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Join the ServerAt that very moment, something seized his ankle.
With a heavy crash, he was thrown to the ground, his chin striking the floor hard enough to make it tremble.
The grip around his ankle was far stronger than anything he could resist.
The door quickly receded from view as he was dragged backward across the floor.
Kicking and struggling accomplished nothing.
The burning hand clutching his ankle like a shackle refused to let go.
He dug his fingers into the floor, curling them like claws.
His nails scraped across the smooth surface, leaving pale streaks behind.
When his fingernails bent backward under the strain, the marks abruptly stopped.
Blood welled beneath the broken nails.
For a moment, the sight overlapped with another memory—a pair of bloodied hands scraping at the stone floor of an underground prison from his dreams.
“…!”
He remembered the endless days when his fingernails had torn away, flesh had peeled from his hands, and fresh blood had continued to stain the ground before the older stains could even dry.
He remembered the icy sensation of touching His Majesty’s severed face.
Suddenly, all resistance left him.
The terror drained from his body along with every trace of warmth.
Again.
The severed head rolled across the floor, smiling faintly.
A gentle voice whispered into his ear.
It had never truly left him.
Like the scenery beneath storm-lashed eaves.
Like rats endlessly gnawing at old wooden beams.
The whisper lingered beside him without pause, never fading.
You killed me.
Han-ah… your love killed me.
I died because of you.
You killed me…
The voices swarmed like insects.
Their relentless murmurs burrowed into his ears until his mind began to empty.
The demon dragged him back with humiliating ease.
When he found himself lying on his back again, staring at the ceiling just as before, it was no longer escape that occupied his thoughts.
Instead, he desperately clung to the demon’s arm.
“Y-Your Majesty must live.
We made a promise.
We promised.
His Majesty must survive.
Please…
Please save him.”
“What are you talking about?”
The demon tried to pull his hands away.
Han refused to let go.
They struggled together until his hair became completely disheveled and his face was soaked with sweat and tears.
“Get a hold of yourself!”
“You…
How dare you lay a hand on His Majesty!
You have harmed imperial blood!
The curse of your ancestors will follow you for the rest of your life!
It will haunt your descendants for generations!”
Even after both wrists were pinned above his head, he shouted until his throat burned.
Blood vessels burst in his reddened eyes.
The veins in his neck stood out.
The demon did not even laugh.
His unreadable expression only deepened Han’s despair.
Was he going to fail to save His Majesty again?
His strength vanished.
He begged desperately.
“Please…
Save His Majesty.
Please…”
“Enough with this constant talk about your emperor.”
Hot tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks.
Knowing he could never win by force, Han pleaded instead.
He had to explain.
He had to tell him about the dream.
About the rebellion that might soon come.
About its tragic ending.
He had to warn him not to follow that path.
“You…
You cut off His Majesty’s head.
And I…
I stabbed myself.
With the ornament…
The one that had been in His Majesty’s hair.
It was about this long.
Sharp…
Yes…
You’ve seen it before—”
A violent wave of agony suddenly consumed him.
The pain was so overwhelming that it felt as though his body were being torn apart.
His thoughts dissolved beneath it.
Even as his breathing became impossible, only one person remained in his mind.
His Majesty.
“My… Emperor…”
His consciousness drifted.
His vision slowly turned white.
What followed was an act of violence that left him unable to resist.
His body was treated without mercy while his desperate cries faded into incoherent sobs.
He tried to stop it.
He tried to shake his head.
He wanted to tell the demon that he truly would die if this continued.
No words came out.
Instead, a scream escaped him.
“AAAH!”
Each passing moment brought unbearable pain.
His body convulsed uncontrollably until even the strength to tremble disappeared.
Time itself lost all meaning.
He could only endure, waiting for it to end.
At last, everything stopped.
The demon remained silent for a long moment before finally releasing him.
His body collapsed helplessly onto the bloodstained floor.
The demon picked up a nearby bottle, took a drink, and spoke with complete indifference.
“Get out.”
“…”
Han lay motionless, staring at the dim ceiling.
Strangely, a memory from childhood surfaced.
One evening beneath a fading sunset, he had seen children playing in a dusty alley.
At their feet lay a dead frog.
It had been tossed around like a toy until it died.
Its pale belly faced upward.
Its insides had spilled onto the dirt, scattered carelessly across the road.
To the children, it had only been a game.
No one would scold them.
No one would mourn a frog.
Was he any different?
Perhaps, to the demon, he was just as insignificant.
His broken body lying there was no different from that discarded creature.
A weak laugh escaped him.
Perhaps he truly had gone mad.
Despite the humiliation and the blood covering him, he could still laugh.
When it was finally over, he had expected to be unable to move.
Yet, to his surprise, his arms and legs still obeyed him.
Dragging his unresponsive lower body across the floor, he slowly crawled toward his scattered clothes and dressed himself.
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