since waking up.

This was also the reason he hadn’t realized this world was inside a novel.

Centered on Seol Cheon-yu, the novel’s progression revolved around the internal affairs of the demonic cult on the frontier.

The names of mainland martial arts sects or people didn’t appear at all in the early stages.

Not even the name of the empire currently dominating the continent, nor the surname of the imperial family.

Growing up in the imperial palace, Hyeonwol would have had no opportunity to hear about the internal affairs of the martial world, especially the frontier demonic cult.

After becoming Crown Prince and then Emperor, he did grasp the general trends of the martial world while handling information, but… as was the case with most renowned martial artists, they were usually referred to by their epithets rather than their names, so naturally, he was only aware of the Lord of the Demonic Cult—the Heavenly Demon.

As he pondered, Hyeonwol noticed that the previously dark room had become quite bright.

He still couldn’t quite grasp this light, youthful body.

Just moments ago, his heart had felt like it was being squeezed to the point of stopping, and his internal organs were burning, all while the rush of truth and the situation had left his mind somewhat hazy.

He tried to focus, wanting to continue his thoughts a little more until the head eunuch announced the time for his morning preparations.

From here on, it was a matter directly connected to his own situation.

The fact that Seol Cheon-yu knew the name Hyeonwol had once used as an alias—Biwol—was….

“……!”

It happened in an instant.

His body, perfectly fine just moments ago, bent forward involuntarily.

Clutching his chest in extreme pain, Hyeonwol tumbled noisily off the bed.

Thud!

The pain in his knees hitting the hard floor was barely perceptible compared to the storm raging in the area around his heart.

Gripping his robes, he could only gasp for air.

A stabbing pain gouged at his heart.

Strength involuntarily surged into his clenched fists.

“Is anyone there….

Kang Ryun……!”

Hyeonwol barely managed to call out the name of his guard, who had been by his side since childhood and was likely on duty from morning as usual, while inwardly finding the situation absurd.

Was whoever-it-was planning to kill him right after bringing him back?

Resentment towards this unknown entity surged up along with his bewilderment.

Though Hyeonwol had always been prone to minor ailments compared to his innate martial arts skills, having a body weakened by desk work, he had definitely never experienced such severe symptoms.

Intuitively recalling Seol Cheon-yu’s demonic sword that had pierced his heart before his regression, he clawed at the floor.

“……Haaak!”

Air abruptly filled his lungs.

As the pain, which had come on as suddenly as it began, started to rapidly subside, Hyeonwol gasped for breath and let out a groan.

“Kang Ryun…!”

As his voice gained a little more strength, he finally heard movement outside.

“…Your Highness the Crown Prince?”

Cold sweat beaded on his skin as the pain hadn’t completely vanished.

He felt his head growing hot, his vision blurring.

Hyeonwol gripped his clenched collar even tighter.

Why such torment….

Was this karmic retribution for his selfish act back then—an escape from reality, plunging the sword into his heart to end the pain as quickly as possible?

Hearing the door to the inner chamber open accompanied by hurried footsteps, he laid his body down on the floor.

“…Your… Highness……!

Head Eunuch, quickly….

Your…!”

……What a damnably refreshing morning.

***

When he opened his eyes again, it was the familiar ceiling.

Of course, it was the very same bedchamber in the Eastern Palace he had been looking up at just hours ago.

Good heavens.

He was alive.

Hyeonwol felt a mix of relief and a subtle hint of regret, but quickly shifted his thoughts to practical matters.

The Crown Prince, who had been perfectly fine, collapsing in the morning clutching his chest must have caused no small commotion.

Feeling his parched lips from a lingering fever, he turned his head towards the side of the bed.

The dark blue of Kang Ryun’s martial arts robe came into view.

The face of this man, second to none in cunning, was uncharacteristically hardened.

He hadn’t even worn such an expression when a poisoned arrow grazed Hyeonwol’s arm on the northern battlefield.

A sliver of misplaced amusement and deep guilt peeked through.

It was because he could guess what might have happened to Kang Ryun, who before the regression had mentioned he would be away from the main hall for a while.

He might have been killed by the assassin—or by Seol Cheon-yu.

Or even if he survived, he might have been framed as an accomplice in the emperor’s assassination.

His loyalty was renowned, so perhaps he was alright… Hyeonwol forced himself to think positively.

Kang Ryun was not only comparable in martial arts to any renowned master in the martial world, but even an absolute master like Seol Cheon-yu couldn’t have entered the main hall without even parrying a single blow from his sword.

That’s why they must have ensured Kang Ryun wasn’t there to cause a disturbance.

Dismissing the other guards was clearly his own fault.

Hyeonwol unconsciously let out a groan at the tragedy that might have already occurred, or might still be unfolding in that timeline.

“My lord?”

Sensing his movement, Kang Ryun quickly approached and knelt by the bed.

He hastily checked on Hyeonwol’s condition.

Though the royal physician had just left, now that he had regained consciousness, he needed to report it as soon as possible.

Kang Ryun took in the Crown Prince’s complexion, which still seemed to hover on the edge of life and death, clenched his teeth for a moment, then rose again.

“I will summon the royal physician immediately.

Please wait a moment.”

“…Kang Ryun.”

He looked as if he hadn’t expected Hyeonwol to stop him.

Kang Ryun’s gaze turned to his wrist, which was gripped with surprising strength.

He alternated looking between Hyeonwol’s pale hand and his feverish face, then spoke.

“My lord.

Is there anywhere you feel unwell?”

“What… date is it today?”

“You have been unconscious for a full day, so the day after tomorrow is the winter solstice.”

“The winter solstice….

The wind must have grown colder.

Kang Ryun, I have caught a cold.”

Kang Ryun, chewing over what he had just heard, had his complexion tinged with absurdity and disbelief.

It was a gaze of disrespectful disbelief, as if wondering if Hyeonwol had hit his head when he collapsed.

It was clear he wanted to say that he knew well the person he served was an unusually unique individual in many ways, but he never thought he’d be reminded of it again in a situation like this.

Hyeonwol let out a hollow laugh and continued.

“I’m telling you to spread that word.”

“…Understood.

I shall carry out your orders, so please release me now.”

If Hyeonwol’s condition had been normal, his expression would have implied, including the above retort, something like ‘you certainly know how to take care of things.’

Catching the silent reproach from his guard and friend, Hyeonwol smiled faintly and slowly lowered his arm.

Kang Ryun, still looking bewildered, couldn’t leave and spoke again.

“No one will believe it.”

“That’s the point of spreading the rumor.”

“…Why are you suddenly doing something so out of character, my lord?

This is like voluntarily offering yourself to be torn apart by the jackals who are constantly watching for a chance to seize upon your weakness.”

“The more unlike myself I appear, the more convincing my illness will be.”

So why on earth did the Crown Prince’s illness need to be convincing in the first place?

Fully aware of the real meaning behind Kang Ryun’s unasked question, Hyeonwol avoided answering.

In the end, Kang Ryun just let out a deep sigh and withdrew.

He realized that no matter what he asked now, he wouldn’t get a detailed explanation.

His voice, giving orders to the waiting secretaries outside, faded into the distance.

Though it was a short time, Hyeonwol had made many decisions and prepared the groundwork for his future actions.

By feigning an attempt to appear unaffected despite a lingering illness at a young age, the world would gradually come to see Hyeonwol not as a capable Crown Prince, but through a different lens.

Claiming to be fine would instead look like he was trying to hide his condition.

Eventually, everyone would come to think that a sickly Crown Prince was unfit to sit on the throne.

Once that happened, he could naturally distance himself from politics after a few years.

Hyeonwol had made up his mind.

To live a little less diligently.

By siding with the protagonist and fully supporting his path, he could ensure the safety of the nation and its people.

In a way, having this clear goal now was more comforting than his previous life, where he had struggled blindly to be a good ruler.

Moreover, didn’t he now know everything that would happen in the coming years?

The northern trends, the extent of disasters, the shifts in power….

For someone like him, who had maneuvered the political landscape without knowing the future, this was practically a feast laid out before him.

He could sufficiently manage the situation from the sidelines without necessarily ascending the throne and taking the lead himself.

This was truly fortunate for Hyeonwol, who had now taken on the major task of investigating the movements of the martial world—the flow of the original story.

After protecting the people and his family, he could be content with that and live out his days in retirement.

Hyeonwol once again recalled the sensation of that ominous sword tip and the beautiful face contorted in shock.

As he let his thoughts drift further back, the face of a young child, who had smiled purely and brightly as if he had gained the whole world just from receiving a single piece of candy, gradually appeared in his mind.

The memory of giving him the whole bag because that sight was so pleasing was vivid.

Who would have thought that child would grow up like that?

There was no way he could have imagined he would be the protagonist, notorious in the novel for his cunning and ruthlessness.

Five years ago, counting from the present after his regression, on some day already in the past, he had encountered Seol Cheon-yu, and in the time to come, he had no choice but to hasten their reunion and build a connection.

***

“Your Highness the Crown Prince, what on earth happened….”

“A-gyeom, is that you?”

Facing his half-brother, three years his junior, whose expression looked as if he carried all the world’s sorrow, Hyeonwol, sitting on the bed with a tea tray laid out before him, waved his hand languidly.

At this sight, the Third Prince, Hyeon-gyeom, forgot even to greet him and stopped speaking in confusion.

Apart from being slightly haggard, he looked perfectly fine, and moreover, there was a sense of dissonance.

If this were the ‘Crown Prince Hyeonwol’ he had known all his life, both as a subject and a family member, he would probably, even while lying in bed, maintain his nobility and calmly say he needed to handle the backlog of state affairs with an incongruous—yet familiar—ferocious energy, and then, saying it was good he had come, make a seat for him and force him into labor….

“Come here.

The candy is still warm, would you like some?”

…This was definitely not someone who would leisurely, with a serene and gentle face, be enjoying rest on a bed.

Even if he looked at memorials with the same expression!

That he was resting!

Hyeon-gyeom, unable to conceal his trembling pupils, creakily turned his head towards Kang Ryun standing beside him.

After confirming that Kang Ryun also wore an equally flustered expression, he lost even the calm demeanor he always maintained and spoke in a trembling voice.

“Brother, are you really… that sick?”

“Did you not hear the news?

It’s just a simple cold, nothing to worry about.

Anyway, it’s been a while since I’ve heard you call me ‘brother’ instead of ‘Your Highness the Crown Prince.’

Hearing it after so long is truly wonderful.

I wish you would continue to call me that from now on….”

In contrast to Hyeonwol’s wistful tone, Hyeon-gyeom clenched his teeth tightly at the bleakness setting in.

His brightly smiling face suited Hyeonwol’s naturally elegant features quite well, but it was truly, unbearably awkward.

They say people change when they’re about to die.

No matter how he looked at it, it was the look of a man counting his days.

Hyeon-gyeom forced a smile.

Setting aside the complicated reality, he felt he should at least grant the wish of the family member he respected and loved.

“Of… course, brother.

In private, I will surely do so, so please, take care of your precious health….”

“Anyway, Gyeom-a.”

Hyeonwol swallowed a piece of candy with a satisfied look and smiled happily as he spoke.

The playful air on his face was familiar, yet given the situation, Hyeon-gyeom was worried to death.

From his earliest memories, Hyeonwol had always been a distinctly mature and dignified older brother.

After being invested as Crown Prince, he was someone who showed not a trace of carelessness even in private.

He was terribly afraid of what words might completely devastate him next.

“Yes, brother.”

“Would you like to become the Crown Prince?”

This was a mountain beyond his wildest imagination!