Not Even a Scar

Mad King. That what people calls him.

Yoongi can only smirk; fear from his people feeds his power, nurtures his ego. He ascended the throne early, learning the burden and heaviness of his responsibility, but loving—addicted, perhaps—to the sense of superiority and authority he holds to the whole kingdom that stretches from lands to seas. His father died early, his uncle raised him alone. When his uncle, the only family who understood him, who didn't left him died from the hands of assassins, Yoongi learned that people around him were conniving, and famished for power. The throne is his, and so when he learned how to master the sword, he made sure to kill and behead his royal cousins who can potentially threaten his position.

Mad king.

Yoongi agrees. Yes, he is. He earns it himself after adorning his palace façade with hanging bloodstained sacks, heads of his beloved cousin and people who committed treason. Looking at it reminds him of the power he holds, how he could have someone's life with a slash on their throat from his sword.

Mad King.

Yoongi laughs maniacally, the shrill sound echoing inside the throne hall. With force and energy, he swished his sword and make sure his footing is correct. He practices his swordsmanship alone today, enjoying the way his dim hall gets lighted by the setting spring sun. Today he's one with his sword.

The sound from the drums eventually caught his attention. He stopped practicing and focused at the sound sending him into serenity. Clad in his black hanbok, hair pulled atop in a bun, he walked towards the terrace as his swords are dragged over the wooden floor, the sound making his attendant shiver, blood turning cold. He positioned himself at the terrace overlooking the palace square where slaves and prisoners accused with treason and rebellion were scattered and bowing down since yesterday.

King Yoongi brought up his sword and his reflection on it flashed the nasty scar on his face on display before him. The healing scar stretched from the top his eyebrow, over his eye area and down his cheeks. His eyebrows furrowed, he remembered the disgust on his council when they saw him.

A king with a scar. Preposterous!

But no one called him unfit for the position. He made sure no one questioned him or his scar, a few did and their heads were hanging the next day. Whoever speaks against him, he made sure they'll fall.

Mad King. A king with a scar. All those titles he embraced, made it his identity, made him his.

"Your Majesty, they've been waiting for you at the banquet."

He put his sword on its sheath and looked at the man who spoke, one of his servants. Yoongi held his head high, eyes sharp as he left the throne hall and made his way to the banquet for the Spring festival.

The night was eerie, the palace was dimly lit if it weren't for a few orange lanterns, a large bonfire at the middle of the plaza. When King Yoongi arrived, everyone got down their knees, giving him the highest form of bow and respect. He sat at the center of the platform made for him, scanning the banquet prepared for the spring festival. His council was sitting on his right and a few powerful families who are licking his sword for small recognition was here. Everyone seemed to avoid his gaze, but who wouldn't? A King with a scar is shameful to look at; but Yoongi knew the real reason why they look away because his gaze could kill. And he wouldn't hesitate to have blood spill.

The samulnori started playing, turning everyone's attention at their performance. King Yoongi knows, he wouldn't have to waste his time here, but still he's here. Something about tonight banquet is calling for him, something is eliciting so much excitement in him that he anticipates every twist and turn of this night. With a smirk, he finished his third glass of wine.