The rhythmic cadence of hooves on the packed earth was a constant in General Park Seo-jin's life, a familiar sound across countless leagues and campaigns. This journey south to Hanyang, however, carried a different weight. Beside him rode Crown Prince Yi Hyun, no longer merely the boy he had pledged to protect, but the "Wolf of the North," a hero returning from a victory that would be sung of for generations. An almost electric current of command radiated from Hyun, a formidable blend of triumph and the unwavering, almost unnerving, focus that had defined him since childhood.
Seo-jin's mind drifted back, as it often did on long rides, to the day his life became inextricably bound to the young prince. He had been summoned to the Emperor's private quarters within the vast Gyeongbok Palace. Emperor Gyeongmu, the Dragon King he had served since his own youth, whose very presence could make generals tremble, was seated. Even in the dim light, the Emperor's authority was absolute. Seo-jin had knelt, eyes never leaving his liege's feet, awaiting his command. Though they had shared the grit of battlefields in years past, here, within these walls, he was but a servant, the Emperor his master.
"Park Seo-jin," Emperor Gyeongmu's voice, though not raised, filled the chamber with an undeniable power. "Rise."
Seo-jin rose, but kept his head bowed, his gaze respectfully lowered.
"As you know, The Lady Min Seo-yeon… has passed from this world." A chill, touched Seo-jin. "Her son, Prince Yi Hyun, is now without his mother." The Emperor's gaze, sharp as a tempered blade, fixed on him. "He requires a guardian of unwavering loyalty, a warrior whose skill is beyond question, and whose devotion to the throne is absolute. You, Park Seo-jin, are that man. From this day forward, the Prince's life is your charge. His safety, your sole concern."
At a subtle gesture from the Emperor, a door slid open, and a court lady guided in a small figure. Prince Yi Hyun, a child of merely six summers, dressed in mourning white that seemed to swallow his slight frame. His face was ashen, his small hands clenched. But it was his eyes that seized Seo-jin's attention – wide, dark, and utterly devoid of childish tears, instead holding a profound, unsettling stillness. There was a shadow there, an ancient sorrow that no child should comprehend.
"Your Highness," Seo-jin had said, his voice carefully modulated, kneeling once more, this time before the young Prince. "I am Park Seo-jin. I am sworn to your service, to protect you with my life." He did not offer comfort beyond the solemnity of his vow. He was a soldier, now a sentinel for this bereaved boy who already carried the weight of a dynasty on his small shoulders. The Emperor had given an order; he would obey, as he always had.
Now, that boy was a man transformed. The delicate lines of childhood had been forged into the hard, lean angles of a seasoned commander. He rode with an effortless authority, his frame powerful, honed by the relentless demands of war. His eyes, those same intense, dark eyes, now held the vastness of command, the grim calculus of battle, and the echoes of victories won at costs Seo-jin could only begin to fathom. The Crown Prince was an architect of triumph, yet Seo-jin, who had been a silent shadow for so long, saw the invisible burdens pressing down on him.
Their elite guard, the core of Hyun's famed Steel Vanguard, moved with a silent, lethal precision that was a testament to Hyun's revolutionary training methods. They were unlike any soldiers Seo-jin had commanded before, a new breed of warrior for a new era of warfare.
As they approached a small, sun-baked village hugging a curve in the river, its inhabitants, forewarned by the fluttering royal banners, streamed from their mud-walled homes. They fell to their knees as one, foreheads touching the dust, a wave of reverent whispers acknowledging their conquering Prince. Hyun inclined his head slightly, his face a mask of regal impassivity.
Suddenly, a wail of pure anguish pierced the respectful silence. A woman, her hanbok faded and patched, her hair escaping its pins in disheveled strands, stumbled forward, breaking the line of kneeling villagers. Her face, cheekbones stark beneath skin stretched taut by hunger, or sorrow, dark circles like bruises beneath her red-rimmed eyes. She threw herself into the path of Hyun's warhorse, forcing the procession to an abrupt halt. The guards bristled, hands instinctively flying to their swords, but Hyun, with a motion of his hand, stayed them.
Clutching at the woman's tattered skirt was a small boy, perhaps five or six years old, his face smudged with dirt, his eyes wide and mirroring his mother's despair. He was painfully thin, his tiny frame trembling.
"Your Royal Highness!" the woman shrieked, her voice cracking with unspeakable pain. "They call you a hero! You return draped in glory, your banners flying! But where is my glory? Where is Lee Myung-bak, my husband? He answered your call! He marched north full of your promises! Is this his reward? To lie rotting in some forgotten northern ditch while his son starves and his wife turns into a ghost?" She beat her chest with a fist. "He was a good man, a strong man! He loved this land! He was loyal to you! And you led him to his grave!"
The little boy, spurred by his mother's desperate courage or perhaps by a child's uncomprehending hope, looked up at Hyun, his small voice quavering, "My… my Appa said you were the Dragon Prince, come to save us. He said he was fighting so I could eat. I… I want to be brave like Appa! I want to serve you too, Your Highness, when I am big!"
The woman's head snapped towards her son. A terrible sound, half sob, half snarl, tore from her throat. "Serve him?!" she screamed, and her hands, thin and bony, began to rain down blows on the child's small back and head – not with the intent to truly injure, but with the frantic, uncontrolled violence of a soul pushed beyond its limits. "You foolish, foolish boy! Do you want to end up like your father? Food for crows? Do you want to leave me utterly alone in this cursed world? Is that the service you offer? Another life for him to spend?"
Hyun was off his horse before Seo-jin could even think to react, his movements swift and decisive. "Stop this, at once!" His voice was low, yet it resonated with an authority that cut through the woman's desperate rage. He gently but firmly caught her flailing wrists, his grip unyielding.
The fight went out of her instantly. She slumped against his hold, her body wracked with broken sobs. "He was all I had left," she choked out, her face buried in her hands. "My Myung-bak… our son… what future is there for us now? What use is your victory to a widow and an orphan?" She looked up at Hyun, her eyes pools of raw, accusing agony.
Seo-jin watched his Prince. The regal mask had slipped, revealing a flicker of unbearable conflict. This was not the general directing armies; this was a man confronted by the irreducible, individual pain his grand strategies had wrought. Hyun's jaw tightened, . He opened his mouth, as if to say something, some justification, but no sound came. What solace could words provide against such agony?
With a sigh that seemed to carry the weariness of ages, Hyun reached for the heavy purse at his belt. He pressed it into the woman's trembling hands. "For your husband's loyal service, madam. And for your son. The district magistrate will be instructed to see to your needs." His voice was quiet, heavy with an emotion Seo-jin couldn't quite name, but it was not the voice of the same commander that never lost a battle.
The woman stared at the coins, then at Hyun, her grief momentarily stunned into silence. The little boy, his tear-streaked face now pressed against his mother's leg, peeked out at the Prince with wide, frightened eyes.
Hyun exchanged a fleeting glance with Seo-jin, an acknowledgment of the scene's brutal truth, the shared burden of command and its human cost. Then, with a sharp nod, he remounted. "Forward," he commanded, his voice once again brusque, the commander reasserting control.
He did not look back as the column moved on, leaving the woman slowly sinking to her knees in the dust, the purse clutched to her chest, her quiet sobs carried on the wind.
For a long while, only the jingle of harnesses and the thud of hooves broke the silence. Seo-jin knew that Hyun would carry that woman's face, her words, her pain, locked away within him. He was not unfeeling; he felt these things too keenly. But he had learned the terrible necessity of sealing them off to function, to lead, to make the decisions that shaped the destiny of a empire.
The Crown was a crushing weight, Seo-jin mused, and the sword a much lighter one. And he, Park Seo-jin, a servant, could only ride beside his Prince.