Chapter 2
Argana did not hesitate.
There was no need to speak of dying and coming back to life. She didn’t have the time for that, nor was it necessary.
“While dining with Father, I noticed his complexion had visibly darkened compared to before. The sclera of his eyes showed a faint yellow hue. When he was changing clothes, he seemed uncomfortable around the upper abdomen—he had difficulty fastening his daeja (a type of waistband). And most of all…”
As Argana continued speaking, the expression of the imperial physician Chaihan shifted from cautious to utterly horrified.
Now she was certain.
Argana clenched her jaw tightly. Chaihan’s reaction was the answer.
“…He’s lost a great deal of weight compared to just a few months ago. I’d heard he’d reduced his food intake, but this is excessive.”
“Your Highness, how did you manage to notice all of this?”
“The Khan is my one and only father. I’ve seen him command hundreds of thousands of soldiers with a single order. If such a man were to weaken, how could his daughter not notice?”
It was the right thing to say, yet no one besides Argana had ever asked Chaihan about the Khan’s health.
Astrahan Khan was a meticulous man. As his illness worsened, he took great care not to let it show.
He streamlined official duties and wore a coronet with hanging ornaments when meeting ministers one-on-one, making it nearly impossible for anyone to see his condition—except for Chaihan and his closest chamberlain, Lee Soon.
And yet Her Highness figured it out just by sharing a single meal. Despite never having studied medicine…
He had lived long enough to rarely be surprised anymore, but the intelligence of this daughter whom the Khan cherished like a flower in his palm… it was boundless.
She even noticed his struggle with the waistband…
With a sigh of resignation, Chaihan lowered his head.
“…Your Highness is indeed wise. The Khan’s affection for you is well-earned.”
“I didn’t come here to hear compliments. I have only one question. What illness is afflicting my father? He can be cured, can’t he?”
Argana tried to ignore the slight tremble in her voice as she spoke. She had been taught that a child of the Khan must not show fear.
But what child could face their parent’s death without fear?
Especially when that death meant her own as well.
She had died during Astrahan Khan’s funeral.
On the last day of the twelfth month in the 33rd year of Khan’s reign.
Astrahan Khan had remained bedridden for a month and eventually drew his last breath.
When the royal physician confirmed his passing, the chamberlain Lee Soon, eyes reddened, brought forth the Khan’s final decree and read it aloud.
“Before the land of our ancestors and the infinitely merciful heavens, for the peace of the Dar Empire, the Khan declares: I name my legitimate daughter Argana, born of Lady Wihan of the Ayl family, as my successor. All officials and citizens of the empire shall obey her.”
As soon as the decree was read, all those present at the Khan’s deathbed knelt before Argana.
And so, as the next Khan and rightful heir, she took part in her father’s funeral rites—offering mourning songs and ceremonial wine each day for seven days, as tradition required.
And on the second day of January…
Argana, who had returned from death, realized she had been poisoned.
Her memory had gone blank right after eating a meal brought to her by someone.
Now she stared at Chaihan, urging him silently to answer.
He trembled slightly before finally opening his mouth.
“…Your Highness, His Majesty the Khan is already in critical condition.”
Her heart plummeted.
Argana fought to suppress the rising fury and panic as she asked again, more earnestly this time:
“But he can still be cured, can’t he? Chaihan, you’ve always been a master physician. People say the gods molded your hands to save others.”
But Chaihan shook his head, his face grim.
“Until last year… even this old man held hope. His Majesty did too. But now, the disease has progressed beyond reversal.”
“But…”
“Your Highness, all I can do now is ease his suffering and slow the worsening of his condition. His Majesty is already aware of this.”
“That can’t be true.”
Argana muttered weakly in disbelief.
She clenched her fist so hard her knuckles turned white, then looked back up at Chaihan.
“What illness is it, exactly, that my father suffers from?”
“Your Highness, it is a disease that attacks the liver. In its early stages, it shows no clear symptoms, making it difficult to diagnose.”
“No clear symptoms in the early stages…”
Argana muttered again and closed her eyes with a silent sigh.
To have returned from death, only to learn her father couldn’t be saved—it was too late.
No. This isn’t the time to despair.
She quickly composed herself and took a deep breath.
“Royal Physician.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Your sole duty is to care for my father and monitor his condition. If there is anything you need—anything at all—tell me. Use every possible method to help him recover, even slightly. Do you understand me?”
“I understand and will obey.”
“I’m counting on you.”
As Chaihan saw her out, Argana’s footsteps quickened.
She now clearly understood what she had to do.
Even if I can’t cure his disease, I can slow it down. The longer Father lives, the more prosperous and peaceful Dar will be. And…
Argana pressed her lips together tightly and furrowed her brow.
I will find the one who poisoned me. No matter what.
She circled the training garden of the Princess’s Palace several times, but nothing held her focus.
Before her death, before she was named as the next Khan, her life had revolved entirely around martial arts and study.
Sometimes she would discuss politics with her father.
Or…
“What are you doing? Is today your spin-training day?”
The familiar voice from behind made Argana snap her head up.
Her throat suddenly tightened, and tears welled up in her eyes.
She turned around to see a tall young man dressed in deep black smiling at her.
“…Kartak.”
“Goodness, what’s with your face?”
Argana closed her eyes at the familiar touch of his hand on her cheek. Longing and relief surged through her.
“Wihui, look at me.”
Kartak gently cupped both of her cheeks in his palms.
Seeing the same bright green eyes as always, Argana couldn’t help but let a single tear fall as she broke into a laugh.
Only two people in her life had ever called her “Wihui”—her father, the Khan, and this childhood friend, Kartak.
Hearing them call her name again stirred emotions she hadn’t even realized she’d buried.
“Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry. I’m just happy… it feels like I haven’t seen you in so long.”
Kartak tilted his head, puzzled by her words.
His snowy white hair—so rare in the Dar Empire—fluttered in the dry breeze like something out of legend.
“Why is Her Highness acting like this? I heard you were sick for a few days—was it that bad?”
It wasn’t just his appearance that remained the same.
His warm voice, his genuine concern, and his gentle demeanor thawed the icy weight that had frozen over Argana’s heart for days.
