It was a memory from a very long time ago.
Because it was from before he entered the Heavenly Demon Cavern. Though he had only spent three years inside, to him it had felt like thirty.
"Most of the time I only glimpsed him in passing, and the time we spent together was very short… but there was one little brat who left quite an impression."
Baek Yunhoe's memory was hazy, yet he couldn't help but smile faintly.
"Heh-heh. Before I joined the cult, there was a time when I was a slave-soldier in the Northern Expeditionary Army. My clan was ruined by political enemies, and I suddenly found myself in that wretched state."
"..."
"Among the others dragged in as slave-soldiers back then was one very young boy. I was a child myself, but he was so small he couldn't even fight…"
Baek Yunhoe's brows furrowed as he spoke, almost as if muttering to himself, and his face hardened quickly.
He closed his eyes in silence for a moment, then continued.
"That boy… he was sharp, clever. He could read and write, and his brushwork was good enough that he became an aide to the great general. I remember… during the generals' meetings, he often carried in the tea…"
His eyes began to tremble more violently. Seeing this, Seon Ji-un tilted his head and asked.
"Are you alright?"
But Baek Yunhoe did not hear him. He still had his eyes shut, speaking as if conversing with his own memories.
"One time, when he was alone, he must have muttered questions about the strategy he overheard at the meeting. By chance, the general heard it. And that boy's doubts struck a chord with him—so much so that he changed the tactics. An impossible thing, really, yet with some twists and turns… it happened. Because of that, what should have been a disastrous defeat turned into victory."
Gwan Taerang, who had been silently observing, sensed something strange in Baek Yunhoe's expression and finally spoke.
"Chief?"
But Baek Yunhoe only continued to murmur, lost in his memory.
"The great general treasured that boy's talent. He always kept him nearby, teaching him much… until he was struck down by a stray arrow. That boy was—ah!"
Baek Yunhoe suddenly shuddered, exhaled a cry, and opened his eyes wide. He rubbed his forehead with a hand, looking almost dazed.
The faint face of that boy overlapped with that of a young man he had seen not long ago.
Changed, yes. But undeniably the same.
Though the boy's features remained vague in his memory, one thing had never faded.
Those clear eyes, like a deep lake.
Even more vivid than the rumors that had spread through the camp back then were the boy's eyes, etched sharply into his mind.
And on the day the Northern Expeditionary Army collapsed under betrayal from within, in that hell, he had met the boy once more, if only briefly.
It had been when Baek Yunhoe led a group of slave-soldiers, forcing their way through certain death. The boy, trembling with fear yet still speaking his thoughts clearly, had followed at his side.
"Ah! It was you, wasn't it, little brat—Cheon Ryuyeong!"
Baek Yunhoe's eyes blazed like fire. His expression burned so intensely that Gwan Taerang and Seon Ji-un dared not interrupt.
With that searing gaze, he lifted his head to the heavens, then gave a bitter smile. Memories he had thought completely forgotten now returned with piercing clarity.
And the moments he had shared with that boy, in that hellish night, ached in his chest.
At a time when even grown soldiers had surrendered to despair, he and that boy had clenched their teeth, desperately struggling to find a path of life.
He had sworn to survive, to one day rise high and change this damned world. The boy had said he had to return to the family waiting for him.
"And now, once again, our fates diverge, do they?"
Baek Yunhoe sighed deeply, his face filled with regret.
At last, he understood why Cheon Ryuyeong had never felt unfamiliar to him. Why the young man had asked, "Can I call you elder brother?" when they met.
If only he had realized back on the battlefield that he was that same boy—would things have turned out differently? Would he have grasped the hand he extended?
His chest ached, like being stabbed with countless needles.
At that desperate crossroads back then, they had parted ways. One would act as bait, to die so the other could live.
They had wished each other luck, then gone down their chosen paths.
Baek Yunhoe had always believed that he had been the one to survive, and the boy the one to perish as bait. Never had he imagined that the boy had survived as well.
"Cheon Ryuyeong… your fate is both tragic and unyielding."
His murmur scattered away on the passing wind.
Quietly opening the door, Dokgo Seol entered, stifling a laugh as she found Cheon Ryuyeong standing in the middle of the chamber, lost in deep thought.
"I always thought Young Lord Cheon was calm and composed. But perhaps that's not the case after all."
Startled, Cheon Ryuyeong gave an awkward laugh.
"Ah! When did you come in?"
"Just now. I called from outside, but you didn't answer."
"Did you? My apologies. When I'm focused on something, I tend to lose awareness. By the way, did you find Pyeong-u?"
The delay in finding Pyeong-u had made him anxious. Dokgo Seol, reading the tension on his face, felt something stir inside her.
This man had the uncanny ability to unsettle people. At times, terrifying enough to send chills down the spine, yet also dependable. And at other times, he seemed nothing more than an ordinary young man.
"Yes. He was at a place selling dumplings."
"Ah! I see. At least he's found, that's fortunate."
"But apparently he was eating dumplings there. By the time they found him, he was already on his third serving. All the while, completely oblivious that the Demonic Cult had marched against the Tang Clan."
"Well, it can't be helped. Just like me, Pyeong-u probably never imagined the cult would set out today."
Cheon Ryuyeong scratched his cheek with an embarrassed look. After all, he was the one who had asked Pyeong-u to stock up plenty of dumplings. Seeing his excuse, Dokgo Seol barely suppressed her laughter.
"Anyway, Uncle Jo Jeonhu nearly burst a vein when he heard. He swore to give Pyeong-u a beating. Imagine—while some are frantic over the shortage of time, that boy sat eating three plates of dumplings!"
Cheon Ryuyeong gave a wry smile.
"I suppose when I said I wanted the very best dumplings, he just couldn't stop indulging himself."
Then his expression sharpened as he quickly asked:
"What of the other matter I asked about?"
Dokgo Seol's face darkened.
"Not much progress. They say the poison dealer only surfaced recently, so searching for him wasted much time. In the end, his whereabouts remain unknown."
Cheon Ryuyeong's face shadowed as well. Sensing it, she forced a smile.
"At least the cultists are moving very slowly."
Her words made him nod in relief.
"They're parading, showing off their attack on the Tang Clan."
"And as for the opera troupe—some actors were being scouted, but they were reluctant out of fear, so it's been troublesome. Pyeong-u was planning to go back to persuade them after eating… but must it really be them? Couldn't we just use some of our men instead…?"
Cheon Ryuyeong shrugged, cutting her off.
"Acting is no simple matter. If it's done poorly…"
This time, Dokgo Seol waved her hands dismissively, catching hold of Cheon Ryuyeong's trailing words.
"Ah, I know! Since the matter is urgent, we'll have to tempt them with much more money. According to Pyeong-u, if we double the amount originally offered, they'll certainly agree."
"Is that so? Whew… in any case, it seems the most important preparations can be completed without issue. That's a relief."
Dokgo Seol fixed her eyes on Cheon Ryuyeong, who let out a deep sigh.
She felt a pang of pity.
The burden he bore alone was so heavy that she wanted, somehow, to share it with him. At that moment, her gaze fell upon the sweat beading on his forehead, trickling down past his temples.
Her eyes then settled on his chest.
The front of his robe was damp with sweat. True, the weather outside was bright, but it was by no means hot. Besides, this inner chamber was filled with a cool breeze flowing in through the open window.
"Wait—just a moment."
She moved behind him, bewildering Cheon Ryuyeong, and saw that his back too was soaked with cold sweat.
Realizing where her gaze had gone, Cheon Ryuyeong's face grew stern.
"I… am fine."
But Dokgo Seol quickly returned to face him, her hand darting out like lightning to touch his forehead.
"...!"
Her large eyes twisted with alarm.
His forehead was burning hot, like fire. He had pushed himself too far, and what had been slowly recovering was now collapsing all over again.
Or perhaps, she thought, he had been suffering in silence ever since riding in the carriage, feigning calm so as not to worry those around him.
Cheon Ryuyeong hastily grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away.
"I truly am fine."
Dokgo Seol looked down at her hand. Her palm was slick with the cold sweat she had taken from his brow.
"Young Lord Cheon…"
Her chest ached sharply.
It was because of her. Because she had fretted over her father, this man had driven himself beyond his limits to rush here. Something heavy surged up from the depths of her chest.
Cheon Ryuyeong let out a thin sigh, then gave a bitter smile.
"Miss Dokgo, everyone is pooling their strength as one. Please—do not speak of this to anyone."
Dokgo Seol bit her lip, her face shadowed with sorrow. She had sworn to give this man everything—things good and precious, until he tired of them.
But reality was the opposite.
She could give him nothing. She only received.
"Step back. You've already explained everything in detail. You must rest."
Her voice trembled without her realizing it.
"Miss Dokgo, you know I must go. Before the enemy, I must stand tall."
"But it doesn't have to be you—"
Cheon Ryuyeong cut her off firmly.
"No one knows how the situation with the Tang Clan will unfold. And if I, the one who proposed the stratagem, am absent… what will people think?"
A sudden, inexplicable fury welled up inside her. She didn't know where it was directed, or at whom—but it burned so fiercely her heart felt like it might burst.
"Why! Why must you try to bear the weight all by yourself?"
Cheon Ryuyeong looked at her, puzzled.
"What do you mean? Aren't we all working together?"
"I mean—why must you suffer more than anyone else? Your whole body's burning up. Look at this cold sweat! If you suddenly collapse, what then? You're already unwell—what if something disastrous happens?"
Her voice broke. Words came with difficulty, as though something kept rising to choke her throat. The heat of his brow still lingered on her palm, searing her like a brand.
Cheon Ryuyeong exhaled a few weary breaths, then straightened.
"Yes. I am sick."
He finally admitted it. And at that, Dokgo Seol nearly broke into tears.
Since meeting him, she had grown far too prone to weeping. The heart that had once been hard as stone felt so fragile now, crumbling at the slightest touch.
Cheon Ryuyeong wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and spoke in a firm tone.
"I am sick. But I am not the only one. Countless people in this world endure such pain in silence. My own mother once suffered a fever so severe she couldn't eat for two days. Yet she stayed up through the night sewing, just to earn money for my little sister's medicine."
Hearing this, Dokgo Seol bit her lip again, her nose stinging.
Cheon Ryuyeong—you must have had countless such days yourself. Days when you worked without rest, though sick and unfed. Days you never told anyone about, suffering alone like a fool.
Sacrificing yourself for your family, not even realizing you were breaking.
Cheon Ryuyeong looked into her sorrowful eyes and went on.
"Like my mother, countless fathers and mothers in this world endure their pain, clenching their teeth. Countless husbands and wives support each other through suffering. Many youths too, anxious in this harsh reality, wrestle with anguish as they fight their battles."
"Young Lord Cheon! That is different. What lies ahead is life and death, a battlefield!"
Her voice rose sharply. But Cheon Ryuyeong only shrugged and answered calmly.
"It is not different. Many are already fighting, quietly, in the hardships of life. In the struggle called living, it matters little whether one holds a blade or not."
Dokgo Seol's voice quavered as she retorted, almost pleading.
"Young Lord Cheon, your body is burning with fever. You are ill."
Looking at her sorrowful face, Cheon Ryuyeong offered a gentle smile.
The thought that this beautiful woman worried for him so sincerely warmed his heart.
"Miss Dokgo, what is frightening is not sickness. What terrifies me is losing hope. I lived for so long without hope. But now… now I see the faint outline of it, just before me."
"..."
"I wish to keep knocking on that door. I will give everything I have until the very end. That is what I want."
Dokgo Seol averted her eyes, unable to bear his gaze. She wanted to stop him—but the cruel circumstances left her powerless.
His steady, clear voice pressed into her ears.
"Didn't we promise to help each other? Let me keep knocking. Allow me to be of use. For I too wish to step through that door of hope."
"..."
"There were brief moments, even in my painful life, when hope appeared. I regret not doing more in those times—not striving harder, not moving more boldly. If I had, much might have changed. Miss Dokgo… I do not wish to live in regret again. Give me this chance."
Though spoken softly, his words carried the weight of a solemn oration. Dokgo Seol lowered her head weakly.
It should have been she, begging him to endure despite the pain. Yet here he was, pleading to her instead. And that reality—it hurt unbearably.