Chapter 1

Mirumaru [Volume 1]

​1. Please Take Care of Me, Master

​“Look down upon us, O Great One, and grant us Your mercy!”

​The desperate pleas of mankind—suffering through an endless cycle of drought, flood, and pestilence—finally reached the Heavenly Emperor in the realms above. As the Emperor looked down upon the earth with an indifferent gaze, his dragon, who had been soaring through the clouds to delight its master, spoke.

​“I shall descend to the land and watch over mankind.”

​The Heavenly Emperor was not pleased. Yet, because the dragon brought him such joy, he desired the creature’s happiness in return. Thus, he granted the dragon permission to descend.

​When the holy dragon—the Emperor’s most cherished companion—arrived to personally care for the people, the mortals worshiped and praised him. As generations passed, his descendants established a vast empire, naming it the Kingdom of Mir.

​Among them, those who carried the blood of the beautiful and valiant White Dragon were known as the “Mirs.” They were blessed with various gifts: Divine Power, Telekinesis, Strength, or the Power of Wisdom. Every Mir was born with at least one of these abilities; some were gifted with them all. However, the mortal frame was a fragile vessel for the potent blood of a dragon. As the Mirs writhed in agony and succumbed to madness under the weight of their own power, the Heavenly Emperor took pity on them. To save the dragon’s lineage, he bestowed upon them the “Marus”—beings infused with the Emperor’s own breath.

​The Mirs who bonded with these blue-candescent Marus were finally liberated from their torment. But as their physical pain vanished, a new, darker fear took root.

​What if someone kills my Maru?

​What if my Maru bonds with another Mir?

​What if my Maru is captured by my enemies and used against me?

​What will happen to me if my Maru dies?

​The Marus were the only ones who could soothe the scorched veins and searing pain of the Mirs. They were bound directly to a Mir’s very life force. And thus, the obsession the Mirs harbored for their Marus grew incredibly deep, shadowed, and endless.

​This obsession eventually drove the Mirs back into madness. They began to wage war—some to seize more Marus, others to hoard and protect the ones they already have.

​The wars of the Mirs were brutal. Screams echoed across the mountain peaks, blood stained the seas, and the cries of orphaned children rang out ceaselessly, day and night.

​”This meaningless slaughter must end.”

​The cry came from the Kingdom of Mir’s weakest, most “inadequate” prince. Gathering the Mirs who shared his vision and the vast majority of Marus who lived in terror of the war, he led them away. Standing upon a vast plain bordered by massive mountain ranges to the east, west, and north, he offered a prayer to the heavens.

​”Please, protect us. Protect the Marus, the only ones who can bring peace to the Mirs—the descendants of the dragon You so loved.”

​As his prayer reached the clouds, the flat lands to the south rose to the sky with a drum, forming a towering mountain range. Sheltered within a basin barricaded by peaks on all four sides, the prince settled his people and named the land the Kingdom of Ansi.

***

​”Where was the leak?”

​”Your Highness’ movements with this envoy are strictly classified, so it’s unlikely these men knew your identity. They probably attacked under the assumption that you were just a regular member of the Mir delegation.”

Crouching among the corpses, he wiped his blood-drenched sword clean on a dead man’s clothes as he asked the question. The man keeping watch replied instantly. Hearing this, the crouching man rummaged through the bodies for any scraps of clue. Finding nothing, he rose to his feet.

​His massive frame, which had been obscured while he was hunched over, seemed to swallow the narrow alley whole. He stood a good two handspans taller than the average man, his shoulders broad beneath white silk robes threaded with gold. Even through the flowing fabric, the power in his build was unmistakable.

​With a straight bridge of a nose set beneath piercing eyes and thin, tightly pressed lips, he was a figure who drew deeply divided opinions from the people of the Kingdom of Mir.

He bore the beautiful, valiant visage of the Heavenly Emperor’s favored dragon—a sight that inspired awe and adoration in all who beheld him. Yet, his cold and ruthless nature was enough to make one’s blood run cold. This was the Fourth Prince of Mir, Ye-hwi.

​”Now that we have crossed the border into the Kingdom of Ansi, I will see if I can find more suitable clothes nearby,” his escort, Geonseo, said, his eyes fixed on the bloodstains ruining Ye-hwi’s robes.

​”Just bring me those.” Ye-hwi casually dusted off his sleeves as if the carnage were nothing, pointing to a discarded pile of rags at the end of the alley.

​”But, those are…”

​”Better than drawing unnecessary attention by dressing like an Ansi noble.”

​”Yes, understood.”

​Geonseo gave a brief reply and retrieved the discarded garments. The fabric was of poor quality, but it wasn’t entirely unwearable. Taking the rough, faded, dirt-colored clothes, Ye-hwi stripped off his luxuriously embroidered white silk.

​The Kingdom of Mir was a nation founded by the Heavenly Emperor’s beloved White Dragon. For this reason, the royal family, high-ranking nobles, and senior officials of Mir traditionally wore white silk, often adorned with gold embroidery as a symbol of wealth and authority. Since his visit to Ansi was strictly unofficial, Ye-hwi had dressed identically to the members of the diplomatic envoy to blend in.

​Dropping the high-quality silk—garments that would fetch a fortune for the fabric alone—onto the ground like common trash, Ye-hwi slipped into the drab, dirt-colored clothes and gave his order.

​”Burn this.”

​”Yes, sir.”

​”Verify the diplomatic envoy’s schedule once more—accurately. We need to time our departure with their return.”

​”Should I send word to the First Prince that we have arrived? He must be waiting.”

​”No. Not yet. Later.”

​”Understood.”

​”I’m going to scout the area. Follow my marks.”

​As Ye-hwi finished speaking, Geonseo gave a slight bow and vanished into the shadows.

​The Kingdom of Ansi. This was the sanctuary where the Third Prince—the frailest of the seven sons of Mir’s Second Emperor, born with only the Power of Wisdom—had fled, spiriting away the vast majority of the Marus. Enclosed by colossal mountain ranges to the east, west, south, and north, it was a nation exceedingly difficult to enter, and nearly impossible to leave.

​”But if we truly wished to pierce those mountains and invade, we easily could have.”

​Divine Power, the ability to command fire.

Telekinesis, the power to move objects with the mind.

Strength, the source of indomitable physical strength.

The Power of Wisdom, the root of brilliance and the ability to hear the voice of the Heavenly Emperor.

​A Mir was born with at least one, and at most all four, of these abilities. Those born to Mir parents who lacked any such gifts were deemed unworthy of the name; to call oneself a Mir was to guarantee the possession of at least one of these four things.

For such beings to join forces and breach the mountain ranges of Ansi was no impossible feat. It would have been tedious, grueling, and time-consuming—but entirely within their power. Yet the Emperor of Mir ordered the war to cease. What purpose was there in waging a conflict to claim the Marus, if it ended in their extinction? It was a pragmatic question. And so, the Kingdom of Mir sheathed its blades.​

Afterall, they needed the Marus who had fled to Ansi to thrive.

​Since that era, the Kingdom of Mir and the Kingdom of Ansi had forged a treaty every ten years. The terms were predictable: border management, trade conditions, and the amount of ore offered as tribute. But the true core of the pact was the Marus. Under the agreement, Ansi sent a designated number of Marus to the Mir Imperial Court, where they were bound to the royal family or the high nobility.

​On the surface, Ansi appeared to be at a disadvantage, but the reality was quite different. Ansi enjoyed the absolute protection of the Mir Kingdom simply because the Marus flourished on their soil.

​If a drought caused a food shortage, the Kingdom of Mir transported provisions.

If floods devastated the fields, Mir sent the manpower to restore them.

If the national treasury ran dry and the Marus’ quality of life dipped into poverty, Mir dispatched the gold to refill their vaults.

All to protect the Marus of Ansi.

​Checking his commoner’s attire one last time, Ye-hwi stepped out of the alleyway and merged into the bustling marketplace. Unlike Mir, the Kingdom of Ansi suffered from unusually harsh winters and summers—perhaps a consequence of being hemmed in by mountain ranges on all sides.

​”Is it autumn already?”

​Breathing in the crisp, biting air, Ye-hwi observed the local attire. The rough garments he had donned appeared to be summer wear, but as someone who rarely felt the cold, he simply began to walk with no mind to the crowd.

​The scene was familiar: merchants hawking glistening skewers, children weaving through alleys with high-pitched shrieks, and, in one corner, a customer locked in a heated haggling match with a defensive vendor. This bustling marketplace differed little from those in the Kingdom of Mir. If there were a distinction to be made, it was only the presence of the Marus mingling within the throng.

​Marus bore a singular mark: a glowing blue crest situated near the collarbone or the nape of the neck. Resembling the fluid lines of clouds or wind, this sigil was visible only to Mirs; the Marus themselves, like ordinary humans, were blind to its existence.

​”How very Ansi,” Ye-hwi muttered, his gaze tracking the Marus as they roamed the streets freely.