Chapter Text
"What did you just say?" Kim Dokja's voice was cold and sharp as he glared at the trembling servant. From his throne, he loomed over the cowering man, his presence commanding and severe.
"P-Pardon me, Your Majesty, the Emperor... but it appears all 37 spies we sent to the Murim Kingdom have been killed..."
"And how is that my fault?" Kim Dokja's eyes narrowed, his gaze like a blade cutting through the servant's already faltering composure.
"No! It's not—" Before the servant could finish, Kim Dokja drew his sword with a swift motion and beheaded him, the blade slicing through the air with lethal precision.
"I am not responsible for anyone's incompetence. If people fail, it’s because they are weak and worthless. There is no place for failures in my Empire."
Kim Dokja turned and looked down at the severed head at his feet. "Clean up this mess," he commanded, his tone cold and unwavering. "Display his body parts throughout the empire as a reminder of what happens to those who fail me. And his head—hang it at the entrance gates."
"Yes, Your Majesty," a guard responded, bowing low before swiftly moving to carry out the order.
The head was soon mounted outside the castle gates, a gruesome warning to all: the Emperor does not tolerate failures.
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"Your Majesty."
"What is it now?" Kim Dokja asked, his patience thinning.
"Count Han has sent his daughter to your bedchambers to serve you."
Kim Dokja's expression remained unreadable for a moment before he suddenly burst into laughter.
"Count Han has always been greedy for power—I really like that about him," he said, wiping away tears of amusement. But then his laughter ceased, and his expression darkened. "However, he's been getting quite irritating lately."
Kim Dokja entered his bedchambers and immediately spotted Count Han's daughter, Han Sooyoung, sprawled on his bed, appearing drugged. He sighed at the sight, shaking his head.
"Stop pretending to be some helpless maiden who's been drugged. That act doesn't suit you."
Han Sooyoung sat up, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun," she muttered, scratching her head as she moved to the edge of the bed. "The old man is getting persistent."
"So, what's the deal? Just kill him."
"Come on, it's not as simple as that. I'm not a tyrant who can just kill someone and walk away unscathed."
Kim Dokja scoffed. "Anyway, report."
Han Sooyoung let out a frustrated sigh. "You know it's hard to gather information about the Crown Prince of Murim."
"But you got it, didn't you?"
"Of course I did. Who do you think I am?" she replied with a smirk. "Yoo Joonghyuk, 25, skilled in swordsmanship... and cooking."
"That's all?" Kim Dokja crossed his arms and leaned back in a chair across from her, clearly unsatisfied.
"What do you mean, 'that's all'?! I lost so many of my men to get this, and I sacrificed my sleep too!"
"Not my problem," Kim Dokja said with a shrug.
Han Sooyoung huffed in frustration, glaring at Kim Dokja. "You really have no appreciation for how hard I work."
Kim Dokja raised an eyebrow, his expression as indifferent as ever. "If you're looking for sympathy, you've come to the wrong place. What else do you have for me?"
Han Sooyoung leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, frustration evident in her eyes. "There’s nothing else," she admitted, her tone laced with defeat. "No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t find anything more."
Kim Dokja frowned, his interest dimming. "Nothing? You’re telling me that after all this time, you have nothing but scraps?"
Han Sooyoung sat up, shaking her head. "I’ve scoured every source, interrogated every contact, but it's like the Crown Prince is a ghost. There are no alliances, no secret meetings—just vague rumors and dead ends. Whatever he’s planning, he’s keeping it buried deep."
Kim Dokja’s expression hardened as he processed her words. "So, the Crown Prince is either exceptionally cautious or he’s managed to outmaneuver us. Either way, it’s problematic."
"It’s more than problematic," Han Sooyoung said, her voice tinged with frustration. "It’s infuriating. I’m good at what I do, but this... this feels like chasing shadows."
Kim Dokja waved a hand dismissively, his face a mask of cold determination. "If there’s nothing else, then we’ll have to proceed with what we know. Keep your ears open, but don’t waste any more time chasing ghosts."
Han Sooyoung nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Fine. But next time, try to show a little more appreciation for my efforts."
Kim Dokja smirked. "I appreciate results, not complaints. You’re good at what you do, Sooyoung. Don’t disappoint me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, standing up from the bed. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go clean up this mess before your loyal subjects find out that their Emperor has a very unusual visitor."
Kim Dokja watched as she left the room, his mind already spinning with new plans. The Crown Prince of Murim was more than just a skilled swordsman—he was a potential threat, but also an opportunity. And Kim Dokja was never one to let an opportunity slip through his fingers.
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Kim Dokja’s empire was built on fear, and he ruled with an iron fist, crushing any hint of dissent with ruthless efficiency. The next day, he stood on the balcony of his grand palace, overlooking the capital city of Kaizenix. Below, thousands of citizens gathered in the square, trembling as they awaited his decree.
"Bring them forward," Kim Dokja commanded, his voice echoing through the vast courtyard.
Two guards dragged a man and a woman to the front of the crowd, forcing them to kneel before the Emperor. The man was bruised and battered, while the woman, though terrified, still held her head high.
"These two," Kim Dokja began, addressing the crowd, "are traitors who dared to plot against the Empire. They sought to incite rebellion and weaken my rule."
The crowd remained silent, too fearful to even whisper. Kim Dokja’s gaze swept over them, his eyes cold and unforgiving.
"Tell me," he said, his voice dripping with contempt as he looked down at the kneeling man, "what made you think you could defy me?"
The man, trembling, tried to speak but only managed a stammer. "P-Please, Your Majesty... I—"
"Silence," Kim Dokja snapped, cutting him off. He turned to the woman, who met his gaze with defiant eyes.
"And you?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. "Do you have anything to say?"
The woman’s voice was steady as she spoke. "You may kill us, but you cannot kill the spirit of the people. One day, your tyranny will end."
Kim Dokja chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Bold words," he remarked, "but ultimately, meaningless."
He signaled to the executioner, who stepped forward with a gleaming axe. The crowd collectively held their breath, knowing what was coming.
"Let this be a lesson to all," Kim Dokja declared. "Betrayal will be met with death. And anyone who dares to oppose me will meet the same fate."
Without another word, the executioner raised the axe and brought it down, severing the heads of the traitors in one swift motion. Blood pooled on the ground as the crowd gasped, some turning away in horror.
Kim Dokja watched with detached interest, his expression unchanging as the bodies were removed. He turned his back to the crowd, reentering the palace without a second glance.
Inside, he was met by one of his advisors, who bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, there is news from the western provinces. A small village has refused to pay their tribute, claiming they cannot meet the demands."
"Burn it to the ground," Kim Dokja ordered without hesitation. "Make an example of them. Let the ashes of their homes remind others of the cost of disobedience."
The advisor nodded and quickly left to carry out the orders. Kim Dokja continued down the corridor, his mind already moving to the next task. There was no room for mercy in his empire, only the cold, calculated efficiency that had brought him to power.
Later that evening, Kim Dokja walked through the palace gardens, his steps slow and deliberate. The air was cool, and the scent of night-blooming flowers filled the air. But even here, amidst the beauty of the gardens, his thoughts were dark.
He stopped by a fountain, gazing at his reflection in the water. For a moment, a flicker of something almost human crossed his features, but it was quickly replaced by the familiar mask of indifference.
A servant approached him cautiously, bowing low. "Your Majesty, the village of Isen has been razed as you commanded. The survivors have been taken into custody."
"Good," Kim Dokja replied, not looking up. "Send word to the neighboring provinces. Let them know what happened to Isen. Remind them that loyalty is not a choice but an obligation."
The servant bowed again and retreated, leaving Kim Dokja alone with his thoughts. The empire was vast, and his grip on it was unyielding. Yet, there was always more to conquer, more enemies to crush, and more power to seize.
As he stood there, the sound of distant screams reached his ears—echoes of the suffering he had inflicted. Kim Dokja smiled faintly. Fear was a powerful tool, and he wielded it with unmatched skill.
There would be no end to his reign, no uprising strong enough to topple him. For in this world, there was no one more ruthless, more feared, or more powerful than him. And that was exactly how he intended to keep it.