Fateful Day
The indoctrination of Hwang Bo-seol had been underway for just over a month when Hwang Bo-pyeong's condition suddenly took a dire turn. The physician attending him declared with bitter resignation that he wouldn't survive the night, and indeed, Hwang Bo-pyeong passed quietly before midnight. Perhaps it was a merciful death. He wouldn't have to witness the fate awaiting the family legacy he had built so proudly or his beloved daughter, Hwang Bo-seol.
The funeral proceedings began immediately. As the saying went, "three days of mourning, three years of bereavement"—Confucian scholars and officials, upon losing a father, would hold a three-day wake and then spend three years in mourning garb, forsaking their posts to guard the grave. That was the three-year bereavement. But the murim world openly rejected such excessive rituals. In a realm where death came all too frequently, who could afford three years of mourning each time? The Golden Dragon Battlefield, strictly speaking a murim organization, thus held only a three-day wake.
Considering the deceased's stature, however, mourners from across the land would flock in, so out of courtesy, they waited seven days after announcing the death before starting the three-day rites. And that consideration proved wise, as numerous prestigious figures from both the murim world and officialdom gathered to pay their respects.
Bang So-un, clad in mourning white, stood beside the chief mourner, Hwang Bo-seol, greeting the guests. More than a few eyed the much-rumored son-in-law of the Golden Dragon Battlefield with curiosity, but given the solemn atmosphere, they exchanged only perfunctory words.
Inwardly, Bang So-un prayed for Hwang Bo-pyeong's peace. 'Father-in-law, even if you learn the truth from the heavens, don't hold it against me too bitterly. Your daughter will become the principal wife of a murim hero beyond the Golden Dragon Battlefield's reach.'
Once the funeral ended, Hwang Bo-pyeong was laid to rest in an auspicious site backed by mountains and facing water, where yellow earth mingled with ancient pines. The epitaph boldly read: Tomb of Hwang Bo-pyeong, Third Lord of the Golden Dragon Battlefield.
Hwang Bo-seol buried her grief deep in her chest and prepared to ascend to the position of next lord. Her father wouldn't want her wasting time in sorrow. The quickest path to honoring him was to claim the lordship and lead the Battlefield to greater prosperity.
Tomorrow. At tomorrow's assembly, she would gather the vassals and formally proclaim herself the Fourth Lord.
Hwang Bo-seol's footsteps led to the now-empty assembly hall. For weighty matters beyond a single lord's decision, the trusted vassals like the chief steward gathered here for counsel. Tradition also dictated proclaiming one's ascension here.
Chairs lined both sides of the long rectangular table for the vassals, with the lord's grand seat at the center forefront.
Suddenly recalling her father seated there, issuing commands with commanding presence, Hwang Bo-seol felt a pang of melancholy. Her pale, slender fingers gently caressed the armrest.
Creak. The door opened behind her. Footsteps approached.
"Thinking of Father-in-law?"
It was Bang So-un's voice.
"Yes."
She replied without removing her hand from the seat. Silence followed, broken at last by Hwang Bo-seol.
"......In the end, you proved nothing until Father passed. To be honest, when I first saw you, I thought you were different from other men. I couldn't pinpoint why, but I felt it. So when you spoke vulgarly of intercourse to provoke me, it infuriated me all the more. Yet deep down, I trusted my initial judgment. That's why I chose you. I thought even half your arrogant claims would surpass other men. I was fully prepared to empower you if you proved worthy. But you intend to disappoint me to the end."
Ah, so that's how it was. Jang Il's measures hadn't been in vain. Her words implied that without that initial favorable impression, she wouldn't have selected him as her groom.
Bang So-un's expression grew solemn at her candid revelation. He'd misunderstood all along. She hadn't chosen him to crush his arrogance. She'd believed his abilities truly outshone the others.
Come to think of it, though their private meeting ended poorly and she gave him the silent treatment throughout the wedding period—stifling his frustration—she'd never shown him genuine malice. Just the sulkiness of a petulant child.
Yes, he'd sensed it at their first meeting. That she was as fine a woman as her beauty suggested. Living together only confirmed it. She showed respect even to the lowliest, worked harder than anyone, and led the Battlefield responsibly despite her father's illness.
Such a supreme woman would be fully his today.
A shiver raced down his spine.
"I'm grateful for your high regard. And sorry."
"Sorry for what? Disappointing me?"
Turning, Hwang Bo-seol met his gaze.
"I told you then. When the time came, I'd reveal my life's ambition. I'll honor that promise here. I intend to dominate the murim. And I'm sorry because I need this Golden Dragon Battlefield lordship for that goal. It's tantamount to stealing what was rightfully yours, so how could I not feel remorse?"
"What... what on earth... are you...?"
She stammered in disbelief. Dominate the murim? The lordship? She doubted her own ears.
"Remember this. A wife properly trained in decorum toward her husband."
As his words ended, excruciating pain stabbed her head. Wincing, she bit her lip hard. Any longer, and tears might have spilled.
But the agony vanished swiftly, leaving her mind refreshingly clear—like a cool, fragrant mountain breeze sweeping through.
Her thoughts sharpened as never before.
"......Madam, are you all right?"
"Ah, my lord. Yes, just a slight headache. It's gone now. Sorry to interrupt our talk over this lowly wife's folly."
Hwang Bo-seol beamed radiantly—a smile unseen save in her father's presence, reserved for true joy.
"I never imagined your pursuit was murim domination. Such a noble, lofty ambition! And needing the Golden Dragon lordship to achieve it—I'm thrilled to help... Ah!"
Her soft, yielding tone shifted abruptly as realization dawned. They were alone. Why had she only now noticed? Her shameful nakedness belonged solely to her lord; it must never be shown in others' presence. But alone, she must serve him with utmost wifely devotion.
"......Forgive me. This lowly wife is such an irredeemable fool."
Acknowledging her error with a quivering expression, she shed her white mourning robe. Blushing faintly, she removed her nipple piercings and undergarments, setting them aside. It was only proper. Her breasts, nipples, asshole, pussy, and every pubic hair were her lord's property.
She knelt, bowing her head deferentially. Kneeling was natural for one enslaved to her lord. She dared not meet his eyes irreverently. Enduring the shame, she spread her knees shoulder-width, exposing her pussy fully to his gaze. It was her most cherished possession; she must always display it prominently, in any posture.
"Enough. People err. Raise your head comfortably."
"......Thank you, my lord."
Gratitude surged, choking her. For him to so gently overlook the blunder of a base, subhuman slave like her—it was undeserved mercy.
Lifting her head slowly, she met his eyes and succumbed to the emotional torrent, tears streaming down.
"Why... cry, madam?"
Bang So-un asked, flustered.
"......Just... your loving gaze... on this lowly wife... snff... cherishing even me... it overwhelms me... snff......"
"......"
Her lord fell silent. Surely her sniveling had soured his mood. Wiping tears with her hand, she fought to compose herself. Calm down. Don't displease him.
He approached, then knelt before her, embracing tightly—crushing her breasts against him.
"Ah......"
She gasped in shock. His soft voice whispered in her ear.
"You truly are my beloved wife."
The dam burst. Hwang Bo-seol wailed openly, sobbing in his arms. He patted her back soothingly.
"Don't cry, don't cry. You needn't be so moved by every word. As your owner, it's my duty to cherish and protect my possession, isn't it?"
"......But... snff... but......"
Such words were unheard of. A wife was her husband's property—complaints unthinkable, no matter the harshness. Yet he vowed to cherish her.
Confused, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging with all her strength. Serving such a man was her life's greatest blessing. She resolved to serve and obey even more devotedly in gratitude.
Yes... I'll suppress these tears of joy as you wish, my lord. Keep the gratitude in my heart. You need a quick-witted servant wife, not a crybaby.
Her tears slowly subsided. She sniffled, nose reddened.
"Better now?"
"Yes...... I got carried away in emotion and shamed myself. Forgive me, my lord. It won't happen again."
"No matter. Redress yourself. This isn't a place for marital intimacy. Let's retire to our cozy chambers. Though it's daytime, I crave delighting in the clouds and rain with you."
Her cheeks flushed at his desire for union.
"Oh... time means nothing. This lowly wife's base pussy is ever ready for your noble cock. Truth be told, I've worried... even felt a bit neglected. Why, after so long wed, haven't you pierced my virginity? Is my pussy defective, unlike others'? I've agonized over it. But now... no more doubts. The day I receive your noble cock into my base pussy is here—like a dream, heehee."
Amid her bashful glow, joy at fulfilled longing shone through. Adorably lovable.
"Ahem, someone might enter while you dress. I'll wait outside. Take your time."
"Yes, my lord."
She replied with a fresh, dewy smile like morning mist.