Clan Council
While Mujin was in the middle of his lengthy apologies to Nari, five figures sat gathered around a long table. Wang Inho, seated at the very head, savored his tea for a moment before speaking.
"Since everyone seems to be here, let us begin the clan council."
"Clan Lord. There are still those who have not arrived. Is that acceptable?"
The Great Elder Wang Gohu, attending as representative of the Elder Council, glanced at the two empty seats as he spoke.
Moyong Hu, seated immediately to Wang Inho's left, frowned at the sight. The Azure Dragon and Black Tortoise Pavilion Masters, as members of the Four Gods Pavilions, were obligated to attend. If some unavoidable circumstance truly kept them away, they should at least have sent their vice-masters. Yet the seats sat entirely vacant.
Filthy scoundrels.
Swallowing his anger, Moyong Hu looked toward Wang Inho, worried that his lord's mood might have soured. But Wang Inho's expression was the very picture of calm.
"The Azure Dragon and Black Tortoise Pavilion Masters have been entrusted with a task, and for a time they will be unable to take part in the clan's affairs. So there is no need for anyone to work themselves up over it."
Wang Yeomsu, the Vermilion Bird Pavilion Master, radiated heat, and the muscles of Yi Uigang's arms bulged—until Wang Inho held them both in check.
"Clan Lord. Even so, to send not even a vice-master—do you understand how utterly unacceptable this is?"
It was Wang Yeomsu who spoke, a man famed for his habitual silence. Despite his imposing name, he was slender, with sharp, narrow eyes.
"I understand it well enough. But I have given them a matter too great to tolerate a breach of discipline over. Let this one pass, little brother."
"....."
At that, Wang Yeomsu shut his mouth again, a silent demonstration of his displeasure.
"Now then. Let the clan council begin. The task came down from the pavilion itself, so the vice-masters could hardly have come regardless. I will relay the contents of the meeting by letter afterward."
Everyone present was brimming with complaints, but with the Clan Lord having already called the meeting to order twice, no one had it in them to object a third time.
"The agenda of this meeting is Mujin."
The moment Wang Inho spoke Mujin's name, a heavy silence swept through the chamber.
Ever since Wang Inho declared his intent to make Mujin king, the boy's name had never been mentioned lightly. If Mujin truly did become king, every careless word spoken behind his back could one day return as a blade at their throats.
And so, unless the Clan Lord himself raised the subject, Mujin's name was never so much as uttered in any official setting. The same held true for Nari, who was all but Mujin's closest confidant. While the maids occasionally squabbled over hierarchy among themselves, Nari was always treated as the exception—a rank unto herself, beyond the rules entirely.
That was how much weight Mujin's name carried within the Wang Clan—as great as that of the Clan Lord, Wang Inho, himself.
Naturally, there were those who disliked Mujin. Moyong Hu had been one of them, and the pavilion masters of the Four Gods Pavilions followed close behind.
"Do not speak to me of plans to make the Young Lord a king. Never mind the qualities of a monarch—with that arrogance of his, it is uncertain whether he will ever become a proper adult at all."
Of them all, Wang Yeomsu's disdain for Mujin ran deepest. A royal who lacked even basic courtesy, whose arrogance pierced the very heavens—that, Wang Yeomsu believed, was a boy who could not, and must never, become king.
"He is still only eight. A royal's etiquette can be taught in time, and that arrogance will transform into confidence of its own accord."
"...What in the world are you—"
"I saw it. The makings of a king that the Young Lord possesses."
When Moyong Hu abruptly came to Mujin's defense, Wang Yeomsu could only stare in bewilderment. The man had opposed the plan to make Mujin king alongside the rest of them, and now he was reversing his position?
Could it be that Moyong Hu was trying to align himself with Mujin? Just as that thought took shape, Wang Inho spoke.
"That makes two of us who are curious. Is this related to the sparring match from a few days ago?"
"It is, Clan Lord. I am ashamed to admit it, but before that match, I too doubted the Young Lord's qualities."
When Moyong Hu went so far as to bow his head, everyone turned to regard him with disbelief.
Was this truly the same man who, only days ago, had insisted the Clan Lord needed to be persuaded—declaring that if he were given charge of Mujin's training, he would use the boy's failures as ammunition to argue his case before them all?
Moyong Hu himself seemed well aware of the contradiction, for even his ears had turned scarlet.
"Say no more of it. It only means the throne of this country of Goryeo carries that much weight."
"I am grateful for your leniency, Clan Lord."
"Mm. Go on, then. What was it you saw that made you sense such potential in the boy?"
And so Moyong Hu began recounting the events of the sparring match—to Wang Inho, and indeed to everyone gathered in the room.
Wang Yeomsu and Yi Uigang, who had initially listened with lukewarm disinterest, grew visibly paler with every word. By the time Moyong Hu finally finished, the council chamber had fallen into a dead silence.
"......"
CRASH!
Without warning, Yi Uigang raised his clenched fist and slammed it down upon the table. It was a grossly discourteous act, yet not a soul present reproached him for it.
"Moyong Hu...! The Clan Lord spoiled you, and it seems it blinded your eyes entirely! To dare lay hands on the Young Lord! Clan Lord! That man's head must come off—now!"
"I concur. If the Clan Lord is reluctant to take his life personally, I will gladly relieve that wretch of his head in his stead."
Even Wang Yeomsu, who had never thought well of Mujin, echoed Yi Uigang's fury. That alone spoke to the gravity of what they had heard.
"The White Tiger Pavilion stands ready to help cleave off that head alongside you. I believed the Young Lord unfit to inherit the throne, but I never once sought to deny his station as Young Lord. Yet against a mere child—and during a sparring match, no less, shamelessly unleashing his internal energy—this was nothing less than an assassination disguised as a bout!"
"The same goes for me. I oppose Mujin becoming king, but that does not erase his status as Young Lord. Royal Sword Brigade Commander Moyong Hu. You have today slandered the entire Wang Clan. Have you any final words?"
"......"
Moyong Hu could say nothing. He bowed his head deeply, for he knew better than anyone that his crime warranted far more than mere execution.
"Clan Lord. Might I be permitted to speak?"
At that, the Great Elder Wang Gohu raised his hand and called the two men to a halt.
"Speak, Great Elder."
"What are your thoughts on the matter, Clan Lord?"
"Hahaha."
Wang Inho could not help but laugh, for Wang Gohu knew him far too well. Any ordinary father, hearing that his son had nearly been killed by his own retainer, would have drawn his blade on the spot. Wang Inho, however, had merely observed—and that meant he had little personal interest in the matter of Moyong Hu's punishment.
"A fine question, Great Elder. How do I feel, you ask... Moyong Hu. What did you make of Mujin's talent for the martial arts?"
"With effort, he may become mediocre—or he may become a genius."
Mujin's talent blossomed the stronger the opponent he faced. The fact that Moyong Hu, after a single bout with Mujin, had been able to grasp this truth showed just how nakedly the boy's counter-affinity displayed itself.
"Interesting. And during the bout itself?"
"I venture to say he showed the greatest talent the Wang Clan has ever produced."
"Then that settles it. I have not yet decided what martial arts to teach Mujin, but you have made me look forward to it already."
Yi Uigang, who had been following the exchange, shot Wang Yeomsu a meaningful glance—a signal asking whether they could truly let Moyong Hu's transgression end without any punishment at all. Wang Yeomsu exhaled once, then spoke.
"I have long known that you lack a certain... humanity, my lord, but I believe this matter cannot simply be waved away. If the Young Lord's life being put in jeopardy ends with no action whatsoever, everyone will laugh and say the prestige of the Wang Clan has sunk into the dirt. You know that as well as I do, my lord."
"Heheh. It warms my heart to hear you call me 'my lord' again after so long."
"...Is that really what matters right now?"
While Wang Yeomsu wore an expression of sheer exasperation, Wang Inho laughed heartily—then cut the laughter off abruptly, his face snapping back into its usual impassivity.
"Moyong Hu is hereby stripped of his post as Royal Sword Brigade Commander for three years, and appointed Mujin's martial arts instructor. His assets, save for the bare essentials, are to be confiscated and returned after those three years. Any who object, raise your hands."
To state the conclusion plainly: no hand was raised. Wang Gohu's position was to follow the Clan Lord's word without question, and Wang Yeomsu, satisfied that a punishment—however symbolic—had been handed down, said nothing more.
Moyong Hu was one of the clan's principal fighting forces. Wang Inho's thinking was that rather than a harsh sentence, it would serve a greater purpose to instill in everyone the understanding that even a figure as important as Moyong Hu would be punished should he ever act against the clan's interests.
The one most dissatisfied with the sentence was Yi Uigang. A man who prized righteousness and loyalty above all else, he believed Moyong Hu ought to have lost at least one of his four limbs.
"I am grateful for your lenient and generous judgment, Clan Lord."
"Hearing you say that eases my mind considerably. Now then—we will leave this matter here and move on to the next item on the agenda."
Gaegyeong. Choe Chunghon's private residence—the Shibi-gak, the Ten Cross Pavilion.
Inside a hall vast enough to rival the royal palace itself, several dozen people had gathered.
Among them were armored warriors and immaculately dressed civil officials, young men and old men so aged their beards had gone snow-white.
What this motley assembly shared was twofold: not one of them dared sit, standing instead in the residence of Choe Chunghon; and every one of them had risen to office through his favor.
They looked for all the world like vassals waiting for their king to appear.
"Eunmun Sangguk. Might your servant, Grand Chancellor Yi Munseong, be permitted a word?"
Grand Chancellor was the highest office in all of Goryeo, and yet Yi Munseong lowered himself with painstaking care, without a trace of resentment.
"What is it."
A voice drifted out from beyond the door—a voice so heavy it seemed to press down upon the body itself.
A single word, and Yi Munseong felt his breath catch in his throat.
He knew Choe Chunghon would not harm him, but there was no mistaking the killing intent seeping from that voice.
Swallowing hard against that familiar sensation, Yi Munseong pressed on.
"The rabble who style themselves as royals have sealed off Byeokrando."
By Choe Chunghon's orders, the prime lands of Byeokrando had been surveyed, and preparations for their purchase were only just complete.
Yet somehow, not only the surveyed plots but every parcel on the outskirts had been withdrawn from sale entirely.
Not a single seller had come forward despite an offer of three times the market value—which could only mean the Wang Clan had caught wind of the scheme and moved to fortify itself.
Yi Munseong had gone on at length, but Choe Chunghon showed no reaction whatsoever. Only when beads of sweat began trailing down Yi Munseong's forehead as his report drew to a close did the man finally speak.
"Kukuk."
Choe Chunghon did not rage. He did not interrogate. He merely let out a short laugh.
And yet Yi Munseong and the assembled civil and military ministers felt a chill crawl down their spines. They remembered, all too well, that he always laughed like that on the eve of some great atrocity.
"E-Eunmun Sangguk. What are we to do?"
Those words had not come from Yi Munseong. The moment he realized it, gooseflesh broke out across the body of every minister in the hall.
Whoever spoke next would surely die.
"Who said that?"
"The Central Corps Commander, Han Sa—"
THUNK!
With that short sound, the man who had introduced himself as Central Corps Commander drew his last breath. A spear hurled from within the room had shattered his skull.
"I beg your pardon? My ears must be failing me—I did not quite catch that."
"....."
"Who is it?"
"....."
"Hm. Silence, is it? A man of few words, then."
Central Corps Commander was by no means a lowly post. Yet Choe Chunghon had killed him at a stroke.
The usual theatrics were absent—no trumped-up charge of treason, no interrogation on suspicion of embezzlement. He had simply thrown a spear, and it had simply punched through a skull.
The vacancy left behind? He showed not the slightest concern. This was a man who could drag any peasant off the street and seat him in the Central Corps Commander's chair by nightfall.
The civil officials diagnosed the scene thus: He has tightened his grip on a situation thrown into turmoil by the Wang Clan affair—and reminded everyone, once more, of exactly whose power rules this realm.
The military men read it differently.
The Central Corps Commander could have crossed blades with the finest warriors in the murim and held his own. Yet he had died without sensing even the faintest warning sign.
Such was the speed of the throw that the sound of the head bursting arrived before the sound of the spear tearing through the door.
At Choe Chunghon's might, the warriors shuddered. Can any human being truly do such a thing?!
Though their reactions differed, one emotion rose identically on every face in the hall.
Fear.
Before that overwhelming power, high and low alike could not hide their terror.
And yet amid it all, one man managed to conceal his fear and open his mouth: Grand Chancellor Yi Munseong.
"Through my own negligence, one who lacked permission dared to speak. I ask that I be punished in his stead."
As he spoke, bowing at the waist until his head hung low, sweat poured from Yi Munseong's body like rain.
Choe Chunghon answered as if in response to that outpouring.
"It is of no consequence."
"I am humbled by your magnanimity."
With those words, the air in the room loosened at last. The civil officials, who had been struggling to breathe, gasped for air, while the warriors, clinging to their particular brand of pride, quietly steadied their breathing.
In the meantime, Choe Chunghon appeared to have finished sorting through his thoughts, and spoke briefly.
"Leave the Wang Clan be for the time being."
"...Leave them be? Do you truly not see what manner of threat they may become, my lord?"
It bordered on insolence, but Yi Munseong spoke without filters. However fearsome Choe Chunghon might be, that last remark was absurd enough to make him forget it.
A cluster of royals living together just beyond the palace walls was nothing less than a standing invitation to usurpation—and he was being told to leave them alone?
As if to answer the question, Choe Chunghon added,
"The shadow draws near."
"What in the world is that supposed to—"
"Ask no further."
At that single utterance, Yi Munseong sealed his lips. Something about it rang a bell.
If Choe Chunghon had declined to elaborate, it could only be because far too many ears were gathered in this room.
Even as he marveled at Choe Chunghon's caution, Yi Munseong sighed inwardly.
Assassinations...!
He could feel it coming: before long, a storm of blood would sweep through Goryeo from within.
"Young Lord. You truly are sorry, aren't you?"
Nari and I were headed for the training grounds. The moment the clan council ended, Wang Inho had summoned me.
"Of course I am. From now on, I'll listen really well to everything you say."
I said I'd listen well. Nobody said anything about doing everything you tell me to.
I truly did intend to listen to Nari very carefully.
"You promise?"
Nari still didn't look convinced, regarding me with eyes full of suspicion. Rising to meet her, I kept assuring her with the most innocent expression I could muster.
And so, caught up in that strange battle of wills (?), we arrived at the training grounds before I knew it.
"There you are."
"......."
Wang Inho and Wang Yeomsu stood waiting for me, arms folded, on the training grounds.
Ugh.
Wang Inho alone was bad enough, and of all people it had to be Wang Yeomsu. My father's cousin, Wang Yeomsu, was famous for being rigid and conservative to the bone.
I'd been on the receiving end of his lectures more than a few times myself—mostly interminable sermons on clan discipline and proper etiquette.
As I racked my brain for a way to slip out of this, a brilliant idea struck me.
"Daddyyy~!!!"
I flung myself straight into Wang Inho's arms. A sweet, innocent child crying out for his daddy and running into his embrace. In a moment like this, who on earth would dare stop a child?
Well then. Just try and shake me off, why don't you?
SHINK!
A blade of sword qi carved a perfect line into the ground right in front of my feet, and I scrambled backward in a hurry.
"Now. Show me what you can do."
The one who had unleashed that sword qi was none other than Wang Inho.
"I will train you personally."
I see. So you could shake me off. Noted.