- Episode 32
Side Story 3. About a Certain Life
"Captain Legenon!"
"Allen? Why are you here?"
Seeing the knight's evident urgency, Dominic stopped sparring and let his sword hang down.
Sweat dripped down from under his chin.
Allen hesitated for a moment, then spoke as if he had made up his mind.
"Um... Could you please go to Mont Palace just this once?"
"You mean where the King is right now? I am not a Royal Guard."
"Um, the King hasn't come out for nearly four days without any notice... You know, he dismisses us all and goes back inside. The palace keeps sending people, but the King still won't come out, and I'm dying of anxiety."
"You can just go in and tell the King, can't you? Go to the ladies-in-waiting of Mont Palace."
“I might lose my head if I went in... Anyway, it seems even the maids can’t enter the room without permission. No, let alone the room, it looks like they can’t even go up to that floor.”
“So, what about dinner?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m saying it’s strange.”
" So you're telling me to go?"
“Yeah... That...”
"..."
"Even so, the King didn't cut off the Captain's head. You're the hero of the era who slayed a dragon."
Allen said that he would keep them in check a lot, but he left out the rest.
Dominic narrowed his eyebrows in dissatisfaction. The Knights of Legenon take turns serving as the King's guards.
It was standard practice for a captain not to serve in the Royal Guard unless it was an urgent situation, so what Allen said was not Dominic's business.
As if sensing Dominic's displeasure, Allen added incessantly.
"I know. We have our own work to do. I know I ought to do my part. Phew, Captain. I have a wife and children to support... I mean, of course I wouldn't hesitate to risk my life in a war, but risking my life on something like this doesn't really add up..."
“How utterly pathetic. Lead the way.”
It was a stern voice, but the reaction was milder than expected. Allen felt relieved and hurried his steps.
***
The moment Dominic stepped onto the second floor, he felt strange.
A faint smell, the kind one would only detect from a corpse that had been dead for days, wafted from the air. It was so weak that an ordinary person would have simply overlooked it, but for Dominic, it was not.
He stopped walking and gestured to the two guards standing at the entrance on the first floor to come up. The two hesitated for a moment, then headed toward the stairs.
Dominic reached the front of the room and knocked on the door.
"Your Majesty."
"..."
"Your Majesty."
"..."
"Your Majesty, I will enter."
As he turned the doorknob, there was a click. It was locked. Along with a fishy smell, there was a faint rustling sound from inside.
Dominic gasped for breath, took a couple of steps back, and kicked the door.
The maids gathered on the first floor flinched in surprise. Then, several more loud noises followed.
Finally, the door snapped open. The smell of death grew even stronger.
The first thing he saw was the back of the figure sitting with their back turned on the bed.
The woman, who looked like she had just woken up, didn't even glance toward the door.
Dominic scanned the room and slowly lowered his gaze. Under the bed, in a secluded corner near the wall, lay the King's corpse.
His back was completely slashed from being stabbed several times, and dried blood was on the floor.
A dagger, looking as if it had been carelessly tossed about, was also rolling around. Was she really in a room with the corpse she had killed for days?
The two guards who followed in gasped as they witnessed the horrific scene inside the room.
The woman turned her head slightly. However, she never turned around, so only her blurry profile was glimpsed intermittently before disappearing.
Dominic saw the long hair rolling in clumps on the floor, the disheveled hair, the clothes hanging loose as if someone had pulled them, the skin bruised blue between the hems, the fingertips trembling slightly, the gaunt back, and the shoulders slumped as if exhausted.
And the guards immediately burst in and dragged the woman out.
Dominic meticulously examined the interior with a cold gaze. The same was true for the woman's condition. However, she was dragged out without ever looking around once until the very end.
***
The King died.
Hemon II, who was called a tyrant because of his fiery and cruel nature, was assassinated by his only favorite concubine.
Everyone was shocked. The King also loved her, and among the royal family of Henburg, he saved only her and gave her the Mont Palace.
However, that concubine killed the King. Why? Did she kill him to avenge her country? Was she mentally ill? Or was there some other, mysterious reason?
However, the concubine did not open her mouth until the very end. She merely repeated the command to kill.
Above all, the next King was the problem. Hemon II died without leaving an heir, and according to the rules of Genomes, no brothers of his remained in the palace.
Civil war seemed like a self-evident fact. Many powerful figures requested contact with Dominic, but he refused them all.
Mother Joanna came to find Dominic with a complicated expression and said
'You always do the part of the one who obeys.'
'...'
'Dominic. Can you judge right from wrong? I'm not talking about what is absolutely given, but judgments stemming from your own subjectivity.'
'I... do not quite understand what you mean. I neither think nor judge.'
'Son, I... I wish you would question the things around you.'
Joanna moved her lips a few times with a look that suggested she had more to say, then simply hugged Dominic and went back.
Dominic stood there for a long time, mulling over her words.
A judgment stemming from subjectivity—for him, it was nearly impossible.
He hadn't lived like that. He wondered if he would ever have a reason to live like that in the future.
However, it was the first time he had seen such an expression on his mother's face.
Why did she have to say that at this particular time?
'I wish you would question the things around you.'
Right and wrong, subjectivity, judgment, doubt...
The more he thought about Joanna's words, the more strangely the image of a woman came to mind.
A favored concubine. The one who assassinated the King. A death row inmate.
Why did she kill the King?
Long hair rolling in clumps on the floor, disheveled hair, sagging clothes, skin bruised blue between the folds, fingertips trembling slightly, gaunt back, shoulders slumped as if exhausted...
Dominic went to Mont Palace. He himself could not be exactly sure of the reason for this action.
He just wanted to make clear the connection between Joanna's words and this uneasy feeling.
He asked a maidservant who was tidying up the palace.
"Do you know anything about why the concubine assassinated the King?"
"Ah... I don't know for sure. We were supposed to receive him when the King arrived...The order to stay only in the room ..."
The maid thought for a moment and added.
"There are times when scars remain on Her Highness's body after the King has left."
"A scar...? What are the concubine's guards supposed to do?"
"The King always comes at night. However... both our ladies-in-waiting and the guards must stay inside the room at that time. The King does not like to be seen by others. So, I have only occasionally seen the scars when I was washing her; I do not know the details myself."
"Why, being a lady-in-waiting at Mont Palace..."
" We cannot speak with Her Highness. Only very essential, short words are allowed. It is the King's command."
“...Then what does she mainly do inside the palace?”
"She simply spent most of her time in the study. It is a place the King has never once set foot in, and His Majesty has forbidden us, ladies-in-waiting, from entering."
Dominic, who had come to the study without a plan, felt pathetic about himself.
What did he intend to do by knowing the circumstances of someone whose execution date had been set for assassinating the King? He tried to console himself in his own way.
It was a simple curiosity. The King was already dead, and the culprit would soon be executed. Now, the only thing remaining was 'why' he was killed.
It was chilly inside. It was a fairly large study, but perhaps due to neglect, the books were shelved in a jumbled mess.
There were also some books scattered on the table, left face down and unfinished.
Dominic approached the table and rummaged through the overturned books.
They were books written quite a long time ago. His eyes were drawn to the bundle of paper next to the pile. A quill pen was also rolling around haphazardly.
He turned over the paper placed on top. A letter was written in a rare, neat handwriting.
[Recipient: Dicey]
[I thought your name was pretty. It's similar to the name of my favorite flower, too. Anyway, I saw the book you wrote today.]
Dominic rummaged through a few books placed next to him and checked the covers.
Author: Dice Vann. As he turned the page, there was another letter.
Likewise, they were letters written to the author of the book or to the characters within the book.
After a string of impressions about the book's contents, the woman's true feelings came out.
[...Is there any word more fitting than skepticism to express the anxiety of our minds? Yet, it can never be the same. For I merely chase your wanderings with words and have never once gone ahead of you. I yearn for you.]
[All I can do is just vocabulary's excess. If you read this, will you laugh at me?]
[I agree with the saying that ruins are necessary for the flourishing of epics. That must be why there are so many great works written during wartime. But isn't that ultimately born of much experience and a broad perspective? I have lived amidst ruins ever since that day, but that is something experienced only in very narrow and deep places...]
[Recipient: Ben]
[...]
[There are many things I want to kill. Among them is me.]
He read all the letters placed on the table.
Dominic reached the end of the type and slowly put the paper down. For some reason, he felt a chill run down his spine.
He looked at the other things with downcast eyes.
As he closed and stacked the books one by one and gathered and organized the papers, he turned over a book that was open and particularly carefully underlined.
The title printed on the old gray cover was "On Loss".
Dominic took out the paper that was loosely wedged between the cover and the pages and unfolded it.
It was a letter with similarly neat handwriting, but unlike the others, the space for the recipient was left blank.
The short letter began with a line from a poem.
[Addressee.]
[Everyone who saw me even once left me. My soul
Most of the pages are black. So
Will you open it up... ]
"...I don't believe in miracles."
[I don't believe in miracles]
(* Ki Hyung-do, "Black Leaves in the Mouth," Munhak & Ji Seongsa, 1991, pp. 25–26.)
[This is my favorite line from a poem. However, if I do not believe in miracles, it will remain stagnant forever, so I believe. My miracle signifies something beyond the realm of humanity. Someone said, 'A miracle is embracing conversation, faith, love, relationships, and change—all of it.'
My miracle is that. My miracle is changing. My miracle is hoping. My miracle is not losing myself. My miracle is someone other than myself coming into a world made of printed words.]
[This letter has no recipient. Therefore, the goal of this life is to write a name for the recipient of this letter. This is the miracle I have decided for myself in this life.]
Dominic's gaze headed toward the top of the paper. The empty recipient's section particularly caught his eye.
The date for the woman's execution has been set, and she will never return to this study. Therefore, the goal of this life mentioned in the letter has failed.
The paper smelled heavy. His stomach tightened uncomfortably, as if something were stuck in his stomach.
Even so, he felt no sympathy enough to overlook the woman's sin, even partially. She was a woman he didn't know well, and her reputation wasn't good.
Execution for the crime was also fitting. Apart from reverence, Hemon II was, in any case, the one she served. But he didn't know why he felt this way.
The emaciated back of the woman who didn't even glance toward the door until the very end left a lingering impression on his memory.
Joanna's words intersect with that lingering image. He has no independent judgment. It was something he was aware of himself.
The world says that the King cherishes his concubines so much that he does not show them to the world...
The ends of thoughts, snapping off one by one, soon become vague. But that is the end.
He didn't know how to question things well. That is how he's lived, and that is how he will probably continue to live.
Dominic stared at the letter for a long time, then slowly picked up a quill pen that was rolling around.
'Dominic. Can you judge right from wrong?'
He's not sure if he has the right to discuss this.
***
A table with stacks of books and papers arranged was neat. The quill pen that had been rolling around was also stuck right back in.
Someone had pulled back the curtains, letting bright sunlight pour in. And next to them were the long rows of bookshelves; inside, in the furthest corner, a place where even light barely reaches.
An old book was shelved in a place where it seemed unlikely anyone would see it.
The book clearly showed signs of age. However, perhaps because the previous reader had cherished and cared for it, its condition was not bad considering the time it had been there.
A folded piece of paper was wedged between the old gray cover and the bookshelf.
It was a letter with a verse of poetry written on it, with no sender and only a recipient.
The sun set through the window. A little sunlight also hit the old books.
[Recipient: Dominic]
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