The palace was gold on the outside, rot on the inside.
Beyond the courtyards of jade lions and ivory bells, behind the embroidered walls and silk banners of Shi Dynasty glory, was a place they never showed the people. A place that didn't exist in scrolls or tribute art.
The Lower Labor Pits.
A purgatory carved beneath the eastern wing of the Shi Palace. A hidden underworld where bastards, orphans, traitors' children, and disposable slaves were worked until they dropped or bled out.
No sunlight. No prayer. No future.
Ten-year-old Muyeon—body still bruised from his mother's execution—was tossed through a rusted gate with nothing but tattered clothes and an empty stomach. The gate slammed shut behind him with a noise like a coffin lid.
A dozen eyes turned toward him.
Predator eyes.
Boys, maybe twelve to sixteen. Dirty. Scarred. Thin from starvation and drunk on desperation. Some were missing fingers. Some had murder in their blood.
A few looked away. Most did not.
Muyeon said nothing. He simply moved to a dark corner of the cavern and sat, back to the wall, eyes lowered. Silent.
Watching.
---
Days passed.
He worked where they ordered him—hauling night soil, shoveling ash, scrubbing blood from rusted chains. Sometimes he slept. Mostly he didn't.
He watched the older boys gamble for moldy bread, fight over scraps, shiv each other with bone-knives and rusted nails. He saw one boy strangle another for a pair of sandals.
It was hell. A prison made for the forgotten.
But to Seojin, deep inside the child, it was something more:
A proving ground.
He listened. Mapped the tunnels. Noted who ran which gangs, which guards took bribes, and which shifts had the most blind spots. He remembered from ancient scrolls that this place was once a hidden prison complex repurposed by Emperor Shi Wanjing four dynasties ago.
> "They buried their shame under gold," Seojin murmured, his voice now Muyeon's.
---
The System remained quiet. Cold. Watching.
Until one night, as he traced cracks in the stone with trembling fingers, it finally spoke.
> [You are not special.]
[There is no chosen path.]
[This world demands blood for power.]
[You must choose your way to rise. No handouts. No destiny.]
[Observation Mode Active.]
He clenched his fists. "So be it."
---
On the fifth night, three boys cornered him.
He'd seen them watching for days. The biggest one, Jangyu, had a twisted nose and fists like bricks. The other two, twins named Geon and Gyun, were wiry and fast.
Muyeon was alone in the waste shaft, hauling refuse when they struck.
A boot to his ribs sent him sprawling into the filth. The stench of rot and bile filled his nose.
Jangyu grinned. "Heard you don't talk much."
Muyeon coughed, stood slowly.
"Maybe he's mute," said Gyun. "Let's open his throat and see if he sings."
Geon pulled out a broken spoon, filed to a jagged edge.
Muyeon didn't beg.
Didn't speak.
He backed into the wall, eyes calm. The scholar in him analyzed their stance. The boy in him remembered pain. The emperor within him whispered:
> Use fear. Use silence. Use everything.
Jangyu lunged first.
Muyeon sidestepped, took the blow to his shoulder, and dropped to one knee.
They laughed.
And then—
He moved.
A shard of pottery—long hidden in his sleeve—flashed in the dark.
He drove it into Jangyu's thigh.
The boy screamed. Blood sprayed.
Muyeon leapt away as the twins rushed. He jabbed the shard into Gyun's arm and rolled, dodging Geon's swipe.
They pounced again, enraged.
This time, Muyeon didn't dodge.
He bit.
He bit Geon's neck and punched Gyun in the throat.
They fell.
Only Jangyu remained, limping, eyes wide with panic.
Muyeon stood slowly, covered in blood, breathing hard.
And then he stepped forward.
"Wait—no—!"
Muyeon stabbed the shard into his chest.
Jangyu gasped.
Then collapsed.
Silence returned.
Blood pooled on the stone.
Muyeon stared at his trembling hands.
Sticky.
Warm.
Smelling of iron and death.
> "This…" he whispered. "This is how it begins."
---
> [Kill Confirmed. Self-defense Recorded.]
[Survivor's Intuition Unlocked]
➤ Your instincts now guide you in life-or-death combat.
[Trait: Blood Awakening – Tier 1]
➤ Killing grants insight into the nature of power.
[+2 Strength, +1 Perception]
The corpse didn't frighten him.
What scared him was how right it felt.
No celebration. No tears.
Just clarity.
A thread of fate tightening around his soul.
In the corner of the cavern, a shadow moved.
An old man, half-limping, watched from the edge. White hair in a topknot, cane resting on his shoulder. His eyes, sharp and cold as winter steel.
He said nothing.
Then nodded.
And disappeared back into the dark.
---
Muyeon washed in a basin hours later. The water turned red.
He stared into the reflection. Not a boy. Not yet a monster.
Something in-between.
From behind him, a voice:
"You moved like a trapped rat."
He turned. The old man stood there.
"But you didn't run. You bit back. That's what matters."
"Who are you?"
"Your jailer. Your teacher. Or maybe just a ghost."
The man stepped closer, tapping his cane.
"I've seen many boys die down here. But you… you held the blade like you remembered something."
"I didn't remember," Muyeon said.
"I knew."
The old man smiled grimly.
"Then maybe I was right to wait."
---