Page 31 of Reign of the Talon
It is more than mere rage or hatred. In all his centuries of experience in endless battles and unceasing political conflicts, Chan has never felt such a consuming vehemence, as thick and as dark as a rolling storm cloud. He cannot think past it. He exists within it, constantly, unable to see beyond its suffocating smog.
Gyeulcheon is crowded with refugees from Sanyeongto and a couple of villages his men were able to reach before their exhaustion rendered them useless. Having just left a debriefing meeting with Kang and his generals, the Supreme Commander stalks ferociously through the palace, shoving past frantic-eyed mortals and their children. He ignores their startled exclamations, or perhaps he is unable to hear them over the dull roaring in his head.
Bonseyo will not send reinforcements to Wyusan. The royal Jeons cower in the capital city of Gohtan. Shin Lina reportedly approaches Sanyeongto, and she will soon take it, one kingdom closer to Fulfillment.
Chan won’t fucking let that happen. But Rui is holding back. The Supreme Commander has fought by Emperor Haneul’s side for years, and he cantellwhen his king is hesitating. He hesitated during the Battle of Seocheonkkotbat, when he shouted for the girl to be taken alive.Alive?What in the gods’ names?
Chan grits his teeth as he stalks down the stairs into the armory, where Rui’s blue Dokkaebi fire is kept alive in the forges, where servants create more fireswords.
The whole point of this war is to make sure that girl isnot alive. That she isdead. Rui, for some unintelligible reason, is not fulfilling his duty to its completion. Chan grabs a finished firesword, sheathing it at his waist. As he stalks out of the armory, he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head, hiding his tell-tale white hair from view.
Hana used to braid it before they went into battle.
Now, it is scraped back every day with shaking, calloused hands.
Nobody notices as Gyeulcheon’s Supreme Commander leaves Gyeulcheon, stepping back into his shadowy portal with one hand on the hilt of a firesword and the other tight around his tall, trident-like dangpa.
Kim Chan is going to end this war.
And he is going to do itsoon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Prophecy
Destroying villages is delightful. It rather soothes my ego after our narrower-than-usual victory at the Battle of Seocheonkkotbat.
We raze through the poorly-built chogajips with glee. The squadrons stationed at this particular village are fine fighters, it’s true, but they only have a few Dokkaebi among them. I let one female escape, to bring news of my whereabouts to the rest, but the others I dispose of after a few hours of battle. Once, it would have taken only an hour to destroy this meager village and small outpost of troops. But now, they have their fireswords.
As the soldiers lay on the ground, death-still or in the throes of death, I address the frightened villagers. I stand next to Sonagi, my head held high and smattered with blood, both golden and red.
“Bow,” I say with a smile, spreading my arms, “to your empress.”
Weak-kneed and shaken, they do. All save for one man. He is old, perhaps approaching eighty. His eyes are cloudy with age, but they are cold as they meet my own.
“No,” he bites out. As the others lower themselves to the packed-dirt ground, he alone remains standing.
Why, oh why, is therealwaysthat one old man who refuses to bow?
My lips thin. He reminds me of that insolent little rat, Gwan Doyun. He possesses the sameimpudence. The same inane belief that he can stop a Prophecy from coming to fruition despite his utter, and pathetic, weakness. I do not tolerate these sorts of people.
“No?” I croon, cocking my head. I shrug and examine my blood-crusted nails. “And why,pray tell, is that?”
He tries to explain it to me. Oh, he tries so hard. Even though I smell his sharp fear, he goes on a rather grand and long speech about how I am a monstrous tyrant who will destroy the world. Spittle flies from his lips as he points a shaking finger at me and urges me to retreat, for evil never wins in the face of true goodness. This is all extremely boring, and no matter how many self-righteous words he spews, the result will be the same. As the old man prattles on and on, growing more and more red-faced by the second, I flick a finger toward Beongae, whose appetite is nearly impossible to be satiated. A few moments later, the man is gone, and his infernal racket has ceased.
Beongae licks his bloody orifice with a satisfied expression.
“Right,” I say boredly as the villagers cower, “now that’s done, here is what you will do. You will build me a temple. You will worship me, your empress, the Goddess of Wrath, the Yeouiju. I am…niceto my worshippers.” I bare my teeth in my best approximation of a smile. “I am not as nice to dissenters. As you can see.”
The mortals whimper. I roll my eyes.
“Oh, come now. You can rebuild your homes. Why the fuss?” I mount Sonagi once more. “After I leave, burn these bodies.” I gesture to the corpses with disdain. “Let the smoke be seen for miles. It’s in your best interest to do it,” I add sharply, as Sonagi begins to turn away. “As I said, those who disobey me are liable to explore the inside of an Imugi’s stomach.”
As my forces retreat, wails rise into the air.
But minutes later, so does smoke.
And I smile.
