The air was cold, biting against Ji-Hoon's skin as he was led deeper into the bowels of the castle. The warmth of the palace was a distant memory, replaced by the damp chill of stone and shadow. The guards flanked him on either side, their expressions grim, offering no comfort. Ji-Hoon's heart pounded in his chest, each step echoing like a death knell in his ears.
They descended a narrow staircase, spiraling down into the darkness below the castle. The walls were rough and uneven, lit only by the faint glow of torches that flickered as they passed. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of earth and something else—something metallic, like blood.
Ji-Hoon's hands were bound in front of him with rough rope, the fibers cutting into his soft flesh. The prince's breath came in shallow gasps, his mind racing with the horror stories he had heard about the Ritual of Iron. He had always thought they were just that—stories. Tales meant to frighten disobedient children into submission. But now, faced with the reality of it, he realized just how wrong he had been.
At the bottom of the stairs, they entered a wide chamber, its walls lined with iron chains and cruel-looking implements that glinted ominously in the dim light. The floor was covered in dirt and scattered with small bones—whether of animals or men, Ji-Hoon could not tell. His stomach churned with fear.
In the center of the chamber was a deep pit, surrounded by a crude wooden fence. The pit was dark and foreboding, its depths hidden from view. The guards led Ji-Hoon to the edge, and he peered down, his heart seizing at what he saw.
The bottom of the pit was filled with jagged rocks and broken shards of metal, their edges sharp enough to cut through flesh. The rocks were slick with something wet and dark—blood, Ji-Hoon realized with a sickening lurch. The smell of it rose up to meet him, cloying and foul.
One of the guards stepped forward, his voice cold and emotionless. "This is the beginning of your trial, Prince Ji-Hoon. You must climb out of the pit on your own, using nothing but your hands and feet. If you fail, you will remain here until you succeed—or die."
Ji-Hoon's legs trembled beneath him, his knees threatening to buckle. "I—I can't," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please, I'm not strong enough…"
The guard's expression did not change. "That is for the ritual to decide."
Before Ji-Hoon could protest further, the guards seized him by the arms and threw him into the pit. He fell with a cry, his body slamming into the jagged rocks below. Pain exploded through him, white-hot and searing, as the sharp edges tore into his skin. He lay there, gasping for breath, the taste of blood filling his mouth.
For a moment, Ji-Hoon could only lie still, his body wracked with pain. His arms and legs were bloodied and torn, the sharp rocks having sliced through the thin fabric of his tunic. His once soft and pampered skin was now a mass of cuts and bruises, each breath sending a fresh wave of agony through his body.
The guards stood at the edge of the pit, watching him with impassive eyes. "Climb," one of them ordered, his voice echoing in the chamber.
Ji-Hoon's vision swam with pain, but he forced himself to move. He reached out with trembling hands, grasping at the nearest rock. The surface was slick with blood—his own, he realized—and his fingers slipped, his hand coming away sticky and wet. He tried again, gritting his teeth against the pain, and this time he managed to pull himself up a few inches.
But the effort was too much. His arms gave out, and he fell back into the pit, his body slamming into the rocks once more. He screamed, the sound raw and desperate, but the guards did not react. They only watched in silence, waiting for him to try again.
Tears of pain and frustration filled Ji-Hoon's eyes. He had never known such agony, such helplessness. The prince who had once been surrounded by luxury and ease was gone, replaced by a broken boy who could barely move. His body ached with every breath, his skin stung with every shift, and yet he knew he could not give up. If he did, he would die here, forgotten and alone.
Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Ji-Hoon reached out again, his fingers clutching at the sharp rocks. He pulled himself up, inch by agonizing inch, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands slipped, but he forced them to hold on, the pain searing through him like fire.
The climb was torture, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through his battered body. The rocks tore at his flesh, the blood making them slick and treacherous. His muscles burned with exertion, threatening to give out at any moment. But Ji-Hoon refused to let go. He could not let go.
Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as Ji-Hoon struggled to climb out of the pit. His vision blurred with pain and exhaustion, his mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. But somehow, he kept going, driven by a primal instinct to survive.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ji-Hoon's hand found the edge of the pit. With a final, desperate effort, he pulled himself up and over, collapsing onto the dirt floor. His body was a mess of blood and bruises, his breathing ragged and uneven. He had never been so exhausted in his life.
The guards stepped forward, their faces as impassive as ever. "You have passed the first trial," one of them said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "But this is only the beginning."
Before Ji-Hoon could react, the guards grabbed him by the arms and hauled him to his feet. His legs buckled beneath him, but they did not allow him to fall. They dragged him across the chamber, his feet barely touching the ground, until they reached another door at the far end.
The door creaked open, revealing a long corridor lined with iron chains and hooks. The walls were damp and covered in rust, the floor slick with moisture. The smell of blood was stronger here, mingling with the stench of sweat and fear. Ji-Hoon's heart pounded in his chest as he was dragged forward, his mind filled with dread.
At the end of the corridor, they reached a small room, its walls lined with cruel instruments of torture. In the center of the room stood a wooden frame, to which Ji-Hoon was quickly bound. The ropes cut into his wrists and ankles, pulling his limbs taut and leaving him spread-eagled and helpless.
One of the guards stepped forward, holding a long, thin rod made of iron. The end of the rod was glowing red-hot, and Ji-Hoon's eyes widened in terror as he realized what was about to happen.
"Please," he whimpered, his voice shaking with fear. "Don't…"
But the guard did not hesitate. He pressed the rod against Ji-Hoon's side, the searing heat burning through the thin fabric of his tunic and into his flesh. Ji-Hoon screamed, the sound tearing from his throat as the pain exploded through him, more intense than anything he had ever felt.
The guard held the rod there for what felt like an eternity, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. Ji-Hoon's screams echoed through the chamber, but no one came to his aid. When the guard finally pulled the rod away, Ji-Hoon's body sagged in the ropes, his skin seared and blistered.
The pain was unbearable, his mind teetering on the edge of madness. But the guard was not finished. He moved to the other side and pressed the rod against Ji-Hoon's other flank, sending another wave of agony through his already tortured body.
Ji-Hoon's vision blurred with tears and pain, his screams growing weaker as his strength faded. He had never imagined such suffering could exist, that his life could be reduced to nothing more than pain and terror. The pampered prince was gone, replaced by a broken, bleeding boy who could barely think, barely breathe.
But as the pain consumed him, a small part of Ji-Hoon's mind clung to a single thought: survival. He could not let himself die here, in this dark, cold chamber. He had to survive, had to prove that he was more than the spoiled prince his father had condemned.
The torture continued for what felt like hours, each new wave of pain pushing Ji-Hoon closer to the brink of unconsciousness. His body was a mass of burns and bruises, his mind shattered by the relentless agony. But somehow, he endured, holding on to that last, fragile thread of hope.
When the guards finally unbound him from the frame, Ji-Hoon collapsed to the floor, his body too weak to move. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle. He lay there, broken and defeated, the pain still coursing through him like fire.
The guards looked down at him, their faces unreadable. "You have survived the second trial," one of them said, his voice cold. "Rest now, for the final trial awaits."
Ji-Hoon barely heard the words, his mind too clouded by pain. He was dimly aware of being lifted and carried away, his body limp and unresponsive. The world around him faded into darkness as unconsciousness finally claimed him, his last thought a desperate prayer for the strength to endure whatever was to come.