Chapter Text
“Such a shame,” a tall male Jin muttered. The man was clad in the green and black armour of the Wind Empire. On his shoulders, rather than proper pauldrons, was shaped as two great Sabertooth tigers. At his feet knelt a black-haired woman. Hwang Bo-Seok took a deep breath and sighted.
“I thought you would be different. You think you can join our ranks with this sloppy work?”
The woman known as Kang Mirae could barely breathe with her head nearly touching the ground, and Hwang Bo-Seok’s sword at her throat. For a second, the Kun felt she was back in the Great Desert, with sand in her mouth and blood on her knuckles.
“Sir, I am in search of… I have been investigating a clue. Please—”
“A clue?” Hwang Bo-Seok interrupted, fiddling with the sheath of his sword. “Shouldn’t you have found it before I arrived?” The woman raised her head, and the sword followed.
“Give me more time, and I’ll—"
“Enough! I have given you plenty of time. The Windguard is not for the likes of you.” Mirae bowed her head even lower, slower this time. She breathed in the summer air and swallowed what little she managed.
“A chance, then. Give me another chance, and I will find the tribute.”
Hwang Bo-Seok became quiet, his face stern. For a second, he looked he as though might cut her down where she knelt. He withdrew the blade. “A chance? Very well. If you succeed, I’ll reconsider you. But if you do not, there is no place for you among us.” His attentions turned elsewhere, barking commands at nearby Windgards and subordinates, orders Mirae did not have the strength to comprehend. Yet he did not tell her to rise, did not even sheathe his sword. And so, she did not move. After having crossed half the farmlands in a matter of hours, every cell in her body screamed, and her limbs were throbbing from the beating she had both given and received earlier. She could feel her stomach turn, and her brow become sweatier by the second, in horror of what might come next. Her throat was dry, and it became hard to breathe, so Mirae bit hard down on her tongue in order to suppress the urge to screech. Hwang Bo-Seok did not allow weakness in his troops, and if she failed here the road to the palace would be forever closed. Any longer and it all might come up. Even Mushin were never this cruel with his lectures, she thought. She tasted iron.
“Get up.” Hwang Bo-Seok scowled. Mirae staggered to her feet. “You want to prove yourself? Fine. Gongchil!” A thin, blond boy ran over to where the officer stood, the rifle in his arms barely smaller than himself. She took it. All over the Tenant Village square, civilians were quietly muttering amongst themselves, but took no action which might earn any repercussions. The Windguard had already made enough of a spectacle when they’d put the Mayor’s house under lockdown, arrested Lee Maegun and his family, and forced everyone out of their homes to bear witness to his summarily trial. A handful of peasants were on their knees before the masses, bound hands and feet. Labourers who’d either refused to pay the tax or had taken their Mayor in defence. The very same mayor was now being led shackled out of his home and brought before Hwang Bo-Seok. Mirae had seen the man only once before, but now the man looked sickly. Lee Maegun’s skin was unusually pale, and his hair –although he never had much to begin with— looked duller and flatter than when she saw him last. For a man of roughly sixty, he looked far older. Even the silk garbs of a noble had been stripped from him and had been replaced with the white and grey robes of a prisoner or slave of the Empire. In addition, the blue and yellow bruising’s on his face and neck did not exactly omit an aura of nobility.
Hwang Bo-Seok made a vague gesture, and Mirae approached the mayor. He began talking before she’d even said a word. “P-please. I do not know anything. It’s… everything, a-all of is a lie.” Mirae lowered the gun slightly, “Where did you hide the rice?” You believe they say about me!? This, this slander? This is a conspiracy made by those who seek to oust me from my position as mayor! The victim here is me; I am the one who is being framed.” She ignored him and repeated the question. “T-this is a mistake, you’ve got it all it all wrong. How woul— how would I dare do anything to the tribute…” Even with her back turned, Mirae could feel the seething rage coming from Officer Hwang. He plunged his sword into the ground. She bowed her head and backed away. “Fine,” Hwang Bo-Seok remarked. “If that is how it’s going to be, I’ll keep killing villagers until you tell me.” Three Windguards quickly selected three insurgents and brought them forward, untied them, and shoved them to their knees again. Jin, all of them; an elderly and a middle-aged man, and an old woman. Kang Mirae loaded the gun and took aim.
It had been over before it even started: a bullet to the head, and the prisoners all stumbled lifeless to the ground. The mayor was sobbing, and several villagers were quietly weeping. No action was made to remove the corpses, so blood and waste kept flowing through the village square. In the midday sun, the stench of it all grew by the minute. Mirae stepped away from the bodies and strode towards Lee Maegun, intending to continue the questioning, but Hwang waved her away. The boy known as Gongchil came to her side and took the rifle out of her arms. Before Mirae even realised what had happened, he’d emptied it for bullets. “Now,” Hwang Bo-Seok said, “Where is the rice?” Between all the sobbing, the man was barely able to complete a sentence. “I don… I don’t k-know.” The commander became silent. His sword hand clutched the hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white; with the other hand he shoved a fistful of dark-brown hair out of his face. A second after, his rage had passed, and he regained himself. “Bring me his family.” Lee Maegun only stood there, shaking and dumbstruck, while his former escorts went back into the house. Even now, no movement were made from the crowds of labourers, peasants, and slaves. Many whispered in-between themselves, others wept, but no one made any active attempts at retaliation. A few seconds afterwards, a woman around the mayors age, and a boy of roughly fourteen were being led out of the building by a pair of rigid Windguards.
In the meantime, Gongchil had had the time to load another gun, and offered it up to the commander, who had already sheathed his sword. He took it promptly, and the woman and the boy were pushed to their knees. “Commander,” Lee Maegun shouted, and threw himself at Hwang Bo-Seok’s feet, grasping frantically at the edge of his armour. “The rice…” he sobbed, “is inside, in a chamber behind one of the shelfs.” He took a rough, hewed breath, as he still clung to the other mans’ leg. “Spare me my life. A-All I wanted was a better life… for my family and for my son… yes, most of all my son.” Lee Maegun raised his head. “The tax, it… Too much. It was too much.” The gun fell to the ground. Hwang Bo-Seok drew his sword, and with one fluid motion slit his throat.
The cool of the guardhouse was a welcome change from the now burning sun outdoors, but the thick smell of dried blood and vomit made it equally unpleasant.
The would-be-windguard’s sword lay discarded on a table nearby, not too far away from where she had broken herself. In its place, she had picked up prayer beads and wrapped it loosely around her wrist. The woman gazed lazily at her the table, surveying a tiny note she had found hidden laying within the folds of her robes earlier on the morrow. She had no knowledge of how it had gotten there, or even when it came into her possession; the only means of identifying its sender was a tiny sigil of a black scorpion. By all accords it had said enough, but the warrior had always dreaded Yuran’s instructions, no matter how small they may be. She’d skimmed over it briefly before reporting to Hwang Bo-Seok, and even that made her feel sick. The Kun turned her eyes away from the note and returned her attentions to scrubbing blood off her breaches. She had already spent two rags cleaning her tunic, but no matter how much she rubbed, the red stains on it would not go away. Even pouring vinegar on the blood clots and scrubbing it in in the fabric had done nothing. The tunic reeked, of blood and sweat both; her last resort would be to drench it in vinegar entirely and let it rest. If that did not save it, she’d give it to some peasant or burn it. The last Hongmun student had no issue wandering about in bindings, but it made for ill fighting attire. Summer in the Lush Farmlands were more humid than down south, but were cursed with harsher winds and more annoying wildlife.
It seemed she had more luck with the breaches than the tunic. The blood had taken longer to dry, the darker colour it bore at least gave the semblance of cleanliness as she scrubbed the blood away, nor did it smell half as bad. Sighting, the warrior leaned back in her chair. The tiny piece of paper laid tauntingly, half-open in front of her. One could nearly smell Yuran off it. She picked it up.
Kang Mirae, is it? A sound choice, I suppose, with all the fuss you made in Suwol Plains. You have, after all, become quite famous. In truth, I was rather hurt when I heard you had taken a second name and not told me, but I won’t hold it against you. I will contact you when the time is right, so for now just be a faithful lapdog for the Commander Hwang. Both myself and Lord Mushin has such great hopes for you.
Well then, let us hope your future will be as beautiful as your new name.
For a second, Mirae thought the demon mad, stating her newfound name so carelessly, but she had not the time to ponder on it for long. Had it not been for a creaking in the door, she would not have heard somebody enter. The intruder swept through the floor without making as much as a sound. The Kun averted her eyes from the paper, crushed it in her hand and stuffed it in her pocket, then quickly turned her gaze to the door.
He bore a sword, and from what little Mirae had seen of his skills had the ability to put it to good use, but he did not have the markings of a blademaster. The boy still donned the green Windguards’ armor, but instead of wearing the standard plate boots, she noticed the Jin rather opted to wear leather greaves. She tore her eyes away from his feet, and instead stared into wide, blue eyes, just barely shadowed by a large (and equally green) bamboo hat. Even now, Mirae was surprised at how young he looked. He can’t be much older than Yunhwa, she thought. The boy removed the hat and laid it on the table, just beside her sword. Blonde, almost white hair came into view.
“There you are,” Gongchil mumbled, before he noticed the smell. Then quickly he put his hand in front of his nose, muttering curses under his breath. With haste he strode over to the windows at the other side of the narrow guardhouse and opened them, letting fresh air sweep through the hall. He lingered a while, sticking his head out on the other side, cursing and spitting, before he moved back in again, leaving the windows as they were. After breathing in the fresh air he regained himself, and walked back to the table over the creaking wooden floor, his face slightly flushed from the chilly summer air. Picking up an apple from a basket that lay on the tableside, Gongchil tossed it back and forth in his hands until he took a bite, waddling about as if he was pondering what to say. Finally he settled, swallowed down the bite, grinned and spoke. “Are you that surprised?” Mirae only gave him a cold look. “Why? You saw what he did at the Harvest Overlook. Why would this be any different?” Mirae closed her eyes. She could still hear the sound of rope squeaking, as the carcasses swayed in the wind.
“There is a difference," she began, taking a deep breath, “between sheltering rebels, encouraging insurrection, and refusing to pay taxes. Punishing Lee Maegun was right and just, yes, but… how can you justify killing a man in front of his son?” Gongchil did not answer, just stared blankly at the bunk behind her, chewing at his apple. He then opened his mouth and then paused, struggling to find the right words. A short silence followed. “Our Commander doesn’t exactly… lack for reputation. You mean to say you did not know what you signed up for when you agreed to help supress that revolt?” He finally said, and took another bite of the apple. “I was under the impression that Hwang Bo-Seok’s… thoroughness was the reason you joined us in the first place? You don’t exactly look like a starving, coinless farmer.” Mirae glanced at the boy, still crunching on the fruit.
“Joining the military is just another way of fighting off the hunger.” She muttered, but her lies went ignored. All it earned her was a scoff.
“Face it,” he said, and threw the half-eaten apple back in the basket. “You’ve hit rock bottom. A warrior who wants to be the empire’s mutt. There’s no shame in that.” The boy adjusted his posture and straightened himself slightly. “Fighting off the hunger you say? You won’t get that, then?” He said cheekily, pointing to the half-eaten fruit. The pulp had already begun to turn brown. For a slight moment, Mirae looked at him with something akin to disgust, and a long silence followed. Being given no reply, Gongchil muttered something the Kun could not be bothered to hear and collected his hat.
“Why did you want to see me again?” Gongchil turned to face her again, his face slightly red with embarrassment. “Oh…they—” He pressed his hand to his forehead and let out a small chuckle. “We’re pelting disobeyers to set an example. Lee Maegun’s wife, son, and some others who refused to pay the tribute. I suspect the commander expects you to… attend. Get dressed as soon as you can, you won’t have time to change.” He put on his hat and made ready to leave, as Mirae got to her feet. As she grabbed a clean shirt from a nearby cabinet and pulled it over her shoulders, Gongchil interrupted.
“Oh right, the commander also said something about wanting to see you. And you should clean up before you go, quick as you can.” He said, gesturing to the corner filled with eject. “Saeshin be praised, you don’t want word of that going around. Next time, try to keep it a bit more under control, would you? Use a bucket, at least.” The Kun carelessly waved his concerns away as she buckled her straight sword to her hip, noting to herself she’d clean up the mess before nightfall. She had greater qualms about the the unrest of knowing there was a chance not only Yuran was spying on her. It uneased her, how the boy was always watching, observing. She’d heard Jin Hae mention Gongchil hadn’t seen the field for weeks prior to the insurgence at Tenant Outpost. Hwang Bo-Seok did not seem to favour anyone – maybe with the exception of his strategist, Byeon Sado – but these past few weeks, wherever the commander went Gongchil seemed to follow. She had asked before she realised it. Foolish, perhaps, she realised a bit too late, but he could not harm her either way. “You’re his second, aren’t you? The Commander’s.”
“Me? Oh no, I’m merely his lapdog.” he said with a laugh. “You’ve been with us for this long, and you don’t even know?” Mirae snorted.
“You think Hwang Bo-Seok tells me anything? All he says are where to go and who to kill, and still he won’t give me a Windguards’ armor. Schemer Byeon is just the same. I’ve barely had the time to even get to know your names.” She instinctively covered her sword-arm with her foot, then wiggled at the prayer beads at her wrist, just so it loosened enough to fall into her palm. She took a stern grip and clutched the beads tightly.
“Well then, from one lapdog to another,” her voice was thick, “Do you think… do you really think his methods will work?"
Reopening the city gates would not be the same as bringing peace to the Lush Farmlands, Mirae knew as much. The peasantry in the rural regions would still starve, so that the highborn in the capital may grow fat. Arresting So Yangsang and his pack meant even more would go hungry, no matter whether that was the intention or not, and when Ascending Cloud were finally brought to heel, nothing would change. More heads would adorn the capital’s walls with only insurgents to mourn them, and that would be that. When Kangryu City would at last reopen its gates, the stability of the region all depended on the Chancery, the Premier, and the Emperor. Word was Goon-Ma Yum hadn’t ruled over anyone since he was a general, and the members of the Chancery was unlike to lift a finger unless it filled their own pockets. Either way, the situation was beyond any mere warrior.
“I’m convinced of it," Gongchil answered. "The Emperor’s edict says the capital will remain closed until the Greenwoods are arrested and dealt with. It won’t be peaceful, but only the commander’s way can work. If it's getting into Kangryu you’re thinking of, don’t worry about it. So Yang Sang won’t live for long.”
Kang Mirae took a deep breath. Chun Jin Gwon had once asked her to show her resolve, and here she was, already faltering.
Show me. Show me you are ready to sever old ties and be reborn. Show me you are ready to thread the path of darkness for the sake of vengeance.
Corrupt chi still swelled inside her, but the last Hongmun student had not felt its touch for months. If not gone, the Scar of the Dark Flower was at least quenched, for now. Mushin had taught her much; she had much to be grateful for, and much to do.
With these three oaths, your life now belongs to me.
In many ways it was true. Her life no longer did belong to her – it had not done so for a long time. She’d pledged her body to Mushin once, and her soul to her master’s memory before that. She had long since forsaken a path to heaven, a quiet life and a peaceful death.
The woman known as Kang Mirae grabbed tightly around her sword and went to her newfound companion’s side.
“Good.”