Unquenchable Flame (1)

Back from the Far East, thrust onto the throne without even time to mourn Father’s death, I dove into crash-course heir training.

Lately, Witte’s gaze has been off, but most folks in this empire look at me the same way.

Maybe that’s why the pressure’s been piling up this year.

“Nicky.”

“Mother? What brings you to my study?” I stammered.

“You’ve been holed up, so I came to you,” she said.

Take, for instance, relationships even a Tsar can’t dodge.

“Ugh, where’s my obedient son gone? Replaced by a workaholic?” she sighed.

“Well, I’m still learning the ropes—” I started.

“There’s a limit!” she snapped.

A woman so beloved that even radical liberals and hardcore capitalists wouldn’t dream of assassination—that’s my mother.

Her temperament, some Eastern ideology, and the genes tying us make me the ultimate underdog.

“Weren’t you resting at Anichkov Palace?” I asked.

“Yes, after your father’s death, I wanted peace. A courtesy, too,” she said.

“Courtesy?” I echoed.

“For the new empress. But I didn’t expect the throne beside you to stay empty,” she replied.

“Oh.”

Marriage. It’s a big deal, sure, but now’s not the time for something as trivial as that. The empire’s in the middle of a turbulent golden age—

“Nobles, bureaucrats, even relatives come to me saying the Tsar’s dodging his coronation,” she said.

“Haha…” I laughed nervously.

That’s unfair. The Duma and press have stirred such a mess in six months that no one can tell who’s the villain or hero.

Why hold a lavish wedding or coronation to steal the spotlight?

When waves crash above, it’s better to stay below.

“That girl, Alix—why haven’t you seen her?” Mother pressed.

“You said Alix was iffy yourself. She’s not even Orthodox,” I countered.

“That was when I thought you’d meet someone!” she shouted.

Her high-pitched voice hit like a sledgehammer, and I shrank.

I couldn’t exactly say, “Actually, Alix is likely to join some cult, so there’s no reason to risk it.”

“This way, your brother Mikhail will marry first! Mikhail, who just came of age!” she fumed.

“Oh, Mikhail’s got a girl?” I asked, deflecting.

“Son!” she roared.

I feel like a rotten son, but not now. I can’t waste time, money, or attention.

Better if people don’t know much about me.

But Mother’s will was ironclad.

“No more talk. I don’t care if you picked up ‘tastes’ in the army or fell for some nomad in the Far East. If you won’t meet someone, I’ll arrange it myself,” she declared.

“What? What rumors? Arrange what?” I asked, stunned.

“No suitable women here? I’ll scour European royalty for an empress,” she said.

“Wow…”

Her fierce determination left me speechless. Arguing would only dig my grave.

“What if we just—publicly—” I began.

“Three years!” I blurted.

“What?” she asked.

“Three years. If I don’t marry by then, you can arrange it,” I said.

“Three years, including the wedding?” she pressed.

“…Wedding included,” I conceded.

Three years didn’t thrill her, but I stood firm.

If I can’t do it, I’ll figure something out then.

Just not now.

“Fine. Within three years, I expect good news,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

Her vigor belied her near-fifty years as she strode out, leading a flock of maids.

“Phew… marriage. If it’s a problem, it’s a problem,” I muttered.

If the state wants me to marry, make it easy! If the Duma passed a law saying, “The Tsar’s wedding is a national joy, so no strikes or protests,” I’d marry tomorrow. Hell, I’d build a harem.

“Your Majesty, it’s Director Sekirinsky of Okhrana. May I enter?” a voice called.

“Come in,” I said.

Barely a minute after Mother left, another visitor. I couldn’t snap at her, but this is my reality—a workhorse’s life.

“Here to report results,” Sekirinsky said, sliding papers from an envelope.

“Black for accidents, red for unavoidable public deaths,” he explained.

“Nice work. You’ve got skills,” I said.

“But over 200 newspapers sprang up last year. Our actions might get reported,” he warned.

“No biggie. We’ll handle it,” I said.

I gave Sekirinsky a list when I ordered Okhrana’s expansion.

People to find.

People to kill.

People to watch if killing’s tricky.

People to beware of.

“Vladimir Lenin… traveling now. Lucky bastard,” I muttered.

“He’s of interest. His brother was suspected in the late Tsar’s assassination plot,” Sekirinsky noted.

“If he’s off meeting Russian exiles in Western Europe, tracking him’s tough,” I said.

“I assigned two agents, but don’t expect much,” he admitted.

“Fine,” I said.

I thought Lenin would be in Siberia for anti-Tsar activities now, but he’s not even in the country.

Change, huh?

So, no reading his pseudonym Vladimir Ilyin’s Russian Capital. That was kinda fun.

“He’s not a big name yet. If he returns, kill him,” I ordered.

“Understood,” Sekirinsky said.

“How’s press control?” I asked.

“We’re hitting them evenly, no party bias,” he replied.

In illiterate Russia, how many papers sell? Most new ones have backers anyway.

I worried that cracking down after granting press freedom might turn all parties against me, but the Duma’s too busy fighting itself to care.

Human psychology’s wild. If your rival gets hit, you take your lumps quietly.

If their paper gets smacked by Okhrana and their rival’s does too, they shut up.

“Guide the press lightly. Don’t overreach, just teach them crossing the line means trouble,” I said.

“Understood,” he replied.

“You’re dismissed,” I said.

I tested Sekirinsky with a few names from the list, and he’s better than expected.

“Okhrana’s solid. What’s next…” I muttered.

With so many orders and projects, my desk’s a warzone.

Scanning papers, one from the Foreign Ministry caught my eye.

They thought I wouldn’t know, but it detailed Joseon’s current situation, key figures, and basics.

Summary: [Joseon’s king is holed up in the Russian legation, refusing to return home.]

“Huh…”

I thought Japan’s deal would keep the Far East quiet for a while.

Unbeknownst to me, another spark was igniting in the Far East.

This mess had Nikolai’s fingerprints all over it.

Agwan Pacheon—the Russian Legation Escape.

Unless you slept through Korean history, it’s a textbook case of late Joseon chaos.

It started during the Sino-Japanese War, with Kim Hong-jip and Heungseon Daewongun leading a pro-Japan cabinet.

Wait, isn’t Joseon an absolute monarchy with the king’s word as law? Not wrong, but only on paper. During this time, King Gojong was under house arrest, his vassals and father holding power.

Since Nikolai ended the Sino-Japanese War early, he thought, “If the Russo-Japanese War’s delayed, we’re good,” and left the Far East. But Joseon didn’t get the memo.

Russia, with Germany and France, crushed Japan’s momentum, forcing 200,000 troops back to their islands overnight.

Logically, Russia should’ve swooped into Joseon, freed the king, ousted the pro-Japan lackeys, and installed a pro-Russian cabinet. Right?

“Why… why aren’t they coming?”

“What? Russia’s leaving the pro-Japan cabinet alone?”

Even pro-Japan factions, crushed by Japan’s overnight collapse, were baffled.

Russia didn’t move.

“Ambassador Waeber! What’s going on? Didn’t Governor Sergei say he’d march south with tens of thousands?” a Joseon official demanded.

“Calm down, Major Nam Man-ri! The Tsar just passed; it’s likely that. Surely Crown Prince—His Majesty—will give orders soon!” Waeber stammered.

“Damn it! One month. If nothing happens, I’ll lead my 800 soldiers to rescue the king myself!” Nam declared.

“Oh dear!” Waeber gasped.

Weeks later, a rescue plan involving courtiers Lee Jae-soon, Im Choi-su, Chamryeong Lee Do-cheol, Jeongdong faction officials, and foreign allies launched.

Too hasty? The plan to escape to the U.S. legation failed, caught mid-attempt, fueling the Eulmi Reforms and tightening Gojong’s confinement.

The pro-Japan faction pushing the Eulmi Reforms was just as nervous.

“Cutting His Majesty’s topknot… too far?” one asked.

“What’s Japan saying?” another pressed.

“No orders, no reaction. Just ‘keep it up,’” came the reply.

“Yugong, any news from up top?”

“Rumors say the world changes overnight, spreading to the south. Something’s happening, but…”

“Ugh, you don’t know either,” Kim Hong-jip groaned.

Acting like there’s no tomorrow, Kim was among the most terrified.

I’m on the tiger’s back. Try to get off, I’m dead.

But the tiger wasn’t moving.

When Queen Min was killed by Japanese assassins at night, Kim felt guilt but, seeing Japan’s army triumph up to Manchuria, changed his tune.

No time for despair. Joseon must grow strong like them.

Seeing Japan’s power firsthand, he saw how weak and rotten Joseon was.

Too many rowers, a ship adrift with no destination—he had to step up.

Even if it meant using the enemy who killed the queen.

Kim steeled himself and took power.

Until Crown Prince Nikolai returned to the Far East.

Rumors of him facing down hundreds of thousands alone are probably fake… but he saved Qing. Fact.

So Japan panicked, signed a treaty, and fled to their islands.

Meaning if Russia moves south, Japan can’t help the pro-Japan faction.

Two years ago, the pecking order was set.

“But why aren’t they coming?” Kim muttered.

Across the sea, Japan’s Prime Minister Ito felt the same frustration but knew more.

“They genuinely don’t care about Joseon. Shocking,” Ito said.

The Amur Governorate could send anyone and take Hanseong, yet two years passed with no reaction.

“Russia’s Tsar… Nikolai,” Ito mused.

Realizing Nikolai’s sincerity, Ito’s options shrank. That war-ready talk from their meeting? It was real.

In this complex, eerie calm before the storm in Joseon, another wave hit.

“The king and crown prince escaped the palace in a palanquin!”

“Where to?”

“Jeongdong—the Russian legation!”

Gojong’s escape from Gyeongbokgung.