Chapter 2

In the Kingdom of Mir, the status of a Maru was hallowed. Though the severity varied, every Mir lived under the shadow of pain or encroaching madness, and the only beings capable of tethering them to sanity were the Marus. They were life itself. Therefore, in the Kingdom of Mir, a Maru was always under a protector’s shadow, their every need provided for. A Maru wandering the streets alone, unbonded and unescorted, was a sight that simply did not exist back home.

​Among the people within Ye-hwi’s line of sight, roughly three in ten were Marus. He was drifting through this rare spectacle when the savory aroma of roasting meat brought him to a stop.

​Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. As Ye-hwi stood staring at the skewers sizzling appetizingly on the grill, the stall owner offered a genial smile.

​”Care for one, sir? Just two pun.”

​”Two pun?”

​Ye-hwi’s expression went blank for a moment. Then, it clicked—the man was stating the price of the food. From the moment of his birth until this very second, Ye-hwi had never once paid for anything himself. Such menial transactions were the domain of his entourage, never the Prince. Naturally, he had no coin on his person.

​”What, no money? Then move along! It’s bad luck, loitering in front of a man’s business without a dime to your name. Shoo! Get going!”

​True, one requires currency to acquire goods. It was a logical fact, yet such trivialities were handled by servants—or, on rare occasions, his escort warriors. Indifferent to the vendor’s irritation, Ye-hwi simply walked past and continued his stroll.

​It was then that it happened…

​”How dare you think you can run away!”

​A man lunged out of the crowd, seizing Ye-hwi by the collar with a snarl. Without a flicker of surprise, Ye-hwi looked down coldly at the man—who was significantly shorter than him—and spoke.

​”Take your hand off me.”

​”How dare a mere slave—do you think running away will change anything for the likes of… huh?”

​The man, who had been shouting furiously while white-knuckling Ye-hwi’s collar, caught sight of Ye-hwi’s face and let his words trail off. He had brought a slave to the auction, but the wretch had complained of a stomachache. The moment the trader had let him go to relieve himself, the slave had bolted. Having already racked up heavy gambling debts in anticipation of the sale, the man had scoured the marketplace, his rage boiling over. When he spotted the familiar clothes, he had lunged—only to realize he had grabbed the wrong person.

​”This is your final warning. Remove your hand.”

​”Who… No, why are you wearing those clothes…?”

​The man released Ye-hwi’s collar and stumbled back. He looked Ye-hwi up and down, scrutinizing the garments once more.

​Black bands were wrapped around the cuffs of the sleeves and the ankles. In the Kingdom of Ansi, this was the mark of a slave. To be precise, it was the uniform of those headed for the auction block.

​Yet the man standing before him looked nothing like a slave. The trader had heard rumors of bizarre role-playing games trending among the nobility; was this some nobleman’s perverse whim?

​”I-I’m sorry. I mistook you for someone else.”

​The massive man before him certainly looked like he was dressed for the block, yet the trader couldn’t be sure of his standing. Sensing a sudden, chilling fear that something might happen to him before he could even reach the auction house, the man stammered an apology and hurried away.

​Ye-hwi watched the retreating figure for a moment before turning his gaze away. Such a farce would never happen in the Kingdom of Mir, but this was Ansi—and he was here incognito.

​”So, these are slave rags?”

​Ye-hwi lifted his arms to inspect the faded, dirt-colored fabric and let out a smirk. He had worn them specifically to avoid unwanted attention, yet ironically, they were making him the center of it. He would have to order Geonseo to procure a new set of clothes upon his return.

​The fabric was worn, frayed in places, and thin enough that his skin was visible beneath the weave. Spotting old, faint bloodstains near the waist, Yehwi was dusting the fabric off when he felt a persistent gaze fixed upon him.

​He turned his head.

​Five or six paces away, a man dressed in light, sky-blue robes was staring intently at him, a white fan clutched in his hand. He didn’t have the air of a prominent noble’s son, yet he didn’t look like a merchant, either. But more than his status, what caught Yehwi’s attention was the inscrutable expression on the man’s face.

​Is he smiling? Or is it…

Round eyes, a high-bridged nose, and a perfectly defined philtrum. His lips were a soft red—not garish, but just enough to draw the eye. He oozes a peculiar beauty, one potent enough to captivate even Ye-hwi, who lived surrounded by those hailed as the most exquisite in the Kingdom of Mir.

​He was undoubtedly a man, yet he did not quite feel like one. Nor did he look like a woman. He was more like… yes, a boy. He possessed the ephemeral grace of a youth who had not yet fully matured.

​Ye-hwi stared, transfixed, as the stranger walked toward him.

​”You—do you have a master?”

​The question was simple and direct, but the voice was so melodic that Ye-hwi nearly found himself commanding the stranger to keep speaking before he even realized it.

​The man, who stood a full head shorter than Ye-hwi and possessed a slightly slender build, gestured with his fan toward Ye-hwi’s side and asked again.

​”You appear to be injured.”

​Judging by the silk, he was a noble, yet the fabric looked remarkably weathered. A scion of a fallen house, perhaps? And yet, even the worn, faded silk could not diminish the man’s unforgettable presence.

​”Can you not speak?”

​”You’re beautiful.”

​Ye-hwi, who had been piercing the stranger with an intense stare, offered his honest words. At this, the attendant standing behind the man erupted in a fit of rage.

​”This mongrel has a loose tongue! Do you have any idea who you are addressing?!”

​”Yong-rae. That is enough.”

​Once again, the expression of the man with the fan turned inscrutable. Just what is that look? It wasn’t anger, nor was it joy. Yet, every time the man’s neat, shapely eyebrows twitched, Ye-hwi’s gaze followed the movement like a magnet.

​”So, where is your master?”

​”Master?”

​”Did you perhaps run away?”

​The eyes of the handsome man pointed toward the direction where the trader who had seized Ye-hwi’s collar just moments ago had vanished. Only then did Ye-hwi realize what the man before him was implying.

​”I have no master.”

​”You don’t? But the slave auction just ended… perhaps you are scheduled for tomorrow’s block?”

​Auction? Ye-hwi, finding it absurd that anyone would assume the Fourth Prince of the Mir Kingdom would be set to a slave auction, let out a dry, short chuckle.

​”No. I will not be going up for auction.”

​There it was again. That unreadable expression. He maintained an air of indifference, yet he refused to reveal his true feelings.

​”Then come to me. I will buy you.”

​What? Buy me?

​No matter how captivating his face was, Yehwi would never tolerate such insolence. Even if it were a Maru attempting to soothe his madness, if they dared to irritate him, he would cast them out at once.

​He was born in the imperial palace, the son of the Emperor’s third empress among the Maru consorts. Though he was gifted with all four divine abilities, by the decree of the Emperor and Empress, he was publicly known only as a prince possessing Yeomryeok (Telekinesis), Jeongryeok (Strength), and Hyeryeok (Wisdom).

​And yet, someone like this dared to say they would buy him?