Chapter 04
Sohwa would remember that day for the rest of her life—the day the sky fell.
It was the first snowfall in nearly five years in Yeonang, a land so warm that snow was rare even in the heart of winter. Delighted by the unfamiliar sight, Sohwa had run out into the courtyard like an overexcited puppy. She stretched her hands toward the heavens, spun in circles, and laughed as white flakes brushed her cheeks.
Then—
The sky collapsed.
A thunderous boom tore through the air. The sound struck her chest as if a massive boulder had slammed directly into her heart. Startled, Sohwa lifted her head, half-expecting to see lightning split the clouds.
What… is that?
Amid the gently falling snow, she saw something impossible. A pitch-black shape floated in the sky, like a dark cloud carved into the Chinese character Doya (道惹).
Another deafening crash followed.
Sohwa screamed once—and crumpled to the ground.
“Oh my, the sky is falling! The sky is falling!”
Kkotbun came running, wrapping Sohwa tightly in her arms as she cried out in terror. She wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t thunder. It was the sound of the sky over Yeonang—the sky Sohwa had lived beneath all her life—shattering apart. Along with it came a brutal winter utterly unfitting for this land.
The Muyeon army crumbled like dying embers scattered by the wind before the might of the armed Taoist priests. Even if all the Taoists of Hanya had gathered, they would have numbered no more than five thousand. Yet the Taoists pouring in from distant lands far exceeded that—fifty thousand, perhaps even a hundred thousand.
Worse still, the people of Yeonang were unfamiliar with Taoist magic. Until the reign of Emperor Jinhui, Taoists and non-Taoists had coexisted. But now, except for Sarichon and the northern Yan-Hanya region, Taoist influence had all but vanished. Most nations had turned their attention to material studies, never encountering true Taoist sorcery. To them, the invasion by tens of thousands of Taoists was a nightmare beyond comprehension.
Clad in fur robes and iron masks with three horn-like protrusions, the Taoist priests looked like colossal beasts. When they swung their swords, violent winds rose. When they loosed red arrows, flames burst forth; blue arrows summoned ice. Wherever their spears touched, destruction followed. Above them all, the massive black cloud shaped like the character Doya (道惹) writhed like a grotesque dragon, threatening to swallow Yeonang whole.
“Fire!”
From atop the palace gate, a voice roared.
It was Moon Ik-cheol—Sohwa’s father, the great general of Muyeon.
At his command, hundreds of arrows rained down upon the Taoists. But the shimmering barrier they had erected repelled every shot. Worse still, the archers themselves collapsed, struck down in retaliation.
“You fools.”
A middle-aged man at the forefront of the Taoist ranks laughed mockingly. He was Do Guk-han, the spiritual leader and supreme commander of the Taoist priests.
“Jae-ah!”
At his call, a young man stepped forward from his left. His face was hidden behind an iron mask, but the pale, gleaming eyes visible through it radiated a chilling, inhuman presence. Do Guk-han shrugged off his fur cloak and tossed it aside.
“It’s unbearably hot. Let’s end this.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
As Jae-ah lifted his hand and traced the air, black mist surged from the ground. Five men identical to him emerged, their appearances flawless replicas. A murmur of shock rippled through Moon Ik-cheol and the defenders of Yeonang.
If these were not illusions—but real bodies—then five thousand could become fifty thousand… even five hundred thousand.
They would be unstoppable.
“My uncle is hot!”
Jae-ah drew an arrow from his quiver, set it against his bowstring, and shouted. His clones mirrored his movements, each holding a bow supplied by the surrounding Taoists.
“I command my clones—follow me and turn the palace into paradise!”
The bowstrings snapped.
The arrows sliced through the air, multiplying as they flew—five, ten, then hundreds—until they rained down upon the palace like a storm. Wherever they struck, ice bloomed instantly. The palace, once lush and green, turned stark white, frozen like a moonlit plain.
“Advance!”
With a deafening roar, the Taoist priests surged forward. The palace gates shattered in an instant.
Boom.
The nation was overturned overnight.
The Jin clan’s kingdom fell, seized by the Tao clan in a violent revolution. At the Taoists’ command, the nation was no longer called Muyeon (武然國), but Doya (道惹國).
“Let go! Let go of me at once!”
“Madam!”
“Please—have mercy!”
“Mother! Sohwa!”
General Moon Ik-cheol’s family was no exception. They were dragged away by Taoist priests without even the chance to flee.
“Ah…!”
Lady Baekhwa, Sohwa’s mother, suddenly screamed and collapsed where she sat. Sohwa’s vision went dark for a moment—then cleared.
Before the palace gates, more than a dozen severed heads were displayed.
At the center—Emperor Muyeon.
Beside him—the First Prince.
And next to them… her father, Moon Ik-cheol, and her eldest brother, Moon Ji-hyeok.
This can’t be real… Father… Brother…
“Move!”
Her body refused to respond, frozen in shock. But the Taoist priests showed no mercy. They roughly hauled up Sohwa and Lady Baekhwa, whose legs had given out, and dragged them away like livestock.
“General Moon Ik-cheol was a traitor who served Emperor Jinhan, a man of utterly corrupt virtue. He resisted until his death. Therefore, the Moon clan shall be exterminated to the third generation.”
They arrived at a blood-soaked execution ground. Corpses lay scattered everywhere, butchered beyond recognition. Some who were brought there vomited; others fainted on the spot. Sohwa trembled from head to toe.
“It is always pitiful when a dog chooses the wrong master. However, since he was unrelated by blood, His Majesty the Emperor of the Taoist Empire has decreed that his end shall also be without relation. Be grateful for his boundless mercy.”
The speaker was Do Guk-ho, younger brother of Do Guk-han. Sword in hand, he ordered the men to be brought forward.
“Please spare me! I’m still a child—I don’t know anything!”
“Let go!”
“Oh heavens!”
Men of all ages and ranks were dragged out indiscriminately. Do Guk-ho issued calm instructions.
“First, identify the bloodlines of the Jin royal family and the Moon clan. We must locate the escaped Third Prince and his bodyguard.”
“Yes.”
Two bowls were brought forth—one filled with red liquid, the other blue. The men were lined up. Their fingers were pricked, blood dripping into both bowls. Some blood remained clear. Others released black smoke from one or both bowls.
Those whose blood stayed clear were shoved aside toward the women and slaves.
Anyone whose blood produced black smoke—even from a single bowl—was sent forward.
After inspecting them, the Taoists reported quietly.
“It appears the Third Prince and his guard are not among them.”
“Tch… Kill them.”
The swords fell.
One by one, throats were slashed. Blood sprayed across the ground. Sohwa, who had never seen a human beheaded—let alone livestock—felt the world spin as the slaughter unfolded before her eyes.
“Leave the slaves and women alive.”
“Even noblewomen?”
“Women pose no threat. They live like flowers beneath men, knowing nothing. Besides… they are useful in other ways.”
A bitter smile curled across his lips.
The women and slaves who narrowly escaped death—including Sohwa—were thrown into prison. The cells were already crowded with noblewomen and servants, all wailing and sobbing, crying that the country had fallen to Taoist madness.
“…Mother. Mother, please don’t lose yourself.”
Sohwa clutched Lady Baekhwa’s trembling hand.
“Brother Ji-seok is still safe. He’s alive. He must be.”
Her mother remained dazed, hollowed by the loss of her husband, her eldest son, and her kin. Sohwa herself was barely holding on—but she could not afford to break.
Not yet.
After all… Ji-seok had not been caught.
