The air shifted.

  No wind.

  No birds.

  No sound.

  Thud.

  A tile slipped off the rooftop behind us.

  I turned.

  From the shadows, five figures emerged.

  Black robes. Hidden faces. Eyes like ice—cold and calculating.

  Each held a blade curved like a fang.

  Assassins.

  “Stay back,” Baekho growled, stepping forward, body tense.

  “No.”

  I stepped ahead of him, calm.

  “This is meant for me.”

  One of them lunged—fast.

  Too fast for most to follow.

  But I wasn’t most.

  I dropped low, caught his wrist mid-swing, and twisted.

  Crack.

  His blade hit the ground.

  I drove my elbow into his throat.

  Collapse.

  He didn’t get back up.

  Another came from behind.

  I spun, grabbing the first man’s body and twisting it into the path of the next strike.

  Steel met flesh.

  The second masked man hesitated.

  That was all I needed.

  A swift kick to his chest—he flew backward and slammed into the wall.

  “Eunchae, take cover!” Baekho shouted.

  “Too late for that!” Eunchae yelped. He was already crouched behind a barrel, hands trembling.

  Sohwa ducked down beside him, her eyes wide, clutching her skirt.

  The remaining three circled me.

  One of them raised a hand—a silent signal.

  Then they all charged.

  I closed my eyes for a single breath.

  Then moved.

  Spin. Step. Sweep.

  A leg broke with a crack.

  Another blade was torn from its owner's grasp.

  A third strike came—I blocked it using a sword I’d stolen mid-move, one of their own.

  Clang. Crack. Collapse.

  One by one, they fell—unconscious, groaning, or choking on defeat.

  I stood in the center, still as stone, a stolen blade gleaming in my hand.

  Only one remained—their leader.

  He stepped back, panic crawling across his face.

  I pointed the sword’s tip at him.

  “Run,” I said coldly.

  “And tell whoever sent you…”

  My eyes narrowed.

  “…I am not a boy to be hunted.”

  I stepped forward once, blade steady.

  “I am a future king, you dull creature.”

  He bolted—vanishing into the shadows.

  I let out a slow breath and dropped the sword.

  Baekho stared, stunned as always.

  Eunchae peeked out from behind the barrel, jaw on the floor.

  Even Sohwa’s eyes shimmered with disbelief.

  I turned to them with a cheeky grin.

  “I mean… not many ten-year-olds can do what I just did.”

  I giggled.

  We made our way to my mother’s quarters.

  At the entrance, my three maids—my “soon-to-be” wives, in five years, of course—greeted me with bright smiles.

  “Good afternoon, Wangja Ma-ma,” they chimed in unison.

  I nodded like a proper prince, then pushed open the chamber doors.

  “Good afternoon, Eomeoni,” I said in my baby voice.

  I mean—technically—I was still a kid.

  “Jinseo-ya, my baby boy,” my mother beamed, arms open.

  “Have you taken a shower yet?” she asked gently.

  “I have not, Mother,” I replied.

  She smiled softly, stood up, and led me to the royal bathing chamber.

  As we arrived, her eyes caught something—a faint stain.

  “Jinseo-ya… why is there blood on your shirt, my dear?”

  Her voice trembled.

  “Aigo… what am I going to do with you? You’re all I have left, my dear… Uri Aegi.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  Of course, I couldn’t tell her I fought five masked assassins in an alley.

  “Eomma… Baekho accidentally spilled some blood on my robe while he was hunting,” I lied quickly.

  “Baekho, you’re in big trouble,” Eunchae whispered from behind, barely suppressing his giggles.

  I hugged my mother tightly.

  “Everything’s okay, Eomeoni. I’m fine.”

  She looked down at me, her face filled with worry.

  “You’re not allowed to go out anymore…”

  Still, she gently helped me bathe, washing the mud and dried blood from my skin with care. Then she led me back to her quarters for my writing lesson.

  The quiet study room smelled of ink and aged parchment.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  A window stood open, the breeze rustling the sheer curtains. Birds soared past, their wings slicing through the afternoon sun as it painted the garden below.

  Eomeoni sat beside me in her elegant hanbok, her sleeves draping like silk clouds as she guided my hand over the brush.

  “Hold it like this, Jinseo-ya. With patience. Let the ink breathe.”

  I watched closely. Her fingers were gentle, her movements precise—like everything she did.

  Together, we wrote a single word:

  Benevolence.

  “To be a king, my son,” she said softly, “you must first learn to Fear and obey God and practice kindness—before you ever command others.”

  I looked down at the character we had written.

  Kindness.

  It looked gentle—but I saw strength in it too.

  My grip tightened slightly on the brush.

  In the distance, I heard Eunchae trip over a teacup—again. I stifled a giggle.

  After our lesson, Eomeoni took my hand, and we walked outside.

  She explained the roles of court maids as we strolled. My three servants followed quietly behind us, and my soon-to-be wives trailed close, whispering and giggling.

  The wind was soft. The trees swayed. Birds chirped overhead. The rustling leaves filled the silence like a lullaby.

  My mother pointed toward the horizon.

  “Can you see to the end of it?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Nor can you see beyond the future,” she whispered.

  “My dear Nae Adeul, my sweet boy… one day, you will be a great king. This nation will rest under your protection and your rule. And I—your mother—will stand behind you. I’ll support every decision you make.”

  I turned to her, voice soft.

  “Eomeoni… what was your life like before you became Queen?”

  She smiled gently.

  “Of course, my dear Uri Aegi.”

  “I was born in a quiet home. My father was a scholar. My mother was gifted in herbal medicine. Together, they taught me everything they knew.

  “My Abeonim taught me the scholar’s path. We read—endlessly. He told me memory was a scholar’s blade. I studied alone, reciting texts until I could recall them word for word.

  “He also said a scholar must understand all walks of life—what farmers do, how carpenters build, what merchants trade. A true scholar never stops seeking knowledge.”

  She paused, brushing a stray hair from my face.

  “My Eomeoni was a healer. She knew every herb, every root, every remedy. From her, I inherited my understanding of medicine. I can still remember her teachings as if they were whispered just yesterday.”

  She looked out toward the garden.

  “I was brought to the palace not for marriage—but because of my knowledge. My skill in medicine. My ability to read and interpret poetry, and classical texts.”

  Another pause.

  “At first… I hated it. I was alone. Watched constantly. Trapped by rules and tradition.

  “But then…”

  Her voice softened.

  “I met your father.”

  I looked up at her.

  “Did you love him?”

  She smiled.

  “Yes. Deeply.

  “He was fierce… but not unkind. He saw past the silk, the titles, the quiet mask I wore. He saw me. He once told me my mind was sharper than any blade in his court.”

  I fell quiet. Just listening. Watching her eyes shimmer faintly in the fading light.

  She looked at me, her voice calmer than ever.

  “I’ve lost friends… and family. But you—”

  Her voice broke just slightly, then steadied.

  “You gave me purpose when all hope had drowned. You gave me something to hold on to. Something to fight for.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have the words.

  So I did what felt right.

  I reached out and took Eomeoni’s hand—held it tightly.

  “You’ve lost so much, Eomeoni,” I said softly.

  “But even if the world turns against you… I’ll always stand by your side.

  And your enemies?”

  I looked into her eyes.

  “They will become my footstool.”

  She touched my cheek with her cool fingers—tender, quiet.

  We sat in silence.

  Behind us, my three servants and my soon-to-be wives stood still, tears glistening in their eyes, listening to everything Eomeoni and I had shared.

  As the sun dipped low and the golden light stretched across the earth, I walked my mother back to her quarters. My servants and future wives followed silently.

  Inside, her personal maids greeted her and tended to her needs.

  “Eomeoni, I’ll be going back to my quarter now,” I said.

  I leaned into her embrace, snuggled against her, and held her tightly.

  She kissed my forehead with warmth.

  I kissed her back and gave a soft smile before I left.

  “It’s time to lock in,” I whispered to myself.

  “Follow me,” I told my three servants.

  The sun still hung in the sky. Birds still chirped.

  There was no time to waste. No room for weakness.

  I had trained every single day since I was three.

  I was in the best shape of my life.

  Pain didn’t matter.

  Only the gain mattered.

  We headed toward my secret training ground. The breeze swept through the trees like a warning. The rattling leaves sounded like the prelude to battle.

  The world was alive—and I could hear everything.

  The thud of baboon feet in the distance.

  The whisper of branches swaying.

  Every step—animal or human—I could tell the difference.

  Even the air told me stories.

  I could smell scents—distinct, sharp. Whether beast or man, nothing escaped my ears, eyes, or instincts.

  Baekho followed silently behind me, carrying a sword wrapped in white cloth.

  Most boys my age would be napping.

  But I wasn’t most boys.

  When we reached the secret ground, Baekho handed me the sword.

  I unwrapped it slowly.

  The blade gleamed, but this was just one part of my arsenal.

  I trained in everything—hand-to-hand, swordsmanship, martial arts from the future, and disciplines from the past.

  I had trained my body to the very edge.

  Even a simple blade would bend if it struck my skin.

  I wasn’t called a genius in my past life for no reason.

  I wasn’t called the strongest for no reason.

  I wasn’t called unmatched because it sounded nice.

  I trained…

  Because I had a reason.

  I warmed up my joints and tendons to get the blood flowing.

  I wrapped weights around my ankles, my arms, my torso.

  Then I moved—slashes, footwork, spins, strikes, kicks.

  Each form flowed into the next like water becoming wind.

  Martial wisdom surged through me—not because I read it in scrolls, but because it lived inside me.

  Strength. Precision. Memory.

  Every technique, every instinct… came with me when I was reborn.

  My young body was lean, but shredded to the bone.

  I could outrun a cheetah.

  My agility was inhuman.

  I could lift weights heavier than an elephant without breaking stride.

  Then—

  “Agissi… you’re going to pass out,” Eunchae’s voice groaned from behind a pillar.

  I glanced back.

  Eunchae was holding a cold cloth to his forehead like it might stop him from witnessing my insanity.

  Sohwa arrived moments later, worry etched on her face and a towel in hand.

  “You’ll overwork yourself again, Wangja Ma-ma.”

  With my strongest grip, I raised the sword.

  One slash.

  The tree split clean in half, crashing to the ground with a thunderous crack.

  My servants, as always, stood frozen—staring at me with their usual shocked expressions.

  I turned to Baekho.

  “Let’s go hunting.”

  He nodded, already prepared.

  “Eunchae and Sohwa will stay behind,” I added before he could ask.

  “No Eunchae,” I mimicked Baekho’s voice playfully, “he’d just complain the whole time. And Sohwa…” I chuckled, “she’d follow us like a worried duck.”

  Baekho allowed himself the faintest smile.

  We left through the palace gates. The guards didn’t stop us.

  Baekho had made sure of that.

  “Whatever creature crosses our path today…” I muttered, adjusting the weight on my shoulders, “is unlucky.”