Novels by Haeng Un

The transition from the oppressive stone of the Aethelgard Palace to the wild, overgrown brush of the Northern Ridge was jarring. The air here was thin, biting, and carried the rank, coppery scent of damp fur and stagnant earth. Raka adjusted his grip on the strap of his pack, his knuckles white. Behind him, the nineteen students were huddled together, a jagged line of nervous energy silhouetted against the encroaching gray of the pre-dawn sky."Stay close," Raka whispered, not turning his head. "If you see a rustle in the trees, don't scream. Just mark it for the scouts.""Easy for you to say, Commander," Leo muttered, his voice strained as he shifted his heavy shield. "I can’t see five feet into this fog. Is this really where the King sent us? It looks like a graveyard.""It’s a nest, Leo," Sofia replied, her voice smooth and alert as she scanned the canopy above them. "And we’re the ones trespassing. Stay sharp."Raka stepped over a rotting log, his boots sinking into the soft, loa

The shadows in the cramped storage room seemed to pulse in time with the King’s heartbeat. Raka could feel the oxygen thinning, the heavy, metallic tang of the King’s magical aura pressing against his eardrums like deep-sea pressure. Sofia stood like a statue, her daggers held low, but her hands were trembling—the first sign of weakness Raka had ever seen in her."Well, Commander?" the King asked, his voice dripping with an elegant, terrible patience. "You were so eager to play at being an investigator. Now that you have the attention of the throne, don't be shy. Tell me: what exactly is it that you think you’ve uncovered in my archives?"Raka’s pulse was a frantic bird trapped in his ribcage. He looked at the assassin—still curled in a ball of whimpering terror—and then back at the King. He had to lie. If he admitted he knew about the harvest, the King would end them both before they could blink."I found a thief, Your Majesty," Raka said, his voice straining to sound steady. He gest

The dust from the toppled shelves hung in the air like a shroud, illuminated by the cold, moonlight filtering through the high library windows. Raka stood over the assassin, his chest heaving, while Sofia kept her daggers leveled at the man’s throat. The former thrall was shivering, his eyes wide with the trauma of a mind abruptly returned to its owner."We need to move him," Raka said, his voice low and urgent. "If the guard patrol comes back, we’re finished. There’s an alcove behind the archives. It’s soundproofed for researchers."Sofia nodded, sheathing one blade to help hoist the man up. "He’s dead weight, Raka. This guy is barely conscious.""Just drag him," Raka insisted. "I need to know exactly how deep this rot goes."They hauled the assassin through the shadows of the library, the man’s boots scraping against the marble floor. They shoved him into a cramped storage room tucked behind a series of heavy curtains. It smelled of mildew and stale ink. Sofia lit a single, sputteri

The marble floor groaned under the assassin’s weight, the impact sending hairline fractures spiraling outward like a spiderweb. Before the dust could even settle, the figure was a blurred arc of steel, lunging toward Raka."Move, Raka!" Sofia screamed, her voice cracking the heavy silence of the library.Raka didn’t need the warning. His instincts, sharpened by a lifetime of near-misses in the last forty-eight hours, carried him to the side. He felt the cold breeze of the assassin’s blade slice through the air where his throat had been a split second before."Is that all you’ve got?" Raka gasped, his lungs burning as he dived behind a mahogany study table."He’s fast," Sofia said, weaving through the narrow aisles of the bookshelf, her own daggers flashing as she parried a strike that threatened to take her arm off. "Too fast for us to just brawl with.""We aren't going to out-fight him," Raka shouted, his eyes scanning the room, hunting for anything—a loose heavy book, a dangling cha

The barracks were finally quiet, save for the rhythmic breathing of twenty restless teenagers scattered across iron bunks. Raka remained seated at the central table, the faint light of a single, dying candle casting long, trembling shadows against the damp stone. He stared at the ledger, his mind tracing the webs of power within the Aethelgard Palace."You’re going to burn your eyes out, Commander."Raka didn’t look up. He knew the soft, rhythmic click of Sofia’s boots anywhere. She sat on the corner of the table, her shadow merging with the dark grime on the walls."I’m not trying to read, Sofia," Raka whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant drip of water. "I’m trying to see if there’s a pattern I missed. Harlen said Vane wanted us weak. That means this isn't just about stealing bread. It’s about systemic neglect."Sofia leaned in, her gaze scanning the pages he had annotated with hurried, frantic scribbles. "It’s a classic squeeze. If we die in the borderlands, it looks

The silence of the pit felt heavy, the kind of stillness that followed a thunderclap. Raka stared up at the balcony until his neck ached, his mind racing through the logistics of their survival. The victory against the golems had been a reprieve, not a solution."We need to move," Raka said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. "Back to the barracks. Now.""Why the rush, Commander?" Leo asked, wiping grime from his shield. "I think I earned a moment to catch my breath.""Because the General isn't going to send us a pat on the back, Leo," Raka muttered, already heading toward the iron gate. "He’s going to send the quartermaster. If we don’t have our inventory set and verified before he shows up to audit, we’re going to be in a lot more trouble than a few stone statues."Back in the dim, cramped confines of the barracks, the atmosphere had shifted. The group no longer looked at Raka with open hostility, but the fear was still etched into their expressions. Raka didn't waste