THE LAST KING

[Metamancy 1765]

 

 

Spoiler

Here is a narrative post detailing the fall of Won to Oyashiman hands. My hope is that this will provide some interesting backstory for any new Won-In characters, and give the Won-In and Kurai-Kuni a common enemy; Yorinobu. Enjoy this K-Drama! (With my character being mentioned once because I’m a self-absorbed chud.)

 

 

 

 

“Jeonha, the Oyashi ships have taken Cheonghang.”

 

Cheonghang? Taken?

 

“Jeonha, seventeen Won ships have sunk on the northern front.”

 

Seventeen? How many are left?

 

“Jeonha, General Kang has fallen in battle.”

 

Kang? Kang, no…

 

“Jeonha, the governor of Cheongundongdo has been taken by the Oyashi forces.”

 

The governor, too?

 

“Jeonha, I suggest that we conscript more men.”

 

“No, Jeonha! We must take from the royal treasury to give to the starving people on the battlefront.”

 

What must I do?

 

“Are you stupid? We must retreat all the citizens in the north to the capital!”

 

“Jeonha, forget the citizens in the other counties - all reinforcements should be brought to defend the capital.”

 

Father, what would you do?

 

“Nay! Think of the citizens!”

 

“Would you rather have the peasants alive or Jeonha alive?”

 

Father, give me strength.

 

“Jeonha, we must-”

 

“Jeonha!”

 

“Jeonha-”

 

“SILENCE!”

 

The boy’s voice cut through the cries of the bickering court officials, and in an instant, every single one of them fell silent.

 

A long, uncomfortable quiet lingered in the air. The boy king, now almost twelve years old, sat upon his throne, resting his head in his right hand. Though no one in the room could see through the hand covering his face, his eyes were wide, shaking. 

 

The silence continued on. One minute, two minutes. Not one soul dared to speak, until Jeonha spoke. All that remained was the sound of the young king’s heavy breathing.

 

But as the silence continued even further - five minutes, ten minutes - at last, a court official spoke.

 

“Jeonha-”

 

“How many?”

 

Jeonha breathed, his voice strained and barely audible, cutting off the man who had just tried to speak.

 

“How many have died?”

 

A few more moments of silence followed, as some court officials glanced at each other nervously, afraid to give their king his answer.

 

“Jeonha, you need not worry about the number of casualties. May I suggest-”

 

“Shut up,”

 

The boy snapped, hissing out his command as the official who had just tried to speak fell silent. A ripple of discontent ran through the room at the king’s language.

 

“Give me my answer. How many have died?”

 

Another moment of silence, as the men in the room whispered amongst each other, debating in hushed tones as to whether or not the boy king deserved to know.

 

At last, a slightly younger official, only in his mid-twenties, spoke.

 

“…thirty-four thousand, Jeonha - that we currently know of.“

 

An audible choking sound escaped the boy king’s lips.

 

My people. Thirty-four thousand of my people, who died believing that I could save them.

 

Another silence fell upon the royal court of Won. Thirty-four thousand. The weight of the number was only felt by all after being spoken aloud to the king’s face.

 

At last, the boy spoke.

 

“…send a messenger to the Shogun,”

 

Jeonha spoke, barely audible with his head in his hand once more. 

 

“We shall surrender to Oyashima.”

 

Immediately, the courtroom erupted into opposition.

 

“Jeonha, we cannot!”

 

“Jeonha, they will execute you, Jeonha!”

 

“Think of the kingdom, Jeonha!”

 

“Jeonha, think of the people!”

 

The last comment that the boy caught through the cacophony of voices seemed to strike a nerve, for his voice - still high-pitched, he was only eleven - boomed out once more.

 

“You would dare accuse me of not thinking of the people?”

 

His anger was incomprehensible, impossible to be described; only those in the room were able to feel the gravity of his words, as the king rose from the throne to his feet. He was small, but in that moment, he had never felt bigger.

 

“The longer we fight, the more men will die. What do you expect shall happen, should we keep fighting? That we shall be able to repel them? That we shall win? How many more of my people shall die to satisfy your ego?”

 

The room fell quiet once more, but only for a moment, before another man spoke:

 

“Jeonha, your father-”

 

“Guangjongdaewang is dead,”

 

Jeonha snapped in response, cutting off his officials again.

 

“I am the king, and my word is the word of Heaven, not the words or deeds of my dead father. And I say we surrender. This is a direct order. Now, the next man to question me, I shall have his head. Are there any more questions?”

 

There were none. It was silent.

 

“Court adjourned,”

 

The boy king spoke, leaving the officials to messily bow and file out of the room in whatever orderly fashion they could still manage. Whispers of how they would survive the Oyashi occupation and disbelief about the king’s decision rippled throughout the small crowd of officials as they left. 

 

The last to leave was the younger official who had given the king the number of casualties. He exchanged a pained glance with the boy, before he, too, left, following the other officials out.

 

And there was silence.

 

The boy remained there, sitting down. Only after everyone was gone did he allow himself to hold his face in both his hands, weeping.

 

Abeoji. 

 

All his life, the boy had to call his father Jeonha. Now that he was gone, he allowed himself to speak to his father like a son, even if only in his mind.

 

Abeoji, give me strength. 

 

He remained there, weeping, for a while. Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? Two? Time blended together, for what was time, now that he had surrendered his kingdom? They would be forgotten by time, rewritten by Oyashima as not even a sliver of history. The glorious kingdom of Chonwon, gone in an instant decision made by an eleven-year-old. 

 

After a while, he rose from his throne – except it was no longer a throne, it was simply a golden chair – and moved to the window of the vast courtroom. He turned his head so that he glanced northwards; to where Cheonghang had burned. He shut his eyes tight and shivered at the thought of the screaming civilians, the dying men, the mothers who had to mourn their sons; all because of his own incompetence. 

 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

 

Jeonha raised his arms in his private chamber as the servants helped to take off his red and golden royal robes. Once he had been fully assisted, changed into his sleeping attire, he waved the servants off; but before they could scurry out of the room, he recognized one as the same servant that had summoned Naesan-Gun those weeks ago, and he stopped her. 

 

“Yes, Jeonha?”

 

The servant girl squeaked. 

 

“You remember Naesan-Gun, yes?” 

 

The boy king inquired. The servant nodded her head. 

 

“Good. He should have arrived upon whatever continent lies west by now; send a messenger to him, and let him know of the surrender.”

 

The girl nodded her head, and as he waved her off, she, too, moved out of the room.

 

The boy king lay his head down to rest upon his bed, and only then did he realize the pounding sensation in his head. He clutched his forehead in pain, breathing heavily.

 

It was his last day as a king, and perhaps the last day lying in his bed.

 

With that thought weighing upon him, he drifted off to sleep. 

 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

 

News of the surrender spread like wildfire through the ex-nation of Chonwon as Oyashi troops marched into towns, killing men as they wished, taking rations as they wished, and razing villages as they wished. Those who did not hear of the king’s decision were left to face the devastating reality as Oyashiman troops marched into their towns. 

 

“Did you hear? Jeonha surrendered.” 

 

“To Oyashima?”

 

“We are going to be ruled by the Shogun?” 

 

“What?”

 

“Jeonha wouldn’t do that.”

 

“Jeonha is eleven! No wonder he made such a stupid decision…”

 

Voices and cries grew louder as the mob outside of the palace grew progressively larger. The royal guards at the gates could be seen repelling hundreds of civilians attempting to storm the palace. 

 

Hours passed on, and the boy, who was now dressed once more in his red, royal robes for what he suspected correctly would be the last time, gazed down at the crowd below. The time for tears was done and gone; the eleven-year-old king felt his expression harden as he looked upon his people, who were his people no longer. Now, they were the people of the Shogun. 

 

An hour or so passed, and the commotion showed no sign of stopping – until, all of a sudden, it did. A wave of quiet passed over the crowd; a hush that began at the back and quickly spread with urgent whispers to the men standing at the gates. Jeonha’s gaze darted to the horizon – why had it suddenly gotten so quiet? – and he felt his heart fall into his stomach. 

 

A formation of orderly soldiers began marching through the crowd, splitting the mob in half smoothly. Civilians moved out of the way, fearing for their lives in silence, as the soldiers advanced. They were, without a doubt, Oyashiman – it was not just their uniforms, but their gait. No man in Won carried themselves with the gravity that the Oyashiman military carried themselves with in that moment. There was a despisable confidence in their march, as they split the crowd and arrived at the gates of the palace. A semicircle of emptiness formed around them, with the crowd of people remaining outside of that radius of fear. 

 

“Where is the King?”

 

The Oyashiman soldier at the front boomed out, his voice echoing throughout the palace. 

 

The whole time, Jeonha was watching from his window, petrified. The reality began to settle in; he had surrendered his entire nation, all his people, to Oyashima. And now, Oyashima sought him. 

 

The same servant from the night previous meekly opened the door to Jeonha’s chamber. 

 

“Jeonha-”

 

She squeaked. 

 

“I am going,” 

 

Spoke the boy king, his voice hard. He pushed past the servant girl, who stared at him with tearful eyes as he walked down the hall…

 

…and out into the courtyard. 

 

The Oyashiman soldier – no, he was not a soldier, he was samurai – sneered as the small boy king stepped out into view, dressed in his kingly robes. 

 

“So you are the son of the great Guangjong,” 

 

The samurai spoke lowly.

 

“What a disappointment. The Almighty Shogun had considered sparing your weak nation mercy when your father died – and yet, you continued to fight against us.” 

 

The boy king, diminutive in size, walked up to the gates where the samurai and his soldiers stood, and looked straight into his eyes. 

 

“I belong to you now,”

 

The boy spoke resolutely. 

 

“What is your command?”

 

The samurai grinned. It was a terrible, most loathsome sight. 

 

“You shall come with us to Yamatai, and face the Shogun.”

 

The boy grit his teeth.

 

“Very well.”

 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

 

It was ironic that he was taken in a carriage; he had been in many carriages since he was young, but now he was being carried by the soldiers of Oyashima. 

 

He looked out the window as they travelled to the conquered Cheonghang – undoubtedly it would be given a new, Oyashi name soon – and he was shortly transferred unto boat, to travel to Yamatai. 

 

His mind was elsewhere as he watched the shores of Chonwon fade away over the horizon for the last time in his life. His nation; his beautiful, beautiful nation, the nation of his father, the nation of his people, the nation of his people no longer. 

 

Those were the thoughts running through the boy’s mind as he was brought through the Imperial gates of Oyashima’s capital and dragged through the city by rough hands to the glee of onlooking Oyashiman civilians. It was strange; the boy was certain he was being brought to his death, and yet, he could not find himself savoring every last remaining moment of life that he had. On the contrary, it all passed by in a blur; he had left Chonwon, and had left a part of his soul back upon the other side of the ocean. 

 

Things only began to come into focus when he was brought into the Imperial palace and forced upon his knees. The boy, Jeonha no longer, looked up at last; and he found himself looking into the face of the Almighty Shogun of Oyashima.

 

“You are the King of Chonwon?”

 

Came the bored voice of the ruler of Oyashima. 

 

The boy nodded, unable to say a word.

 

“And you have surrendered your nation to me.”

 

The boy nodded once more, upon his knees.

 

The Shogun’s eyes were cold as ice; he cared very little that Won had been conquered at last. It was a side passion project, at best; a hobby that he had reached the end of. 

 

“I would ask you what the terms of surrender are, but there are no terms,”

 

The Shogun uttered.

 

“You are simply mine now. I think I shall spare your people, though; they may prove useful.”

 

A great weight lifted from the boy’s chest. His people would live. They would not be exterminated. It was the one thing that had remained weighing on his mind, if anything. 

 

“But you,”

 

The Shogun murmured,

 

“You fought against me. Your father fought against me. For that crime, you shall die.”

 

The boy had seen this coming, but hearing the Shogun utter those words, seeing him lift that finger, the devastation and the looming reality of death settled in.

 

“Please,”

 

The boy whispered, then again:

 

“Please. I am just a boy.”

 

The Shogun’s response was simple.

 

“Die.”

 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

 

The boy was brought to the block. He felt the dull thunk of his neck hitting wood. 

 

The Shogun watched, still sitting upon his throne, looking down at the boy. 

 

The boy saw the executioner step up beside him. 

 

He closed his eyes.

 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

 

“Jeonha!”

 

The six-year-old boy ran, dressed in his princely robes, to his father and bounded into his arms.

 

“Jeonha! I have been looking all over for you.”

 

Jeonha, who would be known posthumously as Guangjong the Great, smiled.

 

“My beautiful son. You needed me?”

 

The princeling looked up after burying his face in his father’s robes for a moment.

 

“I grow tired of studying, Jeonha. Teacher says I must gain approval from you to go practice archery.”

 

Guangjong the Great chuckled. 

 

“Studying is important, dear son. Archery can wait.”

 

“But Jeonha!”

 

The boy whined. 

 

“Studying is boring. I do not want to memorize the cheonjamun.”

 

The king lifted his son up into his arms and lifted him high into the air, such that he could look into his eyes. 

 

“My son,”

 

Spoke Jeonha,

 

“When you are king, archery will be a hobby. Knowledge will be a necessity for you to rule well.”

 

The boy pouted, and at the sight, the king tutted some.

 

“That is no good. I shall have you finish your studying for the remainder of the day; and tomorrow, you may go practice the martial arts.”

 

The boy’s face lit up.

 

“Truly? Gamsahamnida, Jeonha!”

 

Jeonha smiled the sun’s smile as he turned his son in his arms to look out upon the capital city, beyond the palace walls.

 

“This kingdom will be yours to rule, one day. Do you think you will be able to rule it well?”

 

“Yes, Jeonha!” 

 

The boy chittered. 

 

“Though I am sure I will not be as great of a king as you.”

 

At last, Guangjong the Great set his son back down on the ground.

 

“You must become a king greater than I,”

 

He smiled,

 

“For you are my son. All sons are destined to grow greater than their forefathers.”

 

The prince’s eyes glimmered with stars.

 

“But for now – you may run along, return to your studies. Do not keep Teacher waiting.”

 

The boy bowed deeply to his father, to the king, before running off back into the palace building.

 

Guangjong chuckled as the boy disappeared into the walls.

 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

 

I am sorry, father.

 

The executioner’s axe was raised.

 

I have failed you. 

 

He could not form his next thought before everything went dark.

 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

 

It would be quiet for a long while.

 

The days would pass. 

 

The children would grow up speaking Oyashiman.

 

The old men would die without a nation.

 

The mothers would teach their sons Wongul in the dead of the night, in secret.

 

The revolters would be quickly killed.

 

Slowly, a new status quo would fall upon the once-land of Chonwon.

 

And the boy would be named, posthumously, Sajong – the Last King of Won. 

 

[Cally 1080]

omg reserved 

[Kirakuru 152]

A small won-in child approaches the paper, and squints her eyes and seriously reading the page. . .  then spoke with confusion

"this drawing is terrible!"

she spoke not being taught the abilities of 'reading'.

[Metamancy 1765]

Naesan-Gun stood before the messenger, eyes wide and trembling.

 

"You lie,"

 

He told the messenger.

 

"You have come all this way, from Won, just to lie to me."

 

But in his heart, he knew the truth.

 

"Jeonha,"

 

Naesan-Gun whispered, under his breath. He waved the messenger off, clutching his head. The messenger returned to his boat.

 

"Jeonha,"

 

He spoke once more, slightly louder.

 

"Jeonha!"

 

He yelled, in abject agony. He doubled over in pain, clutching his chest.

 

"Jeonha!"

 

Won. His nation. His beautiful, beautiful nation.

 

"Haneuleeyeo! Jeoheereul guwonhashiopsoseo!"

 

The other Geonsa would find out, sooner or later.

 

@acronius_

@Galion

 

[Benleft 2579]

CURSE U YORINOBU!!!!!!!