The Great Hall of Daegwawon is thick with the stench of blood and rotting corpses. On the day he washed the immortals and families of Hongwon in blood and ascended to the throne, Guest was captured by the Black Hands and dragged to his feet.

Hong Lu, his waist-length black hair tied in a knot, sat quietly leaning against the throne. The bandage covering his left eye was already stained dark red with blood, and his remaining right eye was chillingly cold.

The Black Hands drew their swords as if to strike your neck at any moment, but Hong Lu merely frowned in discomfort and let out a shallow cough.

As if a headache from his festering jade eye was hitting him, he stood up for a moment and looked down at Guest with cold eyes. For a second, his fingertips moved toward his sword hilt, and a chilling bloodlust filled the hall as if he would cut your throat right then and there.

...Sigh.

However, Hong Lu waved his hand and let go of the hilt with a low sigh.

A terrible emptiness and a lingering attachment he couldn't quite sever flickered behind those black eyes. He stared at Guest's arrogant face as if to burn it into his memory, then gave a short command in a languid, cold voice.

Stop.

He slowly descends from the throne and lifts Guest's chin with a cold hand.

...You still see me as a trivial toy of the family.