The Empress was in her private garden, enjoying her newfound peaceful future with her son and father. The affairs of the royal palace had become a lot quieter now that her husband's inadequate children had finally been thrown out, allowing her to take a moment out of her day to have a meal with the Archduke and her son. Maids stood around the table, systematically refilling their cups and bringing out more dishes for them to enjoy.
Feeling generous today, the empress didn't bother addressing her attendants' shaking hands and anxiety ridden expressions. She'd been seeing more and more of this inadequate behavior from the palace servants lately. Maybe another day, she'll have them appropriately retrained to serve her properly, but that was for another time.
Taking a calming breath and letting the floral scent of the garden flow through her body, the empress glanced back at the newspaper in her clutches.
[Seoul Empire: New Duke]
Even during this tumultuous time in the empire's history, the Saintess has confirmed that she has indeed appointed a new Duke, but she did not reveal their identity or name. One can only imagine being handed such power during times like this, everyone is curious to see who this mystery man is exactly. But there's no doubt that if he was able to rise up even during these turbulent times, he must have a significant amount of power backing him. The big question is now if anyone will be able to get a peek at them at the upcoming royal banquet.
The Empress's eye's glinted with keen interest as she finished the article. Gently, she folded the paper and set it down on the ornate, wooden table in front of her. Delicately reaching to her teacup, she brought it to her lips, taking a sip of the fragrant, steaming liquid as she settled back into the plush cushions of her chair.
The Archduke, seated across from her, observed the Empress's change in demeanor. A hint of curiosity flickered in his eyes as he leaned forward slightly, studying her expression.
"It would seem that Her Majesty is quite pleased with the news she has just read," the Archduke remarked, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a subtle smile. "May I inquire as to what has brought such a delightful smile to your face, my dear?"
The Empress shifted her attention to her father, the Archduke, as a warm smile graced her features. Gently, she placed her teacup back down on the table before speaking.
"Yes, I am quite pleased, Your Grace," the Empress said, her voice soft yet carrying a hint of excitement. "I was most intrigued to read that there is a new Duke who has been appointed - and by Her Holiness the Saintess herself, no less."
The Empress paused for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as a thoughtful expression crossed her face. "Such an interesting development… He must be quite the character to have earned such an honor from her."
The Archduke nodded slowly, his own curiosity piqued by his daughter's reaction. "Indeed, it is most intriguing," he mused. "The identity of this new Duke is sure to be the talk of the royal court, I imagine. I suppose we must see if he'll honor us with royal presence in the upcoming event."
The two of them shared a knowing look before turning their attention to her son, who had been quietly listening as he nibbled on a piece of steak from his plate. Reaching out, the empress gently patted the young man's head, her expression warm and encouraging.
"That's why, Your Highness," the Empress said, her voice carefully emphasizing her next point, "you should take the opportunity to form connections with some of the nobles, you never know who will serve as an important ally down the road."
The Crown Prince looked up at his mother, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered her words. "Do you think it's wise to believe we should seek out this new duke, Mother?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.
The Empress nodded, her hand moving to cup the Crown Prince's cheek affectionately. "Indeed, my dear," she replied. "The appearance of a new Duke, appointed by the Saintess herself, is sure to be a topic of great interest among the nobility. If he is indeed useful, making his acquaintance will simply add another follower to our clan. If he is not, it is your job as the crown prince to carefully oversee his actions and make sure he stays in line. Such measures are needed if you want to gain insight into the world of nobility."
The Crown Prince's expression brightened with understanding, and he offered his mother a dutiful nod. "I shall heed your counsel, Mother," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "I shall make it a priority to seek out this new Duke."
The archduke nodded solemnly at his words, staring down his grandson with a serious look on his face, "This upcoming banquet will be the perfect opportunity for you to truly embrace your role as Crown Prince, you best not squander it if you want this nation to recognize you as its future leader. You have been sheltered from the affairs of the royal palace long enough." The older man said, not at all mincing his harsh words.
Giving her father a chastising look of disapproval, the Empress gently placed her hand atop the young man's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Now now, there's no need for such dark thoughts. After all, it will be your first birthday celebration as the proper heir to the throne. This is a momentous occasion that deserves to be marked with great fanfare and the attention of the nobility."
"Solidify your standing among the nobles, show them why you are worthy of being their future sovereign."
Leaning over the chair's arms, the empress placed a tender kiss on her son's forehead and added, "I have every faith that you will make me proud, my dear. This is your moment to shine."
The Crown Prince straightened his posture, the quiet uncertainty that the archduke had instilled in him fading away. "I won't disappoint you, Mother. I'll this banquet is a resounding success."
Not even a hint of doubt could be found in the mother's eyes as she gave her son a warm look, the corners of her eyes crinkling with pride.
"I'm sure you will..."
-----
What would've been a magnificent manor had been turned into a bloodbath. Marble floors and columns trimmed with golden linings that would've blinded onlookers with their sheen were instead splattered with crimson blood.
Bodies piled up throughout the corridor, the lifeless corpses of knights, maids, and other attendants thrown carelessly to the side as if attacked by a savage. Some were decapitated, their severed heads lying nearby. Others were missing limbs, their exposed flesh and organs scattered across the ground like fallen leaves during autumn. The unluckiest of victims had their bodies mangled beyond anything resembling a human body. The only testament to their last moments were the horrified expressions that remained on some of their faces.
The sheer carnage of the macabre scene was overwhelming.
A stench of death permeated through the air, suffocating everything with its scent. The blood still flowed out of some of the bodies. Whatever monster that had just caused this could still be traversing through the halls. The eyes of the victims were dulled over, their glassy surfaces reflecting nothing but the eerie dim light of the crimson moon which filtered in from the dirtied windows.
Walking through the blood-stained hallways the manor revealed no signs of life, a stark silence being the only steadfast companion when searching the halls.
Suddenly, the faint sound of muffled voices echoed from somewhere down the corridor, too far away to discern what was being said.
Going towards the source, the voices grew louder, the words became clearer.
"Did I mean anything to you?"
A man rasped out the words in agony, as if the very act of speaking was an unbearable pain. Desperation dripped from his tongue, begging its witnesses for compassion.
"Why aren't you able to look at me the same way you looked at him?"
Tentatively following the voice down the dimly lit hallway and turning the corner, a doorway was slightly ajar, bright warm light spilling from the sliver of its opening. Peering inside, a startling sight would greet any onlooker. There, in the center of the room, a man knelt on the floor, a sword pierced through the middle of his chest. Blood flowed down the tip of the sword where it emerged from his back, the same shade of crimson that painted the rest of the manor.
Looming over him were two figures – a woman and a man, their bodies intertwined closely as they held each other in their arms, eyes staring blankly down at the impaled man.
Ah.
A familiar story.
An unsatisfying ending.
A tragic character.
"Don't worry; even if you can't love me like how you love him. I'll still continue loving you in the afterlife, you're still my world..." Kim Dokja's voice was strained, his breath labored as he struggled to speak, his lungs filling with his own blood. His forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat in his effort to push past the pain. The reassuring smile he tried putting on morphed into a pained grimace.
Kim Dokja uttered his final words, his voice barely above a whisper.
"In every universe, I will always love you...."
His eyes closed, and his body went limp, sitting hunched over on the floor with the sword still protruding from his chest. Just like the corpses leading up to this room, all essence of life faded from his body as his eyes glazed over, dull and empty.
Before the other two onlookers' reactions could be seen, the surroundings began to shift and distort, pieces fragmenting and repeating themselves like a mirror collapsing in on itself.
Once-solid walls and floors began to warp and twist, the edges blurring and blending together. The figures of Joonghyuk and Seolhwa, who had been standing over the villain, now seemed to fade in and out of focus, their features becoming indistinct and ethereal.
The ground beneath shifted and undulated like a turbulent sea. The air itself seemed to thicken, as if transforming itself into something no mortal soul could exist in.
Amidst the chaotic collapse of the realm, a desperate plea cut through the disorienting haze.
"Give me another chance!"
The shifting, unstable nature of the surroundings made it impossible to pinpoint its origin.
But it seemed that this world had no sympathy for the cries of a soul that was already doomed, for it continued to warp and twist, the boundaries between reality and illusion blurring beyond recognition. Everything began to melt and reform, the very existence of the space becoming a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors.
Once more, pleading voices echoed through the collapsing world.
"I can't die like this!" the voice wailed, its anguish palpable.
"I'm begging you!"
"I don't want to die!"
"I'll change everything, please give me another chance!" the voice begged, its desperation reaching a crescendo.
Every word spoken only amplified the painful pounding sensation, as the disembodied voices assaulted the senses. The voice itself began to fracture and split upon itself, different cries layering one on top of the other into an incoherent mess.
But out of all the voices, there was one in that rang from the back, so quiet it could've easily been missed.
"No matter what happens, just let me go back!" the voice cried out, its determination shining like a beacon against all the other indistinguishable cries.
Surprisingly, a new voice, deep and authoritative, responded. It seemed like this was the only saving grace for the soul that had been rejected by its own realm, "Everything has a consequence, are you sure you want to go back?"
A pause.
The world continued to fold in on itself, but the other voices faded to the back and the fragmentation slowed by a fraction of a second, as if the world itself was waiting for an answer.
"… I understand, do what you must."
The gravity in the second voice's tone suggested a profound acceptance of the stakes at hand, a weight of responsibility that belied its otherworldly nature.
"Very well. You shall return, just as you wish, but your ◼️◼️◼️◼️ will be lost ," the voice declared, its words carrying a sense of finality.
With that, Dokja's eyes snapped open, and he found himself back in his familiar bedroom, the disorienting shifts and distortions still playing in the back of his eyes. While the painful pounding of his head quickly subsided, the lingering sense of unease that had gripped him remained, refusing to dissipate.
Swearing under his breath, Dokja frantically looked around, his eyes darting from one corner of the room to the next, as if searching for any remnants of the fragmented world that may be lingering. But the room was exactly as he remembered it, the comforting familiarity of his own space offering little solace in the wake of what he'd just experienced.
Dokja's hand instinctively moved to his chest, pressing the palm of his hand against the area where his heart lay. The slightly frantic, rhythmic beating he could feel beneath his ribcage was a reassuring reminder that he was, in fact, back in the real world, his physical form intact. Yet, the memory of the bloodied corridors and fractured voices continued to weigh heavily on his mind.
It had always been a bit unnerving, reading a novel that took such heinous joy in torturing a character with his likeness. But to see himself stabbed through the chest, to have Joonghyuk and Seolhwa looking at him like the scum of the earth…
Dokja's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the experience, his rational mind struggling to reconcile the surreal events with the familiar, tangible world around him. The contrast was jarring, leaving him feeling as if the very foundations of his reality had been called into question.
Dokja's body trembled as the vivid memory of Joonghyuk's face flashed through his mind. The intense glare, the dark aura that had surrounded the other man, it all came rushing back, sending a chill down Dokja's spine.
He remembered that feeling all too well – the pounding of his heart, the overwhelming sense of fear that had him in a chokehold him the first time he had tried to apologize to Joonghyuk, the sensations returning tenfold after the incident of Lee Seolhwa's poisoning. That piercing, unforgiving gaze had been enough to make Dokja's resolve crumble, leaving him paralyzed with trepidation.
Those days, the nightmares of his father's wrath and the disdainful sneers of his high school bullies were replaced with the feeling of Yoo Joonghyuk's hand around his neck, threatening to snap his spine as his dead eyes bore into Dokja's own. Until that point in his life Dokja had thought that he could no longer be fazed by the cruelty that the world constantly hurled at him, but how wrong he was.
Now, as he sat in the familiar confines of his own room, that same feeling of dread washed over him. Joonghyuk's face, twisted with a fury that Dokja had thought he was long past seeing, haunted his thoughts once more, the memory of the man's blade plunging into his own chest sending a shudder through his body.
As if he wasn't already having a troubling time, Dokja's brow furrowed as a sudden, troubling pain blossomed in his stomach, causing him to grit his teeth in discomfort. It wasn't an intense, debilitating pain, but rather a nagging, unsettling sensation that seemed to linger, like a persistent ache that refused to subside.
Frowning, Dokja tried to make sense of this unexpected discomfort, his mind racing as he attempted to pinpoint the cause. It was a sensation he had grown all too familiar with, a troubling undercurrent that seemed to accompany him every morning, like a constant, nagging reminder of something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Whatever the cause, Dokja knew he couldn't ignore it any longer. The pain was a persistent reminder that something was amiss, a subtle yet insistent call for him to address the underlying issues that were clearly weighing on him. A faint, barely present voice in the back of his mind told him he knew exactly what it was but… no, he didn't have time to entertain such thoughts. He couldn't, not when he had to be there to support Joonghyuk during the most important time in his life.
Dokja's attention was immediately drawn to the sound of his bedroom door opening, and he turned to see the familiar figure of Lady Jiwon standing in the doorway.
"Ah, Sir Dok— " she began, but Dokja never heard the rest of her greeting.
As his eyes met hers, a sudden, overwhelming dizzy spell washed over him.
The world dissolved into black.