By The Book

Dae Wong and his men jumped to their horses and immediately rocketed to the public market. The hands of time were ticking so fast as if it had a terrible sting from a queen bee. (Ahhhhh! It's itchy, it's swelling. Heeeeelp!) To hold it from its hysterical tantrums, they needed to catch it by the whip and noose its neck. Down boy. My, my. We need to arrive at the palace before the ceremony (at least, someone was claiming it.)

When they were a few gallops past the north entrance of the public market, the quickest route to the palace, their journey came to a sudden halt when a group of riders surfaced from the thick bushes and blocked their way. Thankfully, their bodies did not eject from the saddles when the horses abruptly stopped in a screech. Neiggggghhhh

"Chil Yook." mumbled Dae Wong. He knew that the devil was on the tip of their trail, sniffing their musk like a wild hyena.

"In a rush, Minister?" Chil Yook asked, grinning.

Dae Wong's eyes narrowed into an extreme rage. He imagined Chil Yook in his purest white robe, his head wrapped in a black silk cloth, hands tied, and lining up with other nation criminals ready to be hanged in public. "Get out of the way! You tricked us! All of you!"

Clueless with what the minister said, Chil Yook wondered in silence. Tricked? What does that mean? Does it mean that he talked to that monk already? He scrutinized Dae Wong's snarling face, a delightful sight indeed, and the devious plan would come to action. Change of plan. I need to stop him from talking to the King.

"You need to answer to the King!" Dae Wong roared.

Chil Yook's lips pursed into a thin line. He pulled his sword and jumped down from the horse. The nangdos (yellow and red) followed with instincts and pulled their swords, ready to defend their masters in an alert standing position. Dae Wong remained on the saddle, his hands sweating, his grip to the whip tightening.

"Step back, My Lord. We got this!" a yellow nangdo assured.

"Minister, we both have orders to follow. I shall not be compassionate this time," warned Chil Yook.

"My, my. So will I."

The Grand Marshal twitched his sword and dashed to Dae Wong, his body whirling like a cyclone. One of the minister's nangdos slid in quick reflex. He swung his sword upward and fought the death scheduler. Quite a struggle for the juvenile. His arms were shaking and bending in resistance like a bamboo tree amidst a storm; his legs were faltering, losing its balance. Their intersected swords formed an unstable X mark. Chil Yook goggled into his neck like an eagle targeting his favorite monkey, and he stroke it with his palm. The nangdo fell on the ground in a thump and lost his awake moment.

Dae Wong's breath heaved to his throat in that horrific moment, his gastric juice rising to his mouth. The other nangdo rushed to his mate and checked his condition. Of course, he was alive. Jung Ho had made himself clearer than the cumulus-deprived sky. Not a drop of blood was compulsory.

Chil Yook walked forward, with his mocking, self-absorbed smile, to the minister. "Listen, Lord Dae Wong. I hated to do that in front of you. A noble, respectable man like you shouldn't have seen that. But you left me with no choice. Any barrier should be moved out of our ways for us to move gracefully, shouldn't we?. I was just honoring my master's little favor." Part of his statement was a lie. He would hook the moon for the Prime Minister and serve it in a golden plate with a glass of a centenarian wine—come what may, but this time—Lady Jang was on the top of his million-motive list. She would die if he failed, and for that, he would never forgive himself. "Why, bloodshed is not necessary. Since you're making it hard for me to do my job, I'm afraid I cannot promise. Let me give you an unsolicited, yet important advice. Give me that almanac, and we are through."

Leveling a glowered stare to the Grand Marshal, the minister gritted his teeth. No way, no way—not a chance. The almanac should be only of the King's. Fighting a physically powerful man, with years of experience killing people in different excellent methods, would be a ludicrous option. So what could someone do to live and escape the seemingly dead-end situation—flight—yes, escape! Spread your wings and fly (gallop?) away. In a split of seconds, Dae Wong lashed his horse and disappeared like a phantom, leaving everyone stunned. Remembering Lady Min's quote about sagacity, the Grand Marshal jumped into his horse and chased the minister.

The two opposing nangdo groups engaged in a sword fight. Clank, clink, clank. Ripostes here, ripostes there. Loud and uproarious. One of Dae Wong's men managed to leave the small battle scene and hurried to their horse, following the two in their chase. Fortunately, the other one had killed Chil Yook's nangdos in just a matter of minutes.

"You do need practice," the nangdo mumbled, grimacing at their lifeless bodies.

The chasing continued into the navel of the forest. Thickets had disappeared and only the tallest trees with their clingy lichens, vines with their thorns and gnarls dangling on the dead, twiggy ground were their unfortunate sedentary spectators. Their heated arguments disturbed the once peaceful environment of the living elements. If only those insects, trees, and animals could talk, surely, the two would get not just a hot scolding, but lashes on their bodies for being disrespectful visitors.

Dae Wong hurtled like a gazelle running from a hungry cheetah, stealing glances from behind, realizing that the persistent Grand Marshal was already a few feet behind. His head spinning, his palms stiffening, his horse galloping with no direction whatsoever. Merciful Heavens, is there anything he can't do? Why do you have to bestow all necessary life skills to an evil dog?

He was not a master equestrian, for most of his life, he had ridden only the grandest palanquins, but he had to let go of his cowardly and unmanly imaginations. He concentrated and focused on one single goal: bring the almanac back to the King and report Jung Ho's tyranny.

From behind, he heard Chil Yook roared—his six feet below the ground voice resounding. "Give me the almanac!" He ducked from a long stretch of a reclining branch.

"No! You have to drain my blood first!" Dae Wong hissed, jumping over a decaying log.

"Sure! Now we do this the hard way." The Grand Marshal whipped the stallion harder, the whinnies and the clip-clops outgrowing.

Both horses galloped intensely with different purposes. One was to catch, while the other one was to escape. In this little game, there should be a winner. Of course, they could not keep chasing each other for eternity. Feeling the rush of adrenaline on his veins, Chil Yook knew that he was surely on the winning side, for he successfully kept up only a few inches away from the minister. The tail of the preceding horse had never been as lush as ever.

That was it! He unclamped his left foot from the stirrup, and carefully, he mounted his leg on the horse's back. His butt was projected like a torpedo, finding the proper momentum. When he was about to lift the other foot, preparing for a big jump, a racing, blurry, unknown thing passed a few inches from his right cheek, the wind force nipping his skin. Everything happened so quickly that Chil Yook, who was shocked, almost lost his balance. His groins dropped badly on the saddles as he luckily pulled the whip. The muscular stallion flipped upwards. Another ear-breaking whinny. One thing led to another, only to find out that it was an arrow, for it shot Dae Wong near his lumbar. The poor man dropped to the ground like a wilted leaf. His head almost smacked into a big, mossy rock.

Chil Yook jumped off (not to strangle Dae Wong as what he had planned), confused where the arrow came from. When he looked back, he saw the culprit. It was the yellow nangdo, who had chased them. His face was pale while sitting motionless on the horse, teeth clattering.

Quivering in fear, the nangdo leaped off and wobbled, his soulless eyes transfixed to the motionless man. A missed instrument of death, which impaled the righteous.

"You, look what you've done!" Chil Yook hissed. He suddenly felt a sting on his right cheek. A blot of blood in his finger when he touched it. A small, negligible, far-from-the-intestine laceration. "You didn't miss totally."

The nangdo fell to the ground, bloodshot, tear-filled eyes to Chil Yook. With trembling lips, he turned to Dae Wong and mumbled his most sincere apologies, "Please… forgive me, My Lord."

Chil Yook stayed put in front of him, observing his actions. He already knew how this tragic accident would end. For years, he had seen a lot of hwarangs killed themselves when their masters died either in war, execution, or malady. Unless ordered by their beloved lords to serve another, these hwarangs would not hesitate to take their lives, believing they would have a better fortune in their next lives. A pact they made as a man. However, the minister's death was not yet certain. The possibility of life was still hanging, and the nangdo knew it. He would be more than a fool to think that the minister would die right away—unless the arrow was poisoned (It was not.) He just could not handle the awful fact that the minister was dreadfully hurt, life hanging on a high tight rope, because of his missed arrow. A result of his negligence, lack of focus, and poor training. The broken reflection of his character and his parents' failure in raising one competent offspring.

It was his pride and fallen honor.

A pearl of tears dripped by the nangdo's cheeks. He snorted, trying to hold back the others, but he was too late. More tears flowed like a dam. He unsheathed a dagger from his sleeve and gazed at his reflection on the iron steel. The last glimpse of dereliction. "Mother... Father, forgive your son. I will see you in the next life."

He held the hilt high and tight, the blade glimmering with the nine-o-clock sun. One deep breath and a solid stab in the chest. Blood flooded, spreading all the way down to his pants, his yellow robe bathing to orange. Holding the dagger hilt, he blinked multiple times, panting heavily before saying his last words, "My deepest apologies, Minister."

His upper eyelids shut off. Dead.

"You, poor fool," Chil Yook frowned and sighed.

No point in crying over spilled blood (milk). The Grand Marshal bounced back to his senses. Not another dead body! He hurried to the minister and had the full sight of his wound. About five inches deep, no major organ please. He stripped a portion from his robe, pressed the wound area, and pulled the arrow gently. Oddly, a voice whispered saying, You don't want him dead, do you? You despise him, but you still respect him. With him dead, you're nothing. His lame, dullard conscience mosquitoing him? Nonsense, he said.

Covering Dae Wong's wounds, Chil Yook wrapped more cloth around the minister's lower torso to stop the bleeding. The minister was still unconscious. He checked his jugular pulse. Weak, but not eradicated. After a few minutes, he began with the next part of his mission. He groped Dae Wong's pants (nothing)—sleeves (in the chest)—Voila! Black magic book. Victory!

"Got it! I do not intend to leave you like this. Accept my apology, but I have a mission yet to accomplish. Goodbye, Lord Dae Wong. See you in the palace—after the eclipse."

~~•~~

Preparations for the upcoming solar eclipse ceremony had begun even before the sun rose. The royal cooks had made sure all food would be of good quality (nutritious and delicious). Council members gathered and instructed their men, depending on their departments. Priestesses and shrine maidens surveyed the entire palace grounds and guided the guards and the hwarangs in organizing the position of the altars and the seats of the royalty and nobility. The court ladies arranged all the tables, chairs and the red carpet in the middle of the palace ground, which stretched from the main gate up to the palace altar.

The Hwarang Training Grounds, located in the eastern part of the kingdom, was where all hwarangs clans gathered whenever there was an important announcement—for example during war preparations, ceremonial proceedings, competitions, or special training. High fortified walls like a prison, where one could not see the beauty of the outside greens. A reverse quarantine exclusive for the strongest and the bravest. The positive—a wide dance arena for a thousand flash mobs.

The Prime Minister arrived, and he marched to the wooden stage, complete with all flags of fourteen hwarang clans. He oriented all of them for their respective positions. His loud voice echoed in the four corners of the tall brick walls. This unit, balcony. You, with the tiger head, south gate. Red ones, follow me. Purple, on the courtyard. No, no. Not verbatim. Only the gist. It was too formal and too long for them to memorize all his words, only the selected few could appreciate.

After a few minutes, the guards unbarred the gate, and the governors paraded with their provincial hwarangs.

"Governors! What a pleasant surprise! I am truly delighted with your hwarang troops," Jung Ho smiled.

"My Lord. You honor us. Anything for you," an old, fat governor said, making his colleagues give awkward looks. "Oh, I mean anything for the kingdom."

The Prime Minister laughed, and the governors did as well. "Shall we go back to business?"

Doing an attendance check, the Prime Minister mentioned all the names of the provinces and checked the number of additional hwarangs present. Reorganize, reshuffle, newly refurbished plan. "All right, listen up! Hwarang of Silla, now that you know all of your positions, I require you to be vigilant and observant at all times. A lot of people will be coming to this ceremony. From the nobility down to the commoners. There should be no room for leniency. Leaving your station means death. Blink once, and the whole courtyard, the entire palace could explode. Remember that we are doing these for the sake of the people and for Silla. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir!" the hwarangs answered in unison, bowing their heads.

~~•~~

From the balcony of one of the pavilions, Ministers Yeol and Yoo Min talked about the governors, who were exchanging chatters while sitting on their special chairs inside the Hwarang Grounds. Their servants pampering them.

"Why, look at those disgusting governors. Neither of them is worthy to be called a man." Yeol scoffed.

"I couldn't agree more. Them pigs are hunting dogs of the Prime Minister, smiling and praising him. If I know, they are just asking for more funds for the construction of their concubines' lavish houses." Yoo Min scowled, shaking his head.

"Sure, yes. You couldn't have described them more accurately. Shall we leave, by the way? I detest seeing those animals ready to lick their owners anytime."

The two ministers walked in the corridor, and they saw Hoon coming in.

"Pfft, oh, another mongrel." Yoo Min chuckled.

"I beg your pardon. What did you just say?" the elderly minister's brows furrowed in displeasure.

"What are you talking about, Minister Hoon?" defended Yeol.

Hoon cleared his throat, "I heard you, Minister Yoo Min. You said I was a dog."

"What? I didn't say that. Why would I ever do that? Oh, merciful Heavens—was it because of your age. It seems like you cannot hear things properly," the young minister sniggered.

The Head Prosecutor's eyes widened in disbelief. "I-i-impudent! How dare you say I am old? You disrespectful piece of..."

Yoo Min cut him off, wiggling his index finger, "Ah-ah-ah! I didn't say you were old." He smirked, mocking the old mongrel. "Come on, Minister Yeol, let's get out of here."

"Imbeciles. Who are they calling old?" Hoon fixed his collar and sleeves as he walked away. He suddenly turned back and blurted, "It's Head Prosecutors to you, fools!"

~~•~~

As the servants continued preparing all the necessary things for the ceremony, the once busy Prime Minister and King met in the King's chambers to discuss something—probably related to the event.

"Report," the King ordered coldly.

"Well, everything is going accordingly, Sire. The number of hwarangs increased, credits to our governors. They are well-aware of their respective positions in and out of the palace. No need to worry about security. I also checked the food. Incredibly delicious, the presentation is excellent. Oh, the wines also are to die for—comes with a lot of flavors that I assume would suit everybody's taste. I've also seen the dance rehearsal of the courtesans and the fighting sequences of the hwarangs. Good Heavens, there must be a reason why I can't dance. I'm not as graceful as a swan or too stiff like a mantis. The dais is also being constructed, around eighty percent before completion. The chairs, the tables, the carpet, the lay-out—everything is perfect. Would you like to look around, Your Majesty?"

Jae Joong was pretty amazed at the Prime Minister's passion and enthusiasm. One trait that he respected. If Jung Ho could just cut his body to multiples of functioning individuals, he would gladly do so, for the love of perfection. "That was... great," the King mumbled.

"Anything else, Sire? I've checked everything for you. By the book. " Jung Ho knew that it was the end of their discussion about ceremonial matters. He asked that question on purpose, upon detecting the King's icy cold, worrisome eyes. He pictured a countdown on Jae Joong's mind—the urge to ask the more important question. Three, two…

"Uh... Any reports about...?"

"Yes?" the Prime Minister narrowed his eyes, deliberately acting confused.

The King shook his head, "Never mind. That was it. Go back to your duties."

As the Prime Minister strolled towards the door, he knew that Dae Wong had not arrived yet. Obviously, the King did not ask that question, with undeniably uneasy eyes and tone. His once serious work-face turned into its sardonic nature again. At that moment, he felt at ease. Chil Yook might be doing his job well—very well.

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