Chapter 116

The traces of Dori’s abduction were likely fading even as the moment passed, and beyond that point, ensuring his safety would be nearly impossible. Time was of the essence. Though every instinct screamed at him to search for Dori personally, the circumstances differed from when he had vanished of his own will. Acting rashly now would be dangerous.

Soaked through by the rain, Haban returned to the imperial palace. The moment he released the reins of his horse, he headed straight for the office he had established in the Fox Palace.

Find him. Anything. At once!

Haban pulled out every sheet of parchment on which he had recorded his dreams since childhood, desperate for the smallest clue, and summoned Geumhu.

Upon skimming the contents, Geumhu’s eyes widened briefly. The papers were so old they crackled to the touch, yet they contained not only events that had recently occurred but also predictions of what was yet to come.

However, without voicing any remark, he continued flipping through the papers, his keen mind working rapidly.

“Here. Around this part—do you recall anything?”

Haban’s brows furrowed as he checked the section Geumhu indicated.

“Comparing what is written with the present situation, the events align remarkably. It is as though Your Majesty foresaw the future, and thanks to those decrees, the damage has been far less severe than it might have been. Moreover, the unrest began shortly after Your Majesty ascended the throne and carried out the sweeping purges. Had the Empire suffered the same devastation as described here, it would have led to further calamities afterward.”

Rumors branding the emperor a tyrant.

Natural disasters and devastation erupting across the empire.

Even in his past life, malicious rumors had clung to him. He had dismissed them as trivial, unworthy of recording.

Now, however, thanks to Geumhu’s diligence, those rumors had all but vanished—yet back then, he had seen no reason to bother. The result had been inevitable: peasants suffering from droughts and floods grew resentful of the emperor’s perceived lack of virtue.

Haban understood what Geumhu was implying. Even for a chancellor, the words were so dangerous he could not utter them aloud.

“Rebellion, then.”

Haban muttered softly.

Come to think of it, he had indeed received memorials warning of uprisings in his past life. But they had been so minor—rabble easily suppressed—that he had paid them no heed.

In times of famine compounded by the exploitation of corrupt officials, what could starving peasants do but take up sickles and pickaxes in desperation?

Yet after hearing Geumhu’s words, Haban now saw it differently. This was no simple riot. He could not say when the seeds of revolt had first been sown, but it must have been around this time that the spark truly ignited.

Strangely enough, he recalled the terror-stricken peasants who had recoiled at the mere sight of armed soldiers. Yet the ones who stormed the palace gates had not been those starving peasants—they had been soldiers bearing weapons.

And at their head had been the face of his younger brother—burned into memory even now.

Had Yungak truly taken up arms for the suffering people of the empire? Or had he used them as a pretext to satisfy his own ambitions?

After awakening from the poison that had felled him, as his memories gradually returned, Haban had believed he would die young again, as he had before.

Until he met Dori once more.

He had thought the reason he was given another life was to fulfill the imperial duty he had once neglected—and by doing so, perhaps meet Dori again after death.

Yet even so, he had never wished to sire a child in a loveless marriage. He himself had been born under such circumstances, twisted by an indifferent father and a grasping mother. That legacy had driven him to wound Dori repeatedly, culminating in tragedy.

Thus, he had spared the life of Yungak, the last remaining blood of the imperial family. Should Haban die, the throne would pass only to him.

But that had been a mistake.

“There was never any need to spare him in the first place.”

Fury tightened Haban’s jaw.

He had already known of Yungak’s suspicious movements, but to think that even his claim of rebelling for the good of the empire had been false! He had been granted opportunities solely because of that one belief.

Now came irrefutable proof—Yungak’s confession that he had reached for Dori. Preparations were already complete to capture him, even as soldiers, ignorant of the truth, were marching toward the palace.

Haban sat on the bed, pulling the blanket close to inhale its lingering scent. Once rich with Dori’s presence, it was now faint, nearly gone. The realization of how much time had passed gnawed at him, filling him with urgency.

Since Dori’s disappearance, criminals had been quietly rounded up under cover of night. To avoid even a single fugitive slipping away, they moved in silence and secrecy.

Despite careful selection of trusted operatives to prevent leaks, whispers were already spreading among the keen-eyed. Thus, by tomorrow, the remaining culprits would be seized all at once.

In the midst of this, Haban had personally executed three of his own shadows—those who had concealed their true allegiance.

Just a little longer. Please, wait a little longer.

He lay down, cradling Dori’s blanket in his arms. For an instant, he felt as if Dori himself were there. Having gone sleepless for days, Haban let out a weary sigh.

Hiiiing.

Haban jerked the reins sharply and leapt from his horse. His breath escaped in white plumes from the cold. The place was silent, isolated from the village—like being trapped in the heart of a mountain.

“……”

Wordlessly, Haban stared ahead at the sight of a collapsing, abandoned house.

“Whoa, whoa.”

The escort knights who had hurried after him quickly halted their horses. In any other situation, the tense atmosphere might have frightened bystanders, but there were none here—this was a forsaken place.

As his guards dismounted, forming a defensive perimeter, Haban walked forward slowly.

He had not returned here since Dori’s presumed death. In his mind, the courtyard still bore the blood spilled that day.

Pushing aside the tattered wooden gate, he stepped into the yard. The walls were crumbling, the doors riddled with holes.

Creak.

The rotted floorboards sagged underfoot as he peered inside. Rain leaked from the roof; neither pillar nor floor remained intact.

A bitter laugh escaped Haban.

So my little fox had hidden himself here with nothing to his name. Even this shabby, miserable hovel felt safer than the palace—that was why he never came back to me.

That was Dori’s true heart.

“……”

Haban woke abruptly from his doze, chest pounding wildly even in sleep.

A dream.

No—perhaps meeting Dori at all had been the dream. A dream so sweet he never wished to wake.

He sat up in a rush and hastily unfolded the blanket in his arms. Only when he saw its small size—fit for a little fox—did relief wash over him.

Before he knew it, tears were spilling from his eyes.

Plop.

A snow-white fox poked its head out from the cave. Its golden eyes rolled, scanning the surroundings.

Tilting its head, the fox flinched at the sudden flutter of wings as a bird perched on a nearby branch took flight, and darted back inside.

Moments later, Dori cautiously peeked out again.

At least Wonwoo isn’t here… and neither is that guy.

The sun was up, and more importantly, hunger gnawed at him. Waiting any longer seemed pointless—no one was coming. Dori stepped out cautiously.

In yesterday’s panic, he had overlooked how advantageous this cave’s location was. The nearby tree still bore bluish but nearly ripe fruit, and a slender stream trickled close by.

Lucky.

Several freshly fallen fruits lay beneath the tree, some bearing peck marks from birds.

Choosing the cleanest ones, Dori picked them up and carried them to the stream.

…Might as well wash up first.

The sight reflected in the water startled him—a grimy white fox, filthy from head to tail. Dropping the fruit on the bank, Dori dipped a paw into the water. The mountain stream was so cold it felt like it cut to the bone.

…Who cares if I’m dirty? It’s not like anyone’s watching.

Nodding to himself, he transformed with a pop into human form and began splashing himself clean.

Each touch of water made him shiver violently. He considered washing in fox form instead, but drying fur was far more troublesome than drying skin.

Why was he even bothering with this? Did it matter if he crossed paths with Haban again?

Grumbling under his breath, Dori nonetheless scrubbed himself thoroughly. He rinsed the fruit clean, then bit into one.

“Sss.”

Still unripe—the sourness far outstripped any sweetness, contorting his face and nose. Still, it was better than nothing on an empty stomach.

After finishing the fruit, he transformed back into a fox and stretched languidly. Having slept poorly for fear of intruders, his body felt limp and weary.

With a shake from head to tail, he flung off the lingering moisture from his fur and curled up in a sunlit patch near the cave’s mouth, pondering.

Where should I go now?

Perhaps this was his chance—to deviate from the original story, to flee far away and never cross paths with Haban again.

I don’t want to die. But next in the story… Dori dies.

A groan slipped out with his sigh.