“Who did you say has come?”

“Someone bearing an urgent secret letter from His Majesty.”

“A secret letter?”

Ah-shin repeated, his brow furrowing. A secret letter was a discreet missive, sent away from prying eyes. But what business would the Emperor have in sending him such a letter?

“Bring them in.”

He leaned back with a sigh, muttering under his breath.

“I came here to live quietly, and now, not even a month has passed, and there’s a secret letter?”

His frown deepened as an ominous feeling settled in his chest. This was bound to be troublesome.

“Nobody seems to live quietly these days.”

Why did people insist on leading noisy, chaotic lives? Would it really be so hard to just stay put and live peacefully?

The man claiming to have brought the Emperor’s secret letter looked visibly uneasy. His face was pale, his clothes dusty from days of hard riding without rest. The urgency of the matter was written all over him.

“This… you’re saying His Majesty sent this?”

Ah-shin asked, his tone sharp as he eyed the sealed letter.

The courier nodded silently.

Ah-shin unfolded the letter, his expression hardening as he read. His face twisted into a grim scowl. The contents of the letter, written in the Emperor’s own hand, were nothing short of alarming – a desperate plea for his life.

Twice poison had been found in the Emperor’s food and tea. The letter also revealed a terrible development: the palace well had been poisoned, resulting in the deaths of dozens of eunuchs and court maids.

Ah-shin’s grip on the letter tightened, the weight of its contents pressing down on him. The palace was a battlefield, and someone was clearly determined to take the Emperor’s life.

“This is undoubtedly a plot to kill me. Uncle, please, I beg you to return and protect this nephew of yours. I have no one else to rely on but you.”

The letter ended on that desperate note, its plea almost dripping with fear.

Ah-shin stared at the words, his frown deepening.

“That doesn’t sound like something he would write.”

The Emperor was only twelve years old – a shy child, neither particularly sharp nor cunning. Could he really have written such a letter on his own?

Ah-shin’s eyes narrowed as he examined the letter once more. The tone, the phrasing – it bore unmistakable signs of coercion, as if someone had forced the boy to write it.

Most telling of all, the Emperor had never relied on him before. Why now? Why this sudden request? The timing seemed off, and Ah-shin couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than the letter revealed.

The young Emperor, who fears me yet has never relied on me, sending such a letter… It’s clearly a ploy to draw me into a trap.

“How amusing.”

Whether this plot was the work of nobles manipulating the Emperor to seize power, or one of the Emperor’s siblings plotting to eliminate him and claim the throne, Ah-shin could not yet determine. The motives remained murky, but the intent was clear – someone was trying to destabilise the fragile balance of power.

He leaned back, letting out a low, humorless chuckle. Sometimes, when peace lasts too long, people start to believe it’s real.

‘Foolishness.’

If you close your eyes for a moment, weary of the chaos, those foolishly naive enough mistake it for true peace. They think the beast has fully fallen asleep and begin to act recklessly.

This was one of those times. And those fools were about to learn the cost of their mistake.

Having moved to Gangseo to live a quiet life, Ah-shin saw that certain people saw his departure as an opportunity. They thought his absence from the court meant they could move against him, their ambitions emboldened, their heads beginning to rise.

“They must have a death wish.”

For a month he had truly lived in peace. Hunting the occasional tiger, but refraining from staining his hands with blood. In fact, it struck him now – he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone this long without spilling human blood.

“I forgot for a moment, that sometimes you need to let them smell blood to remind them not to lose their minds.”

Without hesitation, Ah-shin tore the secret letter cleanly in two, the sound sharp and decisive in the stillness of the room.

“Prepare for my return to the capital, it won’t take long, so keep the preparations simple. I’ll only take a horse and a handful of men—three or four will suffice.”

He discarded the torn pieces of the letter with a flick of his wrist, then gestured to Ugong before turning to face the man who had delivered the message.

“You’ve committed no crime, after all.”

At another time, Ah-shin would have torn this man’s head from his body without a second thought. But today, he chose to show a rare sliver of patience, even mercy.

“You deserve death, but I will spare you. Know that this is because I am merciful.”

The word lingered in the air. Merciful. It was oddly satisfying to say, its sound soft and pleasing to his ears.

‘Yes. Being merciful is better than being cruel.’

Yul-hye preferred a merciful man, after all. Pretending to be one for her sake hadn’t been so bad lately. In fact, he realised with a touch of amusement, it might even be working.

Lately, Yul-hye had been smiling at him more often. And for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he found he liked it.

It was infuriating how she could speak with such sharp, cutting words, yet still smile so beautifully. Would it be too much to ask for her words to be as lovely as that smile?

“I’ll have to show mercy even when I return to the capital.”

Yes, even though his heart burned with the desire to return and make them all pay for their insolence, a man should be merciful. He would forgive, give second chances and show the world how magnanimous he could be.

There would still be blood, of course. After all, forgiveness and second chances are far more effective when they are preceded by the right kind of fear. Mercy, in its truest form, was a gift best given after a well-taught lesson.