(JJK - 전정국 | PJM - 박지민)
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❝A true king doesn't give a fuck about the scars he'll have to bear to bring his people safety,❞ Jimin scowls at the vile man in front of him, his eyes aflame with fury.
❝And a true king never asserts his power...
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Han-gyeol heaves a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning (practically half-sitting) on the desk by the end of room. Lost within himself, he is unmindful that Beom-sok's already entered the room.
"Gentlemen," Beom-sok takes off his robe, revealing himself in his shabby dress. He walks over to his drink desk -- something he had installed in almost every part of the castle -- and pours liquor into his glass, taking a long sip of the drink before speaking ahead, "I'll start by saying that I'm glad everyone turned up, though it was expected."
Han-gyeol is snapped out if his thoughts when Beom-sok starts speaking.
"You cannot really defy me," Beom-sok's lips tug into a crooked, smug smile. "I'm your prince and the king has been on his death bed for ages now."
Han-gyeol snorts inwardly at how blatant Beom-sok can be while blowing his own trumpet. Beom-sok was absolutely unbothered of his father's illness. Han-gyeol had a feeling that maybe Beom-sok had something to do with the king becoming so sick all of a sudden; he let that go though.
"So," Beom-sok licks the liquor of his lips and turns to face his officials. "I have got you all gathered here to discuss about our attack."
"Attack?" One of the officials frowns. "On whom, Sire?"
"Busan," Beom-sok's smirk is devilish. "The whole kingdom, and every aspect that makes it so supposedly grand."
"Weren't things cooled down between us, Sire?" The same youngster asks. "I thought we weren't victims of the rivalry anymore."
"You thought wrong then," the prince scoffed with scorn. "I will not excuse them for glutting my soil with the blood of the soldiers who've protected our city. They will pay a price; a heavy one, if I feel as though I want more."
"What is your plan, Your Majesty?" Han-gyeol chimes into the conversation.
"We will disguise our troops as merchants," Beom-sok says, lifting his stick and then placing it on the map in front of him. "And they will enter as traders via the waters. We attack from the east and then invade the kingdom."
"Sire," another of his men speak up, "Why don't we just go through the grasslands? It's a faster route."
"We could Shangho," Beom-sok replies, "But the security in that area is very high; it will lead to plenty casualties. And the only dead bodies I want to see are of the Busan royals, that too, beheaded in front of me."
"When do we execute?" Shangho further questions.
"I will give them some time. Their last few days in the Busan bubble can be lived in peace, I don't mind that much." Beom-sok smiles in conceit and then gives his final statement. "We will attack a week after soldier's day."
