This Had to Be Stopped
This had to be stopped.
"Agh, it's so cold—my toes are gonna freeze solid at this rate."
With Joo Seonghwan's character Beomho delivering his opening line signaling the start of filming.
"Time to get moving."
"I'll set this land's justice right again!"
The actors dove into their roles as if they'd been waiting for this moment. In the biting chill of winter, the common folk huddled together, gripped their tools as weapons, and rose up. They'd become traitors, resolved to uproot the corruption plaguing the land. These were people who could barely scrape by day to day, squeezed dry by exploitation, the tyrants stuffing their own bellies with the spoils. How could rage not boil over?
Thud, thud.
The furious mob marched toward Jeonnam to gather more strength, to sow chaos from the very bottom. Leading the masses along a narrow mountain path—they couldn't strut down the main roads, after all. As they advanced single-file down the only clear path.
"...Maggots swarming, reeking of rot."
They halted at the words from a boy appearing from the opposite direction. The camera zoomed out with a whine, capturing the scene.
Over a hundred peasants gripped their farm tools, faces twisted in anger. In stark contrast, the boy who spoke so calmly was dressed simply. A pristine white robe evoking the cold winter, a razor-sharp sword at his side. A bow slung across his back suggested he was a hunter. Though the outfit didn't quite fit a hunter's life. If you judged by the weapons alone, maybe.
"...I have no intention of harming children. Step aside."
No matter their armament, Beomho paid it no mind. He was in a hurry to press on.
"Your insolence offends me, whelp."
"Not even ten yet, and already blind to reason."
Beomho drew his sword in threat. Originally a butcher's blade for slaughtering beasts.
Shing.
Now transformed into a traitor's sword piercing the heavens, it gleamed.
"I'll say it once more: step aside."
It was a narrow path where even one person refusing to yield would block the way. Midway up the slope, the only flat ground. No going around above or below.
"You can at least grasp that much."
Either retreat and flee, or advance and fight. Naturally, the sensible choice was the former. And Beomho believed the boy before him would pick it.
"I'd heard riffraff like you were plotting something, but I never imagined this scale."
Everyone hesitated at the boy's—Lee Taeseong's—words. His unshaken demeanor despite the numerical disadvantage, the natural grip on his reins. It was unmistakably a stance ready for battle.
"Catch one brat and kill him, and the whole swarm buzzes. What's so cute about candy-fed whelps that you all yap like that?"
His calm words laid bare their motives. And in that instant, as if on cue.
"That guy! It's him! He's the one—the princess's wastrel!"
An extra burst from behind Beomho, pointing at Lee Taeseong.
The princess's wastrel.
At those words, Beomho looked at Lee Taeseong anew. A familiar name. The princess was still far off, so he'd put off meeting her indefinitely. To encounter him here, of all places.
A name that must die.
As Beomho thought that.
Thwack!
In the blink of an eye, an arrow flew, "Gahk!" piercing the heart of the pointing extra.
Of course, it wasn't really shot. Too dangerous—they used a cutaway directing technique.
But eventually, the arrow has to fly.
Beomho's gaze instinctively shifted to where Lee Taeseong's arrow had landed. There, dead center in a tree trunk, the arrow protruded.
In that moment, in Beomho—no, Joo Seonghwan's—mind, a past conversation replayed.
—Think of it as at least double what you saw at the script reading.
—Double from that, sir?
Honestly, he'd thought it was a lie. Just hype for a favored actor. But it wasn't.
An actor... right?
Kim Donghu, fully immersed as Lee Taeseong, was terror incarnate. As if the bowstring were a signal flare for war.
The sword-wielding Lee Taeseong advanced slowly. Gulping.
Clearly holding a fake sword. Yet it looked like a blade that could fell dozens. Why? Even with over a hundred comrades at their backs, the future painted one man overwhelming them all.
"I wanted to savor this slowly, but you're ruining the mood."
No matter what, he couldn't tolerate lowly scum crossing the line. With those words, Lee Taeseong charged.
It seemed like a frenzied beast driven by instinct. But beneath lay meticulous calculation.
A narrow path allowing only three abreast at most. Fighting here? Forget three—even one could barely maneuver. Numbers meant nothing; it was pure 1:1. And in such terrain, the larger group was at a disadvantage. Crowds moved sluggishly.
"You've cost me my candy and my firewood labor. Time to pay up."
Slash!
The chilling swordplay began. Even an angry mob—whose fights amounted to brawls—couldn't compare. A heaven-sent predator dove into their midst, blade in hand.
"Kaaaaagh!"
"Mercy! My arm, my aaaarm!"
A wolf among sheep.
"Scatter! The slope's gentle enough—head downhill, doesn't matter! Run!"
Beomho realized instantly and ordered retreat. Laughable to be dispersed by one man, but no choice.
"You bastard! Stop tormenting the weak and face me!"
Beomho desperately chased Lee Taeseong's back, demanding a fair fight. But Lee ignored him, methodically carving through the flanks. Using his long blade to secure distance, avoiding the strong, minimizing engagement time.
Lee Taeseong's sword danced like a living thing. The extras fell into a trance at its otherworldly motion.
Is... is this guy actually gonna kill us?
Terrifying. That savage expression, grinning as he sliced through flesh. The pristine white robe, untouched by fake blood despite the flashy moves. Fear filled their minds.
Not even a proper many-vs-one—it was utter domination.
"...With such peerless skill, how can you waste it on this?!"
Just as Lee Taeseong's blade swung for another peasant's neck. He paused at Beomho's cry, staring silently. For about three seconds, wordless. His robe fluttered in the wind.
"Peerless skill? I even showed you my personal national sword style... and that's all you can say?"
Lee Taeseong's disappointment showed.
Slash!
He severed the peasant's head. The camera captured it all. The escapees vanished into the unknown; those who couldn't flee were slaughtered. Over a hundred gone in absurdly quick time.
Lee Taeseong mocked Beomho's state, echoing his earlier line.
"Step aside."
Same dialogue, same situation, different speaker. Just swapping roles.
"...I'll never forget this day."
Utterly different outcome. Worst-case scenario: Beomho chose flight. He hurled himself downhill.
Lee Taeseong watched, "How pathetically you live." Then loosed arrows in barrage.
Thunk!
Leaving the sound of an arrow striking something behind, Lee Taeseong resumed his stride. Nothing blocked his path now.
"Cuuuuut!"
The director's call ending the take echoed across the set.
"...What the hell did we just witness?"
"He even trained swordsmanship, right?"
"Now I get why the martial arts director was raving and said there's nothing left to teach."
The staff poured out their reactions, heaping praise on Kim Donghu. It was acting, yet utterly convincing. No matter how many times they watched, awe followed.
Truth be told, the director was the most shocked.
Too... too perfect.
He'd always wished for that exact Lee Taeseong. And now, the one in his head had leaped out, swinging a sword.
But Yoon Seongbin spotted a problem.
Isn't he... too cool?
Strictly speaking, Lee Taeseong was the villain. The bud of corruption, the evil the peasants must slay.
Yet he shone too dazzlingly. Risking the audience rooting for the wrong side.
I added extra villainous scenes on purpose...
Even that felt insufficient.
If people start cheering for Lee Taeseong—no, Kim Donghu—we're in trouble.
The man meant to embody poetic justice getting public support? From one actor alone?
No way that'll happen.
Yoon Seongbin shook his head. Overthinking it.
Mid-December.
As Christmas drew near.
Promises to hang out on Christmas evaporated one by one.
Politely turning them down one after another, each laced with regret.
Ding!
Then, out of nowhere, a future message arrived.
"What?"
It read:
[Ryu Jaerin attacked by stalker, injured. Future activities expected to be difficult.]
Unthinkable content.
Stalker? What stalker?
As that thought crossed his mind.
It hit him late.
Oh, right.
That incident that once rocked Korea. The tragic event that became Ryu Jaerin's biggest obstacle to success.
It was this year?
This had to be stopped.