Night of Reckoning at Chwiwolru

The night at Chwiwolru was brilliant enough to put Onseong's biting winds to shame. But that splendor was a false paradise forged from the people's hard-earned blood.

As Yi Si-woo stepped into the room, Choi Du-sik—seated at the head table with courtesans draped on either side—roughly pulled them close and haughtily passed around his wine cup. He didn't even rise at the magistrate's arrival, merely flicking a drunken glance at Si-woo.

"Come in, Magistrate. I hear you refused the farewell rites in Hanyang—couldn't bring yourself to turn down my hospitality, though?"

Instead of a proper greeting, Choi Du-sik eyed Si-woo up and down from his seat. Eighteen years old, with skin still soft and boyish. To him, Si-woo was just some bookish young lordling who'd lucked into passing the exam and been shipped off to this backwater.

Before Choi Du-sik sprawled a feast to widen the eyes: abalone from the southern seas, octopus from the west coast, and fiery Pyongyang ginseng liquor.

"Sit. Think of this table as my first gift to you. Onseong may be barren, but where my hand reaches, paradise unfolds. This is my power—the law of Onseong."

Si-woo said nothing, slowly crossing to sit opposite him. He prodded a greasy pheasant leg with his chopsticks. Fat oozed from it, hardening white in the chill air.

"Lord Choi, impressive. While Hamgyong Province freezes and the people outside the walls chew tree bark to survive winter, this room holds delicacies from all eight provinces of Joseon. At this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠point, it's not power—it's a plague."

Choi Du-sik's face hardened as he slammed down his cup. The gayageum music filling the room faltered like it sensed the shift.

"Magistrate, you're young and don't know the ways of the world. Hanyang's laws don't hold here. I release the grain, and the yamen turns. I speak, and the clerks move. This feast could be the start of your riches—or your last supper buried in Onseong soil. Your choice."

But Si-woo didn't blink. He smirked coldly, pulling a thick bundle of ledgers from his robe—pages smeared red with ink. The musty scent of old paper and ink cut through the greasy food smells.

"Lord Choi, do you know why I spent ten days holed up in the yamen's corner, poring over a full year's ledgers? To expose every filthy secret you hid behind 'customs'—down to the last grain, without error."

Si-woo roughly flipped to the first page. His finger stopped on rows of numbers underlined in red.

"Last year's grain disbursement from the Onseong granary: five thousand seok recorded. Only three thousand recovered. Where'd the other two thousand go? Ledgers say 'rat damage.' Must ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be tiger-sized rats in Onseong—devouring two thousand seok in a season."

Si-woo's voice dropped lower, intensifying the pressure.

"Clerk Yi Bang—and you, Choi Du-sik, the local tyrant pulling his strings. Your clan controlled the clerks and erased over four thousand seok from the books in three years. And where'd it all go? Right here on this table. Every thread in your silk robe is the people's tears; every drop of that ginseng liquor is children's blood."

Si-woo hurled the ledgers at Choi Du-sik's chest. The thick stack knocked his gat hat flying to the floor. The hundred-year clan heir's arrogance lay pathetically toppled, his face twisting in shock and rage.

"Y-you little punk! Have you lost your mind? How dare you! Guards! Yi Bang! Drag this insolent bastard—"

As Choi Du-sik rose pointing furiously, Si-woo's eyes flashed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like frostbite.

"Shut your mouth!"

Si-woo suddenly kicked the lavish table. Crash! Plates shattered, greasy meats splattered, precious abalone shells exploded into shards. Pricy Pyongyang liquor bottles smashed, soaking Choi Du-sik's fine silk in yellow stains. The booze stench permeated the air.

The delicate gayageum strings snapped silent amid the courtesans' screams. Clerks hiding behind the screen bolted out in panic.

Si-woo trampled the wreckage, advancing step by step. He seized the collar of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the terrified, stumbling Choi Du-sik. The grip of an eighteen-year-old shouldn't have held such power.

"This your 'law of Onseong'?"

Si-woo yanked Choi Du-sik's face close, then clamped his other hand precisely between the man's shoulder joint and collarbone. Crack! A dull, grotesque snap echoed from the shoulder.

Choi Du-sik's eyes bulged; a choked gurgle escaped instead of a scream. Si-woo impassively tightened his fingers.

"Aaaagh! M-my shoulder...!"

"No screaming. For every seok you erased from the ledgers, I could dislocate another joint and still fall short."

Si-woo whispered low in his ear. Each grind of bone made Choi Du-sik tremble in agony he'd never known.

"Don't delude yourself, Choi Du-sik. Do I look like some frail Hanyang scholar? These hands hold your clan's full accounts—and the power to snap your neck. If you're Onseong's law, then I'm the enforcer rewriting it."

Si-woo flung the shoulder away. Choi Du-sik clutched it, rolling on the floor. The sly dislocation stabbed like a knife with every twitch.

"Y-you mad bastard! Who the hell do you think you are, touching me! Guards! Drag him out and smash his legs! Magistrate or not, bury him in Onseong dirt! Tonight, I'll rip that smug tongue out and feed it to northern dogs! Time to taste Hanyang blood!"

Before his frenzied roar ended, men burst through the door from the hallway—Choi Du-sik's personal guards, backed by Onseong's notorious thugs. Seven brutes filled the narrow room, clubs and daggers in hand.

"Magistrate, should've just drunk and left nicely. Hanyang brats can't tell heads from tails."

The lead giant spat, slinging his club over his shoulder. Seven grown men encircled the slender eighteen-year-old magistrate. It looked like a brutal end.

Courtesans huddled in corners clutching skirts; Choi Du-sik gripped a shattered bottle, glaring beast-like.

But Si-woo stayed calm. Bored, even. He meticulously rolled up his official robe's sleeves.

Si-woo tilted his head toward Choi Du-sik.

"Choi Du-sik, I've already read your numbers and formations. No gaps for you to exploit. Kneel now, confess the stolen grain's whereabouts, and I'll spare your limbs. Flogging? Or begging for your life?"

"Shut that filthy mouth! Beat him! Kill him now!"

The giant lunged first, club whistling. But Si-woo was already gone—slipping past by a paper's width, driving a straight punch into the man's solar plexus. Thud!

"Guhk...!" Air exploded from the giant's lungs; he flipped eyes back and collapsed.

Si-woo snatched the wrist of a dagger-wielding thug, twisting it backward in a flash. Snap!

"Aaaagh! My hand—my wrist!"

Si-woo shoved the screaming man aside, elbow-smashing the next one's face. Nose cartilage crunched; head snapped back.

No hesitation, no wasted motion. Joints popped with a touch; giants flew like leaves from a kick.

Two more swung clubs; Si-woo dropped low, sweeping between their legs. He ankle-kicked one into the floor, then sprang up, ridge-hand striking the other's jaw. Eyes rolled; the man spun midair and crashed.

The room filled with groans and screams. Si-woo's shadow loomed over crawling thugs—no mercy.

"Debts must be paid. Time for you to settle up."

Si-woo snatched a broken table leg, whipping it like a flail. Crack! Crack! Two strikes pulverized fleeing men's collarbones and knees. They writhed wordlessly.

A blink. Seven brutes stained the floor with blood and filth, moaning. Si-woo's blue robe spotless, hair unmussed.

Eerie silence returned. Choi Du-sik dropped his shard; it clattered louder than his heartbeat.

Si-woo stepped over bodies, stopping at the writhing man's face. Choi Du-sik shook, lost between pain and horror.

Si-woo's toe nudged his chin up.

"P-please... Magistrate... I was wrong..."

"Words won't pay. Only actions."

Si-woo pressed his foot on the dislocated shoulder.

"Gaaah!"

"Quiet. Remember this pain. If tomorrow's ledgers you bring have one false coin, it won't end at dislocations. Your clan's century of power will choke you like a noose."

Si-woo's eyes held no anger, no thrill—just a man done with his duty.

Choi Du-sik met that gaze and knew: this boy would kill without hesitation.

Si-woo strode past the crawling wretch like trash, exiting Chwiwolru. Night wind brushed his pale cheek.

He inhaled deeply, lowering his sleeves.

The wind's cold.

The same hour, at Kim Gwi-ju's mansion in Hanyang.

Choi Dal-pyeong knelt, proffering a letter.

"My lord, urgent news from Hamgyong. From Governor Kim San."

Kim Gwi-ju unfolded it, eyes scanning swiftly. He held it to the candle; paper crackled and burned, filling the chamber with acrid smoke.

"He dodged the Gangwon trails?"

"Yes, my lord. As if he'd anticipated it completely."

Kim Gwi-ju's eyes narrowed.

"Now he's officially the royal appointee in Onseong. Tricky to touch him."

Choi Dal-pyeong ventured carefully, "If direct action's hard, my lord... handle it inside Onseong. Choi Du-sik's still strong there, isn't he?"

Kim Gwi-ju stared into the night beyond the window. A cold smile curled his lips.

"The boy's walked into the tiger's den himself. Let the cave take care of it."