The Black Wings anchored at the base of a towering sea cliff on the southern coast of Birahng, a place known as Seobyeok(瑞壁). The cliff, with its jagged rock formations and treacherous currents, was a formidable obstacle, but its hidden coves provided an ideal location for concealing smaller vessels. Jang'gyeong Yoon, accompanied by two agile sailors, boarded a small boat and made their way to the shore. They moved quickly, following a hidden path towards the designated meeting point. Upon reaching the point, Yoon located a loose rock, beneath which a white chest lay hidden. Inside the chest were two small bamboo tubes. He secured them within his robes and hurried back towards the coast, his face hidden beneath his hood.

They returned to the Black Wings just as dawn broke, the sky turning a vibrant blue. A rope ladder was lowered, and Yoon quickly ascended, the sailors securing the small boat and hoisting it aboard. Hwan stood at the railing, Yirahng by his side. Yoon bowed respectfully.

"I have returned, Guardian."

"Well done," Hwan replied cursorily.

Yirahng, however, seemed to bask in the attention, her chest puffed out with pride. Yoon, ignoring her, presented the bamboo tubes to Hwan.

"Here are the messages."

"Just read them yourself and summarize," Hwan commended, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Each tube bore a date inscription. Yoon selected the earliest one, breaking the seal and unfurling the scroll within. His eyes scanned the tightly packed characters, his brow furrowing as he reached a particular passage. He hesitated, his lips parting but no words emerging. Hwan, sensing his unease, finally turned to face him.

"Guardian," Yoon began, "Your father has passed away."

"When?" Hwan asked, his voice flat, betraying no emotion.

"On the night the Guardian Crimson appeared."

The timing of his father's death was peculiar. That was all Hwan could think. He felt strangely detached, his father's face a distant memory. There was no resentment, no anger, no longing. He wondered if his father would have shed a tear if he had been the one to die first. Even when Hwan had declared his intention to leave Wicheong Palace, his father hadn't shown a hint of sadness. Hwan barely knew the man who had sired him. He doubted Seong knew him any better. The only thing the brothers knew about their father was that he had loved only one woman, their mother, who had died giving birth to them. Even in his final moments, it was her face he had seen, not theirs. Hwan couldn't help but admire his father's unwavering devotion, even if it seemed pointless.

He pushed aside these thoughts and turned to Yoon. "What else?"

"It seems Cheon Seong intended to disband Wicheong Palace," Yoon reported.

"What?!" Hwan exclaimed. Despite his indifference to his father's death, this news sparked a flicker of anger within him.

"But then the Crimson Star appeared," Yoon continued, "and he changed his mind. Only the Myeonghyeon siblings know about his initial decision."

"That idiot," Yirahng scoffed. "If the idiot knows he's an idiot, he should just shut up."

Hwan remained silent, his anger simmering. Yoon, sensing his displeasure, quickly opened the second bamboo tube and scanned its contents.

"The Dahnian fleet is en route to Birahng," he reported. "Five warships, led by Princess Kyeong'ui, the king's third child. She's accompanied by her betrothed, but no other military personnel. They arrive in two days, according to this message. They will land at Hyangdo, and the Myeonghyeon siblings will be there to welcome them, along with the Lady of Nahmgyo. This message was left yesterday."

"So they arrive tomorrow," Hwan mused.

"It might be difficult to approach Birahng for a while," Yoon observed.

Yoon's concerns were valid. The Black Wings had once ventured too close to the Dahnian mainland and suffered a devastating attack. They had barely escaped with their lives, the memory of the near-fatal encounter still fresh in their minds. The only reason they could operate with relative freedom near Birahng was due to the limited range and firepower of the coastal defenses of Birahng. However, the warships accompanying the princess were a different story. They were Dahn's primary battleships, designed for long-range combat and equipped with powerful cannons. If the princess's fleet established a presence near the southeastern coast, where the Black Wings frequently operated, it would severely restrict their movements.

Hwan, however, was preoccupied with a different threat. The princess's expedition posed a greater danger to Seong, trapped on Birahng, than to him. And House Myeonghyeon, with their deep roots on the island, were also a potential obstacle.

"Dahn is our ally," Hwan said.

"What?" Yoon’s brow furrowed in confusion.

"For now," Hwan replied. "It seems Sahngjon is opening a path for us."

Yoon remained perplexed by his cryptic words. Hwan looked at him.

"You'll need to stay on Birahng for the time being," he commended.

"What's the plan, Guardian?" Yoon asked back.

"We can't just sit and wait for the Guardian Crimson to make her move," Hwan explained. "There's no guarantee she'll follow our plan. We need to use the princess to cripple the Myeonghyeons."

Stolen story; please report.

"You intend to cut off Wicheong Palace's funding?" Yoon asked, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"When their coffers run dry, they'll have no one to blame but Cheon Seong," Hwan replied. "A bloodbath within Wicheong would be messy. It's much cleaner if he leaves on his own."

Though Hwan's plan seemed sound, Yoon hesitated. "I'll obey your orders, Guardian, but there are those who will recognize me. Especially in Nahmgyo."

Hwan's gaze swept over Yoon's face, taking in his sharp jawline, his piercing eyes, his high cheekbones, and his thick, arched eyebrows. Though his skin was tanned from years spent on the open sea, his features were still striking, easily recognizable. Even if he had a more ordinary face, it would be impossible for anyone in Wicheong Palace to forget him after thirty years. There weren't many ways for Yoon to move freely around Birahng without being recognized.

"Yoon," Hwan began, "how far are you willing to go for me?"

The question caught Yoon off guard. He couldn't decipher Hwan's intentions, and a sense of unease settled over him. But he answered without hesitation.

"I would even die for you."

"Would you endure a little pain?"

"What do you...?"

"Blindfold him," Hwan ordered his men. "And restrain his arms."

They obeyed instantly. Neither they nor Yoon, his vision now obscured by a thick cloth, understood Hwan's intentions. Fear gnawed at Yoon. Hwan's gaze fell upon Keumpyeong Hui, his youthful face pale with apprehension. He beckoned him closer. Hui scurried over, bowing his head.

"Bring me boiling water," Hwan commanded. "And pour it on his face."

Hui's face drained of color. Yoon, finally understanding Hwan's plan, tried to maintain his composure, but his fear was evident. The thought of such unimaginable pain filled him with dread. Hui, seeing the terror in his eyes, fell to his knees before Hwan.

"Guardian!" he pleaded. "I... I can't..."

"You couldn't even kill a babe on my orders," Hwan retorted coldly. "If you disobey me now, this will be your end. Become stronger, or die. It's a simple choice."

But Hui remained frozen, his body trembling. Hwan wouldn't change his mind, and the waiting was agonizing for Yoon.

"Just do it, you idiot!" he screamed.

Hui finally stumbled towards the lower deck, his legs shaking. He returned with a teapot filled with boiling water and stood before Yoon.

"Forgive me, brother," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of fear and shame.

Hui squeezed his eyes shut and poured the scalding water over Yoon's face. A scream, raw and guttural, tore through the air, echoing across the deck. Yoon's body convulsed, and Hui, his hands shaking, dropped the teapot and crumpled to the deck. Yoon, his face contorted in agony, collapsed as well, the boiling water searing his skin. The crew rushed to his aid, carrying him below deck to the cabin.

Hwan knelt beside Hui, his gaze piercing. "Hui," he said, "you apologize to me, and me alone. Understand?"

Hui, his eyes vacant, bowed his head. "Yes, Guardian."

The rest of the crew watched in stunned silence, their faces pale with fear. Hwan rose and walked calmly towards his cabin, Yirahng trailing behind him.

Inside, he took Yirahng in his arms. Usually, it was Yirahng who initiated their passionate encounters, her body a wildfire against his. But today, Hwan was the aggressor, his movements rough and urgent. Yirahng, though she welcomed his touch, sensed a darkness within him, a turmoil that disturbed her. Even after their passion subsided, Hwan's eyes remained clouded. Yirahng, her chin resting on his chest, finally spoke.

"Weren't you a bit harsh with Yoon?" she asked.

"He'll understand," Hwan replied.

"Don't be ridiculous," Yirahng scoffed. "What if he decides to betray you?"

"He wouldn't dare," Hwan said. "Not unless he has a death wish."

Yirahng shook her head, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. She fell silent for a moment, then giggled. "Actually," she admitted, "it was a bit satisfying."

"Satisfying?"

"That bastard hated me from the moment he saw me. He always wanted to kill me. Don't you remember? He was always glaring at me."

"He was probably just jealous," Hwan remarked dismissively. He traced the pale scars that marred Yirahng's side, his touch gentle.

"Well, Yoon will be the special one now," Yirahng said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "If he doesn't die from infection, that is."

"He's not as special as you," Hwan murmured, cupping her face and kissing her. The kiss, however, was brief, lacking the usual passion. Yirahng pulled away, her brow furrowed.

"You're acting strange," she observed. "Are you sad about your father?"

Hwan scoffed. "If that old man had ever treated Seong and me like his sons, I might have shed a tear. But he didn't, did he?"

"He loved your mother," Yirahng said. "Wouldn't you hate it if I died giving birth to your child?"

Hwan's gaze drifted towards the ceiling. "I've always wondered," he mused, "what kind of woman she was, to be loved so fiercely that her own children were despised. My father, Master Kyeongseon... they all loved her."

Silence fell over the room. Hwan glanced at Yirahng, who was staring at him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. He forced a smile.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm imagining her face," Yirahng replied, her eyes sparkling. "Everyone said you looked like her. She must have been beautiful."

"It doesn't matter," Hwan said flatly. "She's not of this world. I never even knew her."

He lay back, his arms crossed behind his head. A sudden memory surfaced.

"Seong used to do that," he remarked.

"Do what?"

"Stare at my face, wondering what our mother looked like."

Yirahng's face twisted in disgust. "What was that all about?" she spat. "That was creepy. Why didn't you just punch him?"

A sad smile touched Hwan's lips. "I didn't hate it," he admitted. "Before you came along, he was the only one who ever looked at me like that."

Yirahng sat up abruptly, her gaze fixed on Hwan. He frowned, wondering what she was up to, but she simply continued to stare at him. He shifted uncomfortably under her intense scrutiny.

"Hey," she said.

"What?"

"Cheon Seong has to die."

Hwan's brow furrowed. "There's no need for me to kill him," he replied dismissively.

"Someone has to," Yirahng insisted. "If he's alive, they'll never accept you."

Hwan didn't reply, and Yirahng didn't press further. He thought of the faces he had left behind in Wicheong Palace. His father, his uncle Myeonghyeon Seung, his cousins Ryang and Seon, Norahn and the Emissaries, even Kyeongseon Ung, who had shown him some kindness. None of them had accepted him as their leader. The only ones who followed him were the handful of men he had brought with him.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Because they're all fools," Yirahng replied. "But they'll all kneel before you eventually. The people of Wicheong. the islanders, the mainlanders... all of them."

She nestled against his shoulder, her body warm against his. Hwan's hand stroked her hair, his touch gentle despite the salt and grime that clung to the strands.