During the three years of Ah-shin’s absence from the capital, chaos erupted, leaving the imperial court in turmoil.

The third prince, who would later become the late Emperor, murdered the crown prince—the rightful heir—and seized the throne for himself.

Had Ah-shin been present, such an outrage would never have occurred. However, in his absence, the other siblings either supported the third prince’s actions or chose to remain silent, thus becoming complicit in the betrayal.

The Third Prince seized the throne by force and declared himself Emperor. To secure his position, he purged all loyalists to the Crown Prince, branding them traitors and wiping out any remaining opposition to his rule.

Ah-shin had heard about the upheaval in the capital but remained steadfast in his decision to stay at the imperial tomb until the full three years of mourning were complete. True to his word, he returned to the capital exactly three years later and confronted his third brother, who was now Emperor.

By then, it was too late. Most of the loyalists had already been executed, and his eldest brother—the rightful crown prince—was long dead.

But it wasn’t the loss of his older brother or the Loyalist purge that enraged Ah-shin the most. What really ignited his rage was the discovery that several military officials with whom he had formed strong bonds before leaving for the Tomb had also been killed. Among them were people Ah-shin had genuinely cared for and respected. Their loss was a blow he could not forgive.

“You wretched scoundrel—!”

Ah-shin had shouted these words, standing resolutely in the Emperor’s path as he returned from a hunting expedition. His fiery gaze was fixed on his brother as he sat on his horse, and his voice roared with unbridled fury.

The force of Ah-shin’s thunderous voice startled the Emperor’s horse, causing it to recoil and buck violently. Unable to maintain control, the Emperor was thrown to the ground, his neck snapping on impact.

Even as the Emperor lay lifeless before them, not a single soldier or official dared to step forward. Such was the fear that Ah-shin inspired, his presence silencing all who witnessed the scene.

Thus, the Emperor met an abrupt and ignoble end, leaving his three-year-old son to ascend the throne as the new Emperor—a child ruler.

In the aftermath, the surviving brothers urged Ah-shin to claim the throne for himself. However, Ah-shin had no interest in becoming Emperor. Instead, it was agreed that the ten remaining Imperial uncles would serve as regents, ruling the Empire together until the young Emperor came of age.

None of the uncles were truly loyal to the boy Emperor. Each one waited like a predator stalking its prey, watching for any opportunity—be it an accident, illness, or other misfortune—to eliminate the child and seize the throne for themselves.

The only reason they hadn’t dared to act was Ah-shin. While Ah-shin felt no particular affection for the young Emperor, he bore no ill will toward him either. The only person Ah-shin couldn’t forgive was the late Emperor, who had murdered their eldest brother.

Still, Ah-shin honored his father’s dying wish: “Do not harm your own blood.” After all, he hadn’t directly caused the late Emperor’s death. All he had done was frighten him—enough that the man’s fate had been sealed by his own misstep.

Whether Ah-shin ever planned to return to the capital remained a mystery, even to Woo-gong. Would anyone ever uncover Ah-shin’s true intentions? Most likely not. That knowledge was buried deep within Ah-shin himself.

“Everything’s a mess. Absolutely everything.”

Woo-gong muttered under his breath, rolling up his sleeves as he strode into the governor’s residence in Gangseo Province.

***

Gangseo, Myeongbuk, and Unhan had originally been separate provinces, each with its own governor. Now, however, all three were under Ah-shin’s control.

In truth, Ah-shin had no interest in governing such an unnecessarily vast region. It was the young Emperor who had insisted, declaring, “It’s unthinkable for my uncle to govern only a single province.”

Thus, the three provinces were entrusted to him.

“What a pointless gesture.”

Ah-shin muttered, a small chuckle escaping him as he rode his horse. The young emperor had a habit of making unnecessary gestures, probably in the mistaken belief that such actions would win Ah-shin’s favour.

Ah-shin felt no affection for his nephew—just as he felt none for his other brothers. The last traces of familial sentiment had died with his father.

There were countless rumors about why Ah-shin had left the capital for such a distant region, but the truth was simple: he found everything tiresome.

The Emperor, constantly seeking his approval and bothering him with trivial matters, was an irritant. His brothers, who secretly coveted the throne but feared Ah-shin too much to act openly, were just as bothersome. Some tried to discern his intentions, while others sought to win him over as an ally.

It was all too tedious, so Ah-shin abandoned it, leaving the chaos behind to settle in the provinces.

Ah-shin had felt that if they continued to provoke him, he might lose control—abandon his father’s dying wish, cast aside all restraint, and kill every last one of them. Rather than risk such an outcome, he chose to walk away.

He had always been this way, ever since birth.

Even his own mother had feared him.

“I don’t know what I’ve given birth to.”

He had once overheard her speaking to a maid, her voice heavy with lament, as if she were mourning her own misfortune.

That memory remained vivid in Ah-shin’s mind.

His father, however, had been the only one to truly accept him, treating him as a genuine son despite his mother’s fear. In fact, his father seemed to favor him even more because of his extraordinary size and strength.

“If you had been the eldest, I would have made you Emperor.”

Yet Ah-shin had never desired the throne. He held no ambition for power, but he could not tolerate open disrespect or criticism. Perhaps this unyielding pride was rooted in the pain of being rejected by his own mother.

“Whoa! Whoa!”

The lead escort suddenly pulled hard on his reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt stop.

As the three riders made their way along the winding mountain path, a tiger, massive enough to rival the size of a house, appeared in their path.

“Governor!”

The lead escort called out, drawing his sword and positioning himself to block the way.

Though Ah-shin had heard countless rumors about tigers roaming Gangseo’s mountains, this was the first time even he had encountered one of such immense size.

Ah-shin, however, was unfazed. He relished tiger hunting, and now, standing before him, was the largest tiger he had ever seen.

“Yes, this is worthy.”

Though this trip was intended to take him to Myeongbuk Province for official reports, encountering a tiger along the way felt like a sign of good fortune to Ah-shin.

“Put away your sword and step back.”

The escort, who had drawn his weapon, quickly obeyed, retreating without hesitation. He understood all too well that Ah-shin wouldn’t let such a rare hunting opportunity slip by—and that interfering now would only put his own life in danger.