My deep soul

Chapter 34

The night had fallen heavy over the village courtyard, the air thick with smoke from torches and the murmurs of unrest. Shouts broke out, and suddenly the hwarang found themselves surrounded. Men with gaunt faces, dressed in rough farmer’s clothes, carried makeshift weapons—sticks, farming tools, even broken wood planks.

Sunwoo immediately stepped forward, his arm stretched wide to shield Jinyoen. His voice was sharp, commanding, though his eyes betrayed unease.

“Stay behind me,” he said, jaw tight.
He tried to edge them toward safety. But more villagers poured in, encircling them fully. Panic rippled through the crowd, and soon Sooho and Banryu arrived, swords already drawn, faces grim with readiness.

Sooho’s temper snapped first. He raised his sword to strike. “We can’t just stand here—”

But Jidiwi’s voice cut through the chaos, firm and resolute.

“Stop!” he commanded, stepping between them and the villagers. His dark eyes scanned the desperate men holding nothing but ploughs and sticks. “They don’t even have proper weapons. They’re farmers, not soldiers. Don’t cut them down.”

Sooho stared at him in disbelief. “Farmers or not—they came here to harm us!” His anger boiled over, and in one swift move he punched Jidiwi hard across the face. The sound of the blow cracked against the night.

“If the queen’s or the king’s lives are in danger,” Sooho shouted, his voice hoarse, “I won’t let you stop me!”

Jidiwi staggered back, his lip split, but his voice rose with something deeper—something raw.

“The king?” he spat bitterly, eyes flashing. “The king is a coward who hides in the shadows, too afraid to even show his face to the people who suffer. Why waste your loyalty on someone like that?”

Sooho’s face twisted, rage surging as he lunged again, fist raised to strike once more—but Sunwoo grabbed his arm, restraining him.

“Enough!” Sunwoo hissed, forcing him back.

Jidiwi looked at them—at their confusion, their loyalty bound to a throne they didn’t fully understand—and then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his figure swallowed by the shadows beyond the torches.

Jinyoen stood silently amidst the chaos, her face unreadable. She didn’t speak, didn’t argue—she only watched the retreating figure of the man she knew was breaking inside. Her heart pulled her after him.

Leaving the hwarang to sort the crowd, she slipped into the dark fields until she found him. Jidiwi sat alone in the damp grass, his back hunched, gaze fixed on the endless scatter of stars above. His hands gripped the earth as though holding himself together.

Quietly, Jinyoen lowered herself beside him. She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t speak. She simply sat, her presence steady, until at last his voice came—low, trembling.

“Why must I be like this, Jinu?” His chest rose sharply as though each word cost him. “Did you see them? Their eyes… full of anger, despair. And me—what am I? A useless king who cannot even protect his own people.”

Her heart clenched at the raw defeat in his voice. She turned toward him, her hand gently resting over his clenched fist.

“No,” she said softly but firmly. “You are not useless. Yes—you couldn’t do anything tonight. But that doesn’t mean you never will. You chose not to harm them because you saw their truth. That is not weakness, Jinheung. That is strength.”

His lips quivered, eyes glistening though he tried to hide it. “I’m afraid, Jinu. Afraid of what becoming king will mean. What if I’m not enough? What if I fail them?”