Prologue. Two Deaths

by Foreigner · 2026-08-21

Wayne: my lord. Stay here.

Wayne pushed Aron behind the hill.

Wayne: Stick together. Never separate.

Stein: Yes, sir.

Wayne: If anything touches my lord, it won't be your necks, but mine, that gets cut off.

Wayne turned and disappeared down the hill. A cloud of dust briefly rose and then settled.

Aron stood, leaning on his sword like a staff.

His knees kept wanting to buckle, but he kept the angle of the sword so that its tip wouldn't dig into the dirt. If he stuck the sword in the dirt, the blade would be damaged. He had learned that.

He had learned a lot.

His father was the strongest swordsman on the continent, Aron was his son, and his written grades at school were always first. His swordsmanship theory was also first. He memorized the order and angles of the twenty-three basic forms and why they were effective in certain situations, without a single mistake.

The problem was his body.

Aron: Ugh.

Aron gritted his teeth. Tears were welling up. He didn't make a sound. He had that much pride.

A sound came from afar.

He knew just from the sound.

The left flank was being pushed back.

Stein: my lord.

The Inder cavalry had circled around the left. Baron Herrington's unit was assigned to that side. But the baron had broken his ribs yesterday. The one in command now was his adjutant. He had only three real combat experiences.

They were collapsing.

If the left flank collapsed, the center would be exposed. If the center was exposed, the front of the main camp would be empty. It would take twenty minutes for his father to return from the right flank, even at a gallop.

It would take fifteen minutes for the left flank to completely collapse.

'Not enough.'

Only after the calculation was finished did Aron realize he had been calculating.

And that the calculation was useless.

Stein called out urgently.

Horses appeared on the hill.

Black armor.

They were the Imperial Guard of the Inder Empire.

Aron recognized the emblem. Page one hundred twelve of the heraldry textbook. It was the emblem of the Imperial Knights, directly under the emperor.

Eight.

No, nine.

One more rider came over from the very back. Only that one was not wearing a helmet.

Aron's gaze briefly turned to the left.

Normally, the enemy wouldn't have been able to reach this far. Baron Herrington's unit was a rather renowned elite even among the royal army. The enemy must have known that.

But they had come.

Either they knew Baron Herrington was absent.

Or they realized it after fighting.

Either way, it didn't matter now.

Nine black cavalrymen began to descend the hill.

Among them, the man without a helmet spotted Aron.

He pulled on the reins, narrowed his eyes, and unexpectedly, smiled.

Inder General: Oh.

The man's lips curled upwards.

Inder General: What, there's a kid here.

Stein and Berin moved simultaneously. There was no time to speak.

Stein took on the three on the left. He deflected the first guard's spear and slashed the horse's front leg. The horse collapsed, the rider tumbled off, and a sword fell upon him. By the time the second charged, Stein was no longer there.

Berin was on the right. He had no shield. Instead, he grabbed the spear shaft and pulled the rider down whole. There was the sound of a man in armor hitting the dirt.

Stein: Berin! More on the right!

Berin: I know!

It was Bronzestorm.

To enter Bronzestorm from Heness meant being one of 300 swordsmen of that age. And those 300 had already defeated 3,000 others to get there.

Four of the nine Inder Imperial Guards were on the ground.

Aron was watching it.

'Can we win?'

The calculations ran again. Stein had two left, and Berin had three left. Both were still breathing evenly. If they stalled for time, Wayne would return. They might not win, but they could hold out.

They could hold out.

But the ninth man dismounted.

He didn't join the fight. He drew his sword, rested it on his shoulder, and just walked. Past Stein, and behind Berin.

Stein: my lord!

Stein turned around.

It was the wrong moment to turn. The Imperial Guard he was fighting slashed his back. Still, Stein reached out. His fingertips touched the man's cloak, then slipped off.

Inder General: Damn it.

The man said without looking back.

Inder General: Loyal.

Berin: my lord! Run! Quickly!

Berin shouted. And tried to charge at the man. The remaining three held him back. One died on the spot. Still, two remained.

Berin couldn't break through them.

It was ten meters.

Berin couldn't cover those ten meters.

Inder General: Now, then.

The man stood before Aron.

Aron raised his sword.

Rather than raising it, his arm moved that way. The third of twenty-three basic forms. A stance used when the opponent comes down from above. Left foot half a step forward, sword tip at eye level, elbows tucked to the body.

It was precise.

Inder general: Ho. The stance is quite good.

The man struck once.

Aron's sword flew out of his hand. His wrist bent backward, and two of his fingers seemed to be broken. He saw the sword fly about three meters and embed itself in the dirt.

The blade will be damaged, Aron thought.

Inder general: Huh? What is this?

The man burst into laughter.

Inder general: You only know the stance but have no strength. Hey, who taught you?

Aron stepped back.

One step, two steps.

Inder general: Oh-ho.

The man followed. He wasn't in a hurry.

Inder general: Hahaha. Dummy young lord, are you running away?

Aron ran.

There was no dignity. He didn't look back. He fell, got up, and ran again. Laughter continued to echo from behind him. Even though the man was walking, the distance was closing.

Berin: my lord!

It was Berin's voice.

Aron heard the sound. But he couldn't stop. His legs were moving on their own.

'Why.'

The ground beneath his feet disappeared.

'Why am I…'

Aron realized he had run to the edge of the cliff only after his body was suspended in mid-air.

It was the Meton River. The place people called the River of Death. The cliff was over thirty meters high, the current was swift, and Mount Dedon was downstream. If you fell in, you either drowned or, if you didn't drown, you were eaten.

He knew that too.

He knew so much.

The water approached.

'Father.'

And ten meters behind him, Berin, who was fighting two people, saw it.

He never remembered the rest of that day.

But that one moment, when something disappeared from the edge of the cliff, seemed like yesterday even ten years later.

Hail Eint zi Erseneus arrived seventeen minutes later.

He had broken through two hundred men on the right flank. His armor was red, and his subordinates knew it wasn't its original color. No one stopped him. There was no one who could.

The hill was silent.

Six Inder guards lay in the dirt. There were two Heness knights. Stein was face down, his hand stretched forward. He was in the exact posture of someone trying to grab something.

Berin was still breathing. When the soldiers tried to lift him, he waved his hand.

Berin: Over there.

He pointed towards the cliff.

Berin: Over there... the young lord...

And then he lost consciousness.

Beyond him, a sword was stuck in the dirt.

Hail dismounted and pulled it out. It was his son's sword. He had given it to him on his fifteenth birthday, had his name engraved on the hilt, and had specially lowered its weight to match his son's arm.

The blade was damaged.

Hans: Your Grace.

Hans came and stood behind him.

Hans: It's a cliff. They say he fell into the river.

Hail didn't answer. He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. The current was swift. White foam crashed against the rocks, dispersed, and crashed again.

After a long time, he spoke.

Hail: Hans.

Hans: Yes, Your Grace.

Hail: Go down.

Hans: ......Your Grace.

Hail: Even a corpse is fine.

His voice didn't waver. That was worse.

Hail: Find him. Please.

*** *** ***

The bus swayed.

Gihun dozed with his head resting against the window. The metal in his pocket kept pressing against his thigh. He had put it on his neck that morning, taken a few photos, and then taken it off.

He considered sending the photos to Jeong-a noona, but decided against it.

If he sent them, a reply would come, and then he would have to reply to that reply.

He wasn't happy.

That was a little strange. But he didn't think about it for long. He had learned over twenty-two years that thinking about such things never yielded an answer.

Rice paddies passed by outside the window. The water was full, making the sky appear double. One above, one below.

Gihun watched it for a moment, then closed his eyes.

Bang.

Bus Driver: Oh, no.

The driver's voice was almost a scream. The bus swerved to one side, crossing the center line.

Bus Driver: Hold on to the handles, everyone. The handles.

Gihun grabbed a handle and lowered his head. The neck is the most vulnerable in an accident.

It was something he had heard somewhere.

There was the sound of tires scraping the road.

Long, very long.

And then it stopped.

Tilt.

The bus leaned to one side.

Passenger: Ah! Ugh!

Screams erupted from all over.

Gihun slowly raised his head.

There was no road outside the window.

It was a cliff.

One of the bus's front wheels, which had hit the guardrail, was hanging off the road.

Half of the bus body was precariously tilted, caught on the guardrail.

Far below, the river flowed.

No one moved.

Someone let out a long, held breath.

Then a horn blared.

Very close by.

A trailer was coming from the opposite direction.

Its front wheels were locked from braking.

But it seemed meaningless. Gihun didn't know how long it would take for that weight to stop at that speed, and he didn't need to know.

'Ah.'

That was all the time he had to think.

CRASH!

The impact came before the sound.

The world spun. The ceiling became the floor, then the ceiling again. Glass rained down. Someone screamed, and then the scream was cut short. His body hit something, then hit it again. Each time, there was a sound, and Gihun later realized it was the sound of his own body.

And then, the fall.

The sound of water.

It was cold.

Gihun opened his eyes. He was underwater. The bus was overturned and sinking, and water was rushing in through the broken windows. It was dark. He couldn't tell which way was up.

He tried to get up.

His left arm wouldn't move.

He turned his head to look. The seat frame had collapsed and was pressing down on his arm. "Pressed down" wasn't enough to describe it. His arm was flat, as if it had always been that thin.

Gihun stared at it for a long time.

The water reached his neck.

He was suffocating. His lungs felt like they were burning. His body thrashed uncontrollably, and Gihun couldn't stop it.

'I won't be able to do Taekwondo anymore.'

Strangely, that was his last thought.

He felt neither wronged nor afraid.

There wasn't much to hold onto in the first place.

It grew dark.