Chapter 27
Park Dojin’s flushed face blinked as he stared down at Kim Doha. His vision was still blurred from the lingering effects of alcohol, and the figure before him was wrapped entirely in black, making it difficult to discern their identity.
“Where is His Majesty?”
Dojin reached out toward Doha. The assassin’s instincts hadn’t dulled—Doha nimbly dodged. Barely avoiding Dojin’s fist, he rolled his eyes.
‘This beast! How is he awake after drinking six bottles?!’
Though his face was still red and his eyelids half-closed, his mind seemed clear. Dojin’s body refused to obey him, and his expression twisted in frustration.
As Dojin moved to climb through the window, Doha panicked.
“You—you’re going to jump out the window in that state?!”
“This window is nothing. Reveal your identity.”
“Me…?”
“Yes, you…!”
Dojin’s massive frame pressed against the windowsill, the wood groaning as if it might splinter at any moment. Ignoring the sound, Dojin swung one leg out the window.
The creaking of the window frame sent Doha into a frenzy.
“I—I’m Assassin One! The Noble Consort’s fourth husband!”
Doha rattled off the words at machine-gun speed. Dojin froze.
“Fourth… husband?”
Doha met Dojin’s bewildered gaze. If he pretended not to know and left him in the room, Dojin would wake up thinking last night was a dream. Since it was a dream anyway, he might as well go all out.
“Yes. Fourth husband. The Noble Consort is waiting in the chamber of pleasure.”
“Fourth means there’s a second and third, too?”
“And why would the fourth be the last? The Noble Consort’s beauty is already legendary.”
Doha smirked, praising his own looks. The absurdity of it—the fact that Dojin didn’t call him out on his nonsense, and the idea that the fourth husband was an assassin—was hilarious.
“You little—”
Dojin’s forehead veins bulged. As he lunged, the sound of his body crashing into the wall dwarfed the noise Doha had made when he fell earlier.
‘This is going to wake up the whole palace.’
At this rate, he needed to end it quickly. Doha clenched his fists, assuming a fighting stance—one foot back, hands raised, ready to strike.
Dojin let out a hollow laugh at Doha’s unexpected readiness. Even if his mind wasn’t fully clear, he could tell this tiny assassin had guts.
“Even drunk, I’m Ungeom, the guardian of this nation. You’d do well not to underestimate me.”
“The fourth husband doesn’t die.”
Dojin’s brow furrowed at the insolent tone. This guy’s lost it. Just as he was about to grab his waist to teach this brash assassin a lesson—
“My sword…”
It was gone. The Cheonsujeilgeom, the legendary blade bestowed upon him by His Majesty when he was promoted to Ungeom. The one-of-a-kind sword that had sliced through enemies’ necks on countless battlefields—it was missing.
‘I’ve never once taken it off…’
He’d kept it on him even while sleeping or eating. There was no way he could have lost it. But now, neither the Noble Consort nor his sword was here. Dojin’s mind went blank.
Before he could process it, Doha pulled a sword from his own waist. The black cloth wrapped around it unraveled, revealing the unmistakable Cheonsujeilgeom.
“You—!”
Dojin’s eyes widened at the sight of his sword in the assassin’s hand. Not just the sword—even the black clothes looked like his own.
“How do you have that sword?!”
Startled by Dojin’s roar, Doha dropped the sword. Clang. The precious Cheonsujeilgeom, gifted by His Majesty, rolled across the floor, kicking up dust. Both men stared dumbly at the dirtied blade.
“I’ll kill you.”
Dojin’s eyes burned red. He leaned forward, ready to pounce. Seeing his enraged face, Doha realized he’d crossed a line.
‘Did I mess up…?’
He’d clearly touched something he shouldn’t have.
According to the original plan, Doha was supposed to rescue Eunsung from the underground prison while Dojin slept off his drunkenness. Dojin would remain passed out until Doha returned, so taking the sword shouldn’t have been a problem.
‘Who knew he was such a heavy drinker…’
With a battle cry, Dojin charged at the sword. His speed was worthy of Ungeom. If he lost the sword, he was dead. Doha scrambled to grab the Cheonsujeilgeom first.
Dojin’s eyes flickered with surprise as Doha snatched the sword. He pulled two daggers from his belt—the ones he always carried in case he dropped his main weapon. Though short, their compact size was no disadvantage for someone who fought with brute force.
Dojin lunged, his dagger clashing violently against Doha’s Cheonsujeilgeom.
The force was overwhelming. Doha staggered back, both hands gripping the sword, but he couldn’t budge it. He bit his lip. Revealing his identity now was out of the question.
Regaining his composure, Doha twisted the sword free from Dojin’s grip.
“Hah.”
In a flash, Doha ducked and drove the blade toward Dojin’s side. With a swift motion, he spun behind Dojin, pressing the sword to his neck. Dojin tried to push it away with his dagger, but the Cheonsujeilgeom held firm, its edge digging in.
‘I’ve never seen this swordsmanship before. How…?’
Dojin silently marveled at Doha’s technique. Grabbing a blade with your bare hand looked easy, but it required masterful control—enough to avoid cutting yourself while maintaining a grip strong enough to manipulate the weapon.
‘Incredible swordsmanship!’
A style that spared no thought for the body. Of course—no one cared about the well-being of an extra like Assassin One.
Especially not the kind of action-school training that taught you to take falls, get hit hard, and make it look real—no mercy for the body.
Unaware that Doha’s swordsmanship was a product of capitalism, Dojin studied the movements closely, thrusting his dagger forward.
Their blades locked, neither giving way. Noticing the opening below, Dojin kicked Doha’s stomach.
“Ugh—!”
A searing pain twisted Doha’s insides. In that moment of distraction, the dagger sliced deeper into his hand. Blood dripped from the wound, staining the sword.
Strangely, at that instant, Doha’s mind flashed back to a promise he’d made with Hyunseo. The casual words they’d exchanged:
“Promise me you won’t get hurt.”
That low voice seemed to echo in his ear—Hyunseo’s breath, the faint, comforting scent that clung to him, the smile that had lingered on his lips.
Somehow, Doha managed to shove the sword away and retreat. As he moved, the black cloth wrapped around him fluttered like petals. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, as beautiful as when he’d danced with his sword. Staring at those revealed eyes, Dojin sensed that the face hidden beneath the cloth was stunning.
“Is the Noble Consort… safe?”
Safe, my ass. Thanks to you, she’s anything but.
Doha glared at Dojin, still wincing from the pain.
“My lower body’s so strong, the Noble Consort won’t be safe at all.”
Doha’s impudent remark made Dojin grind his teeth.
“If so much as a scratch is on the Noble Consort’s body, I’ll separate your bones from your flesh. Consider that a personal promise.”
“Why? Are you her lover or something?”
Doha smirked. The word lover made Dojin’s grip tighten. There was no way a mere omega like Doha could be his lover. Besides, Doha belonged to His Majesty. Daring to covet his lord’s possession was unthinkable.
“…I only follow His Majesty’s command to protect the Noble Consort.”
Dojin raised his dagger again. The drunken sloppiness was fading from his movements.
‘If he sobers up completely, I’ve got no chance. I have to knock him out before then.’
Doha slowly retreated toward the wall behind him, plotting. Dojin lunged, his dagger poised to pierce Doha’s throat.
‘Just a little closer…’
Doha lowered his sword, feigning defeat, waiting for Dojin to come within striking distance—close enough that he couldn’t counter. The moment Dojin realized something was off, Doha planted his foot against the wall and vaulted into the air.
“Damn it—!”
In an instant, Doha landed behind Dojin, pressing the blade to the back of his neck. The pain in his palm and stomach made him strike harder than intended.
With a gasp, Dojin collapsed.
If Dojin had been sober, the plan never would have worked. Doha grabbed Dojin’s unconscious body and dragged him toward the bedchamber.
“Ugh, you’re heavy as hell.”
No matter how hard he pulled with both hands, Dojin’s massive frame was a struggle. Dragging him was harder than fighting him. Halfway there, Doha smacked Dojin’s forehead in frustration.
This drunkard. If he’d just stayed asleep, none of this would’ve happened!
For a while, the backyard echoed with Doha’s ragged breathing.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
