There were no voices inside Batukhan's main chamber; the only sound that pierced the tension was the occasional, weak cough that escaped the King's mouth.
As the father and son stared at each other intensely, Dzhambul broke the silence with his words. "Don't we all, Father, choose sides?" Dzhambul said, walking slowly toward Batukhan. He placed the heavy parchment scroll on the King's writing table and began to slowly untie the rope that secured it, speaking as he worked.
"As your son, who is closest to you, who has the most support in the royal court, and who is able to ride a horse and fight and chase our enemy out of our motherland... and yet," he paused, pulling the scroll fully open and turning it so the content faced Batukhan. "You still decided your heir is given to your disabled son, who has no support inside the court."
Batukhan didn't say a word, only glanced at the unrolled scroll with a slight, deeply weary scoff.
Dzhambul picked up the ink stick and began to slowly grind it against the ink stone, swirling it inside the ink dish until dark, liquid ink began to pool.
"Over the years, I have done what you asked. Every task given to me by you was completed without question," Dzhambul continued, his tone cold and measured. He picked up the brush and dipped the tip gently into the fresh, dark ink. "And yet, before I was named General, you broke the old command rule and named your daughter General." He looked directly at Batukhan, forcing eye contact. "So, Father, learning to choose a side was taught by you, as you have always sides with the Queen and her children."
Batukhan took the ink-dipped brush, but instead of following Dzhambul's wishes, he carefully placed the brush back onto the ink dish. He looked up at Dzhambul and said, his voice quiet but firm, "And this is the reason that you are not worthy of sitting on the throne."
Dzhambul sighed, a sound heavy with raw anger, as Batukhan's intention was clear: he would not sign the decree to announce Dzhambul as the Crown Prince.
"And do you want to know the reason why?" Batukhan asked, looking completely unfazed by Dzhambul's threat.
"Please do enlighten me," Dzhambul replied through gritted teeth, the tension in his face visible. "Father, but choose your words very carefully, because I cannot guarantee the safety of your beloved Crown Prince, currently in the South Prison."
"Have you ever wondered why you are stationed north and Batsaikhan is here in the capital?" Batukhan asked, pausing to let the question sink in. When Dzhambul remained silent, the King continued. "I put my most trusted and strongest children on the West, South, and East of Hmagol. That is where the true dangers lie."
Dzhambul's lips trembled with barely contained fury.
"I know for a certainty that the Alohul Kingdom will never invade us due to our deep ties, and this is why I chose Chimgee to be King Sulien's son-in-law, marrying him to King Sulien's most beloved daughter," Batukhan said, shedding sensitive information. He hoped that perhaps after learning such strategic detail, Dzhambul would halt his disastrous action.
"I can answer your question of why Chinua is General before you," Batukhan continued, sitting back in his chair, suddenly looking less frail. "Because Chinua, she has the heart of a true leader. She might not be the strongest in physical strength in her army, but she has the ability to make the strongest warrior bend their knees and serve as a subordinate. So, tell me, Second Prince of Hmagol, you have walked in my footsteps before her, you have your place in the royal court before her, but which brave warrior has bent their knees for you willingly? Which soldiers follow your order willingly, without fear? And which Magoli citizen has set you as their role model? And if you call, which Magoli would answer you willingly?"
Dzhambul's breath grew heavy through his nostrils as anger surged through him. He stared furiously with the ferocious eyes of a cornered tiger at Batukhan, who was sitting calmly and regally in his chair.
"You are wrong on one thing," Batukhan said, rolling his eyes dismissively at Dzhambul's childish rage.
"What one thing?" Dzhambul asked, his hand clenched so tightly on his sword hilt his knuckles were white.
Batukhan offered a faint, melancholy smile. "Batsaikhan is not my first choice of heir," he admitted. "The truth is, Dzhambul, the most fitting son to inherit the throne is not Batsaikhan, nor yourself... it is and has always been Mönkhbat." The mention of Mönkhbat's name filled his heart with pride. "But tell me, my Second Prince, why would I sentence my most beloved son to sit here in this lonely chair and face the palace's petty criticisms, when he can roam the Southern Border free like a true Alpha Wolf—feared by our enemies and beloved by every Magoli he protects?"
Batukhan's words had ripped through Dzhambul's heart, as he learned that the son Batukhan loved the most was someone he could never live up to, even if he spent his life trying to become like him. In a final, desperate act of anger, his hand pulled the sword from the scabbard with a sharp, grating sound of steel. He pointed his sword at Batukhan's throat. His lips trembled violently as the deadly tip of his sword was inches away from his father's flesh.
As the moonless night faded into the predawn, down at the South Prison, the security was at its lowest effectiveness, as most guards assumed the criminals had long since fallen asleep.
Seeing only a few guards patrolling, Mönkhbat, Naksh, Dolgoon, and Buqa, all dressed in the black disguises of the imperial guards, walked confidently toward the prison entrance.
Ten prison guards standing outside the gate stopped them immediately.
Dolgoon and Buqa, who had previously worked guarding prisoners in the Anpol City jail, were familiar with jail protocols. Dolgoon quickly flashed the guard tally to the lead soldier. Due to the darkness and Dolgoon's rapid movement, the guard was unable to clearly verify the pass.
"The Second Prince wants us to take the prisoner to be questioned," Dolgoon announced, using his deep, low voice to apply pressure.
"At this time of the hour?" The lead guard hesitated. "But we are instructed that only Minister Gegeen is allowed to see the prisoner, not even Minister Esen."
Buqa stepped forward. His massive size caused the ten prison guards to instinctively take a step back, daring not to look up at him.
"You dare to question His Highness's order?" Buqa sneered. He took two steps closer to the guard who had just spoken, patted the side of the guard's head gently. His lips curved up into a wicked smile. "I wonder how long it would take for the executioner's sword to chop off this head." He pushed the prison guard aside, rolled his eyes at the others, and walked forward. The remaining guards stepped aside, allowing the four men to stride into the prison.
As the four men reached the bottom of the stairs, they found the three guards inside fast asleep at their table. Buqa walked to the table and slammed his heavy hand onto the surface, making a loud THUMP that jolted the sleeping guards awake.
"Prince Dzhambul's prisoner? Take us to him," Buqa said impatiently.
"Oh, are you here to question him?" one of the first prisoner guards mumbled sleepily.
"Mm..." Buqa's voice echoed with contempt as he rolled his eyes impatiently at the three men.
"My lord, I don't think the prisoner could take any more whipping, as Governor Gerel's men had just come by early this evening to question him."
"But... but, if you do," the second guard stammered. "Just make sure that he doesn't die."
"Mm..." Buqa replied again.
"This way," the first guard said, leading Mönkhbat and Buqa toward the cell holding Batsaikhan. The guard quickly unlocked the cell.
Mönkhbat stepped inside and found Batsaikhan's back heavily whipped and bleeding. He quickly turned, his sword already drawn, and slashed the blade across the guard's neck.
The guard immediately clutched his neck as blood spilled down, staining his armor.
Mönkhbat knelt beside Batsaikhan. He gently touched Batsaikhan's shoulder, causing the Crown Prince to stir and wake with a sharp intake of pain. "Crown Prince," Mönkhbat said sadly. "I am here to take you out."
Batsaikhan slowly opened his eyes. In his confused and heavily pained state, he mistook Mönkhbat for Batukhan. He broke into tears. "Father..." he reached his hand forward. "You finally came."
Mönkhbat grabbed Batsaikhan's hand, then turned his back and lifted the Crown Prince, hoisting him onto his shoulders and securing him on his back. They rushed out of the cell, following Buqa.
As they approached the stairs, they found that the two guards left behind had already been silently killed by Naksh and Dolgoon. The four men, with Batsaikhan on Mönkhbat's back, followed Buqa up the stairs.
Meanwhile, back at the West Palace, in Batsaikhan's personal courtyard, Lixin and his men came out empty-handed. They were unable to find a trace of the escapees.
Standing in the middle of the yard, Lixin sorted through his thoughts. He realized that if they were here to rescue the Queen, they were certainly also here for the King and the Crown Prince.
"Twenty of you," Lixin commanded, pointing sharply. "You come with me to the South Prison. As for the rest of you," he pointed to the archers and the other twenty imperial guards. "You head straight to the King's courtyard and support the Royal Second Prince."
Lixin and the twenty imperial guards ran as fast as they could toward the South Prison. As he approached, his prediction was confirmed: he saw four figures carrying Batsaikhan out of the prison door.
"Stop them right now!" Lixin shouted as he and his men rushed toward the group.
Seeing that the person running toward them was none other than Dzhambul's personal henchman, Lixin, the ten guards standing at the door drew their swords and began attacking the four loyalists.
Naksh, Dolgoon, and Buqa managed to kill two guards and successfully pushed the remaining eight toward Lixin and his twenty imperial guards.
Lixin and his twenty men stood in front of Mönkhbat, Naksh, Dolgoon, and Buqa, forming a solid wall that blocked their escape.
By this time, Batsaikhan was fully awake and realized that the person carrying him was not his father, but a brother from another mother. Although the man had covered his face and only his eyes were exposed, Batsaikhan could not mistake the man's identity. The pair of fearless eyes that resembled the King's could only belong to one person: Mönkhbat.
Mönkhbat lowered himself slightly, grabbed the belt sash from one of the dead soldiers, and quickly tied the belt tightly around himself and Batsaikhan, securing them as one person. His right foot then picked up a spear lying on the ground, tossed it into the air, and caught it with his right hand.
"Head's down and hold tight," Mönkhbat's deep voice whispered, his eyes locked straight ahead onto Lixin, the twenty guards, and the eight remaining prison guards.