The Hound’s Vow

“Be happy, Bain.”

“…”

That was nothing short of a curse.

He was a man known as the Emperor’s hound.

Born a traitor’s child before he could even see his mother’s face, he was the eldest son of a rebel leader who deserved to have his head cut off. Yet, the Emperor did not kill him; instead, he took him in, fed him, and cared for him.

The hound grew and learned the sword from the Emperor. Perhaps due to his innate talent, after only ten days of instruction, he could already defeat his teacher, the Emperor, in swordsmanship. The Emperor’s inner circle, alarmed by this terrifying talent, wished for the Emperor to execute him. But the Emperor, likely out of affection from raising him since infancy, spared his life.

Recognizing the sincerity of the Emperor who had taken him in, the hound swore absolute loyalty. He was a deeply faithful hound who followed only the Emperor. As his talent and skill grew stronger by the day, the Emperor’s attendants could no longer speak out against him and trembled in fear.

Nobles, terrified of the one known as the Emperor’s Mad Dog or Hunting Hound, once hired assassins. Without so much as breaking a sweat, he slaughtered every last one of them and attended his coming-of-age ceremony unscathed.

Many women clutched their chests at the sight of him—his beautiful black hair making onlookers sigh, coupled with his clear blue eyes. After kneeling and kissing the Emperor’s foot, he formally inherited his ducal title.

At the news that the bloodline of the rebel who had once pointed a sword at the Emperor would inherit the position of Grand Duke, many nobles fiercely opposed it, foaming at the mouth. But neither the old Emperor nor his hound paid them any heed.

He was the strongest being in the empire, and there was no one under heaven—at least within the empire—who could stop his sword. To the Emperor, he was stronger than ten thousand soldiers combined, and also a clever, loyal hound.

“A smart beast should not be kept at one’s feet,” the Emperor’s attendants claimed, submitting endless petitions.

The Emperor asked the hound, who was sitting calmly on the floor with closed eyes, quietly leaning into the Emperor’s touch.

“They say that out of their duty as subjects, they must drive you away from me. What do you think?”

To the Emperor’s subtle question, the hound did not answer. But the next day, news came that the five nobles who had submitted the petitions had suddenly met their deaths.

All five had been sleeping in the deepest, safest bedrooms of their mansions, and each was found with their neck neatly severed. A single note was discovered in a corner of their bedrooms.

[For the price of speaking too freely, I shall take your tongues.]

Later, inside the severed heads found under the beds, the tongues were indeed missing.

Sitting at the feet of the aged Emperor, resting his face on the Emperor’s thigh, wagging an invisible tail like a gentle dog—that sight was nowhere to be found outside the palace. He went from being a mad dog to a monster.

The Emperor once spoke in passing.

“I don’t like that man.”

He pressed his wrinkled temple, muttering as if troubled. The hound quieted, his eyes flashing silently. Within a few days, the man the Emperor had mentioned was found dead.

Thus, many nobles met their end at the hound’s hands. Those who dared to bare their teeth at the Emperor, he slaughtered single-handedly, ensuring no beast dared show its fangs before him.

Unlike the hound, who shone ever brighter, the old Emperor’s life force gradually waned. The hound did everything he could to extend his fading Emperor’s life even just a little bit.

He cut down the messenger of a god and presented the herb of immortality it guarded. Even that did not stop the Emperor’s aging. Next, he killed a dragon—revered as the agent of the god—and offered its heart, but the Emperor’s illness did not improve.

When even the heart of the dragon he had fought for fifteen days could not prolong the Emperor’s life, the hound began to rage with madness.

“…You are not beautiful. Be quiet.”

The Emperor murmured quietly to the raging hound. Instantly, the hound fell silent.

The Emperor withered like a dry twig, his hands and face covered in wrinkles. He was so devoid of vitality that he seemed lifeless. Life was draining away, and death was drawing near.

Then, the Crown Prince came to the hound.

“Your martial prowess is unmatched in the world, and your loyalty surpasses anyone’s. I want you to be mine.”

The hound did not even pretend to listen. The Crown Prince felt insulted but did not give up. He believed that when the old Emperor died, that loyalty would naturally pass to the heir.

The Crown Prince and the many factions waiting for him to become Emperor watched with gleaming eyes, waiting for the Emperor to die. The current Emperor had sat on the throne for too long.

Now, a new master must sit on the throne. They had set their sights on the Crown Prince as the new master, but the hound guarding the Emperor was too fierce and strong for them to dare draw their swords.

The Emperor gazed at the hound, who had quieted at his words. With long hair like a waterfall and transparently beautiful blue eyes that made many hearts flutter, he was still the Emperor’s dog—an emotionless killing machine.

“Be happy, Bain.”

“…”

Mumbling his nickname, the Emperor slowly closed his mouth. The hound quietly turned his head and stared into the Emperor’s eyes, then, in a low, quiet voice that only the Emperor could hear, murmured something.

The Emperor’s wrinkled eyes slowly closed. The breath escaping the old man’s mouth was faint, and then it ended. With the Emperor’s death, many inwardly shouted with joy. But the hound only gazed silently at the Emperor’s closed face.

What a vile and foolish man. The Crown Prince trembled, barely suppressing laughter as he looked at the late Emperor’s body, and in a mock sorrowful tone, spoke like a clown.

“What a… pity, Grand Duke… Now, why don’t you swear loyalty to me?”

It was the same counsel the Crown Prince had offered dozens of times to win the hound over. But the hound, as if there was no answer to give, silently closed his eyes. His pale face showed no trace of emotion, not even sorrow, making it utterly eerie.

The hound, who had seemed ready to make the entire empire a sacrifice for the dead Emperor, quietly withdrew.

Taking only his retainers, he left the palace for an old castle in the deep snowfields of the north, a gift from the Emperor while he was still alive. He confined himself to the castle, allowing no one entry except those permitted.

The Crown Prince became Emperor and kept watch on the hound. But he was far too quiet, like a marionette whose strings of life had been cut.

As the Grand Duke secluded himself in the castle, neighboring countries that had been watching for an opportunity began to rise up and declare war on the empire. The same beasts that had tucked their tails before the monster-like hound were now showing their fangs one by one.

The new Emperor repeatedly asked the hound for help, but the hound did not take a single step outside his icy, snowstorm-beaten mansion.

Then, a strange rumor spread.

The retainers who had followed the hound to the north had mistaken poisonous herbs for edible greens and cooked them into soup, causing many, including several knights, to fall ill. One of them hovered between life and death before barely opening his eyes. It was a trivial matter that might otherwise have been buried.

Trapped in the snowy mountains battered by blizzards, the Grand Duchy appeared like an ice prison. The many retainers and knights who had followed Grand Duke Berlowen Blanchard here clicked their tongues, having to endure the bitter cold and fight against it.

There, they had to fend off giant monsters that braved the harsh blizzards, all while avoiding the fragrant poisonous herbs that tempted the hungry.

In contrast, the Grand Duke lived like a corpse in his mansion. His appearance was no different from a dead body; his followers paced anxiously, stamping their feet.

To make matters worse, the servants had all fallen ill from mistakenly gathering those poisonous herbs; it was fortunate that no one had died.

Among them, one knight who had consumed the most soup nearly crossed the threshold of life and death before barely pulling through. After a long fifteen-day struggle, he finally regained consciousness.

In the summer, when the snowstorms subsided, they could at least summon a doctor along with supplies, but now the old castle was trapped in a blizzard. Like the Grand Duke’s heart, the icy castle, amidst the coldly blowing snowstorm, bound their feet like a prison.

Occasionally, the Grand Duke would rise from his seat. But only briefly. His retainers hoped and prayed that their beautiful and strong master would finally escape the ghost of the old Emperor.

In the cold garden, Grand Duke Berlowen stood facing the chill wind, clad only in thin clothes. His long black hair had remained uncut because the Emperor had once praised it, saying, “Your hair is beautiful.”

Grand Duke Berlowen Blanchard had not slept peacefully a single day since then. He suffered from constant insomnia, sensitive to everything but sometimes reacting dully.

Grand Duke Berlowen was like a corpse, yet he also seemed like a man possessed by madness. The servants whispered in fear that he was haunted by the old Emperor’s ghost. The knights, awaiting their beautiful master’s return, devoted themselves to training and prayed.

The knight who had survived on the brink of death after eating the poisoned soup was watching the Grand Duke from afar.

The knight had shown strange symptoms after returning from the threshold of death. He babbled nonsense as if seeing hallucinations, but his condition had improved enough for him to finally rise. People advised him to see a doctor when the weather cleared and the snowstorm subsided.

The knight had a gentle face, and though shorter and smaller than the others, he had well-trained muscles.

However, he was a commoner and an orphan, and his relationship with his comrades was not good. His skill was not enough to join the Grand Duke’s knights by any stretch. No comrade liked the knight who had lucked into his position.

The knight stared straight at the Grand Duke, who was silently letting the snow fall upon him outside the window. The beautiful Grand Duke who stirred both admiration and fear.

“…I told you to live happily, you foolish thing.”

In a low voice, the words flowing between his red lips were elegant and profoundly deep.

The Emperor of the Great Empire, Electro Chaman, was dying. He had lived a full life, so he had no grievances, but he did feel a slight regret. It was because of Grand Duke Berlowen Blanchard, who was tearfully swallowing his sorrow and reddening his eyes in front of him.

Born a traitor’s child, he was saved from having his limbs cut off and was raised with care. Berlowen, who had overcome all hardships and adversities with nothing but his skill, stood proudly at the center of power as the empire’s greatest sword.

Grand Duke Berlowen Blanchard.

Though he held power second only to the Emperor in the empire, the faithful hound lowered his eyes and knelt meekly at the feet of the Emperor, who had been sitting a long time in his rocking chair.

Then, clinging to the Emperor, he carefully placed his hands on the Emperor’s thighs and rubbed his cheek against his knees. If any other grown man did that, it would be disgusting, but with Grand Duke Berlowen’s beauty, it looked like the most delicate and pitiable sight in the world.

“Your Majesty, cigarettes… are bad for your health.”

The Emperor had nicknamed him Bain. So Bain, on the morning after he cut the throat and ripped out the tongue of a count who dared to tell him to keep his distance, came to the Emperor and whimpered pitifully.

The Emperor, who was about to scold him for cutting out a noble’s tongue, paused at Bain’s beautiful face.

“They are bad for your health, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor’s loyal hound spoke endearingly, but his eyes gleamed with a menace that he could not fully conceal. If the Emperor were not his master, he looked vicious enough to devour him to the bone.

The Emperor glanced down at the cigarette pinched between his twig-like fingers and defiantly put it in his mouth. Then, Grand Duke Berlowen’s eyes gleamed even more fiercely. But when their gazes met, he smiled softly and hid his true feelings again.

The Emperor put the cigarette back in his mouth. A faint grinding of teeth was heard. But Electro knew that, even if not for this cigarette, his life was nearly over.

The days when it was hard to get up in the morning and sleep would not come at night continued. What was he expecting from a body too tired even to breathe? Bain, like in his childhood, whiningly rested his forehead on Electro’s dry, wrinkled hand.

No matter how hard his beloved dog searched for the herb of immortality, fought with a dragon for days and nights to obtain its heart, or brought the golden peach that was said to extend the life of an immortal, death could not be delayed.

“Please… preserve your body.”

Tch. It’s too late now.

In the end, for Bain’s sake, the Emperor tossed the cigarette from between his fingers to the floor.

“All life ends eventually. It’s ugly, so don’t cry anymore.”

Clinging to the Emperor’s dying legs, salivating as if ready to swallow him whole, Bain’s eyes were red as he looked up pitifully. At the word “ugly,” Bain stopped crying, but he looked up at the Emperor with even more blazing eyes.

In Bain’s beautiful, clear face, his blue eyes—which had always graced his features so splendidly—were clouded with tears. They were as beautiful as a lake, yet shining eerily bright.

They say the dying know themselves best. Having lived a hundred years, he had lived a long time.

He could understand why the Crown Prince was grinding his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t even stand, let alone hold the cigarette he loved so much—that was the most lamentable thing.

“…Be happy, Bain.”

Bain, whom he had raised from infancy by his side, was dearer than any of his other children. At the Emperor’s words, muttered like a last will, Bain slowly lifted his head.

Just as he was about to say, “Go live with a beautiful partner,” Bain, who had been silently guarding him, quietly loomed over him like the Grim Reaper and knelt closer. After breathing out a long, affectionate, and fragile breath, he turned his head and gazed into the Emperor’s eyes.

“Your Majesty… you…”

“…”

It was a very small voice. A voice no one else could hear. With a voice directed only at the Emperor, Bain spoke as if whispering to a lover, as if reciting poetry, with a sweet tone. But his blue eyes burned more passionately than anyone else’s, as if to swallow even his soul.

“Can never die.”

“…”

“Even if I have to go to hell, I will retrieve your soul. Your Majesty can never escape my side.”

“…”

Turning his head so only the Emperor could see, he let out a hysterical laugh. It was entirely different from his usual meek, tail-wagging demeanor before his master.

With that, Emperor Electro slowly closed his eyes.